This week one of my best friends had a baby and another close friend announced his wife was pregnant.
And I feel very far away.
(probably because I am very far away)
It comes at a time when life is beginning to take shape here. Jobs are being offered, driving tests passed (hopefully!) and houses bought (eventually). I have new friends, new kitchen equipment and if all goes to plan I might even have a new kitten (post house-buying / moving / jeremy-persuading etc etc, but I can dream).
Things are going well, they are going to plan. Lists have been ticked to the point that new lists have to be written, with things like 'buy new mattress' on them, rather than 'make friends'. But it doesn't help that