Tuesday With Moi

Tuesday, February 24th

These days, I get up early.  The room is dark and cold; I turn on the heat, but not the lights.

It takes me three minutes to walk to The Warehouse.  Four, if I'm walking slow.

I like living within walking distance of where I work, I like passing the same people every morning and giving them that I'm-walking-to-work nod as we shuffle past each other, our hands in our pockets, our chins buried in our scarves.  I like having a place to go to, a key that fits in a lock, a desk that is my own.

It's only been a week, but already I feel at home in my new space.  I drink coffee and tea throughout the day, cup after cup after cup.  I still work for myself, but I do it amongst others.  Work feels like work again, which I like.

Our windows look out on an old graveyard and some very handsome trees.  The birds sing to us throughout the day and when it's foggy it's almost as if we're floating in a cloud.

The atmosphere in the office is cool and relaxed.  The three of us who share the space get on with our individual projects and sometimes break to tell stories, refill our coffee cups, or ask for a reality check.

As I mentioned last week, I've been taking myself through my own branding method, the Brandstorm.  I'm learning a lot.  Soon, I'll start sharing my experience with you.

We like to celebrate here in the office.  Yesterday, our neighbor on the first floor, Paul, had a birthday.  We made him a card and then gathered for cake, candles and champagne.

After a moment of birthday cheer, it was back up on the top floor for a few more hours of work. 

And a few more cups of coffee and tea, too.

Slowly, I'm moving my things into the my space, slowly I'm making it mine.

Meanwhile, my desk at home is becoming less and less mine with each passing day.  Tom is living with us right now and my at-home studio is operating as his man cave.  

Last night, the Tunbridge Wells Writers gathered again.  The Black Pig was only accepting cash for the evening so I stopped in a grocery store to visit an ATM.  As someone who enjoys good food and eating well, I find big-box grocery stores incredibly depressing. And these flowers?  If my significant other bought me any of these flowers for Valentine's Day, I'd break up with them.  Even if it wasn't Valentine's Day, I'd break up with them.

After the depressing grocery store incident, I enjoyed many inspiring conversations about books and writing, art and philosophy in the function room at the pub.

We had a terrific turn-out last night and it's exciting to see the group grow and mature.

It's funny, I've only been to Tunbridge Wells Writers meetings on three occasions, but already I feel like they're mine, my people, my tribe.  I enjoy the dynamic personalities in the group, the diverse writing styles represented in the group, and their willingness to open up and share their work and wisdom with others.

They're also incredibly obliging when it comes time to leave and a lady would like a lift home.

My friend Peter often plays the role of DD and, along with his dashboard friends Bernard and Oscar, he gave a group of us a safe and warm ride home.

To close out the evening, I read a few pages of my much loved collection of short stories by Andre Dubus, which I'd meant to lend to my friend David earlier in the evening but had forgotten at home.  I think Dubus is a masterful storyteller and I admire his work enormously.  If you're looking for a good read, I highly recommend any of his books though Finding a Girl in America and Broken Vessels are two of my favorites.  

After a few pages, it was off to bed, and thus concludes my Tuesday.

Thank you for reading.

xox 

Monmouth Coffee

David and I are coffee drinkers.  Drip coffee, filter coffee, french pressed* coffee, we guzzle it like gasoline as our gears warm in the mornings.   We like our coffee hot out of the pot and, when it's good, we drink it black and let the blend of unique flavors wash over our tongues and warm our bellies.  'Round here, we love coffee. 

As you can imagine, we're quite particular about our coffee, and good coffee in these parts is mighty hard to find.  A couple times, my mom has sent my favorite roast all that way from Minneapolis, but too often we've had to pinch our noses and buy something off the grocery shelf.  But not anymore!  Thanks to the good people at our favorite local coffee stop, The Black Dog Café, we can now buy responsibly-sourced and sustainably-harvested coffee by Monmouth Coffee Company.  It may seem a little pricey at £12 per 500 g, but I can assure you that it's worth every pence.  The coffee, it is good, and using our spending power to help support a UK-based roaster, a local café, and two fantastic businesses feels pretty darn fine, too.  Quality, it can't be beat, and I'm looking forward to enjoying more of Monmouth's roasts as well as many more of Black Dog's exquisite flat whites.

Are you a coffee drinker, dear reader?  What are your favorite roasts and how do you drink your coffee?  I'd love to know and I wish you a lovely (snowy?) weekend full of hot coffee, wool socks, and cozy duvets.  xox! 

*Or Cafetère, as they say here.

On the White Cliffs of Dover

You'd think these Minnesotan bones would be comfortable in the cold, would welcome it, even.  You'd think I'd know to always carry a pair of warm gloves and remember to regularly waterproof my leather boots.  You may assume that a functional coat with roomy pockets would be a go-to in my closet and I'd have a pair of earmuffs somewhere in my house, but no.  No, no, no.  I'm afraid I'm terribly unprepared for this wet and rainy winter.  Luckily, I'm still enough of a Midwesterner to be tough and though the wind blew mightily and the rain came down cold and fast, I still made the trek along the White Cliffs in Dover. 

Call me insane, but prior to our arrival, I assumed the walk along the cliffs would be leisurely, picturesque and enchanting.  I imagined David and I walking arm-in-arm under our red umbrella, pausing to take pictures as gulls called overhead.  I was spot on with the cliffs being picturesque and enchanting, but leisurely our day was not.  My lipstick, springtime brights and freshly done hair didn't prepare me for the mud, sleet, and wind, my ankle boots and pocketless coat did not protect me from the elements.  My coat collar is stained red from the uncountable times it blew into my lips, my hair was matted and torn by the wind (I'm still getting used to this long hair business), and my beautiful H by Hudson boots were almost ruined by the waterlogged earth.  But we survived, dear reader, with raw skin and dirty hands, with muddy feet and dripping wet coats.  We survived!  And we have some nice pictures to prove it.  

After the traipsing and trudging was over and our skin was beginning to warm, we stopped at a pub for a warm meal next to an open fire; a glass of wine was a happy sight, indeed!

Can't We Be Friends?

It's been a long time coming, but I've finally accepted that I'm the only one holding myself back, from, well, everything*, and really, it's so stupid.

You see, I haven't made a single friend here in the last seven months.  I have friends in the UK, of course, but none here, in Hobbit Town**.   I don't have anyone to invite over for a last-minute meal on a Tuesday night or anyone to meet for coffee on a Thursday morning.  No one to go shopping with or with whom I can share a Sunday lunch.  Why?  Because of me.  Because I keep saying, What's the point if we're just going to move? but we haven't moved.  We've been here for seven effing months.  And in those months, I've continued to live on American time, work with american clients, and skype with my American friends and family.  Which is all wonderful, obviously, but means that I'm not really living here, and that is a problem.

As such, my winter goal is to get out there and meet people, like I used to.  Start hanging out in coffee shops during the day and complimenting strangers on their great boots or asking where they get their hair colored or whatever.  People must actually do things in this town, and it's time I started finding what that thing they do is- I need to start living here and start finding a friend.  Or two.  Or five.  And then finding a network.  And then world domination.  You know...

* Writing, moving my career forward, planning adventures, getting shit done in general, etc.
** I realize that calling it "Hobbit Town" is not going to make any locals shine to me.  So I should probably stop doing that, too.  Grumble grumble blah. 

The above photos were taken at our Nuptial Cocktail Soiree in March, at Backbar.  They are of some our friends and were taken by our friend, Oscar.  We had a marvelous time that night and are looking forward to many more marvelous nights, here, there, everywhere.

The Majesty of the Sea

I love the ocean best when it's cold and the beaches are barren.  I like how my boots sink into the sand and the way the wind rips through my hair, making it a salty, knotty mess.  The crash of the waves seem louder, too, when they don't have to compete with the noise of bathers, as do the eery calls of the gulls hovering above, riding the wind like surfers do the water.  Just as Maria runs to the hills when her heart is lonely, I escape to the ocean.  I want to feel small, know my problems are but a drop of water in the greatness of the sea.

Photos taken near Rye, UK in late October.  The model is my beautiful mother. 

An Autumn Walk

Autumn is almost over.  A few leaves cling to the branches still, but before long they'll reach long and naked toward the sky and the wind will blow with a hallow whistle.  With the wind will come the cold and the winter will be dark and damp and will chill us to the bone.  Or that's what David says, anyway.

As always, I am sad to see the leaves change color and the autumn pass.  I don't know how I will like the English winter, but thoughts of sweaters and hot mint tea warm my mind and make me feel comfortable in spite of the forthcoming cold.  For now, anyway.

Along with the leaves, I saw this, too, on my walk yesterday.  I pass it often when I go into town and it always makes me happy.  The logo- I like it.  A lot.

H by Hudson: A Love Story

Back in college, I foolishly made the mistake of [somehow] mentioning that a new pair of shoes can truly change one's life during an in-class discussion on Madame Bovary.  A little hyperbolic?  Yes.  Off-topic?  Probably.  True?  Absolutely!  Nonetheless, my professor never let me live it down.  "How could anyone believe that shoes could inspire such a great change in someone's life?" he wondered.  Simple: When you're wearing great shoes you feel great, and when you feel great, great things are more likely to happen to you.  It's the truth.  Honest.  

Whilst touring through the ancient seaside town of Rye, I came across a terrific boutique called Bird.  What lured me into Bird was the fact that, upon a previous visit to Rye, a pair of fantastic leather lace-ups had been on display in the window and caught my eye.  Unfortunately, the store was closed at the time seeing as it was late in the evening but the image of those shoes stayed with me.  Thankfully, upon my second visit, Bird was open for business.  The shop is wonderfully curated and sells the loveliest clothes and accessories.  Everything from Jonathan Adler candles to cozy knits made my heart go pitter-patter with joy and then, and then, I laid eyes on these boots and within an instant was deeply and tragically in love.  

The boots are by a London-based company called Hudson.  They're simple, well made, and, after a damp and lengthy walk through London, prove to be incredibly comfortable, too.  Plus, they're totally changing my life.  Promise.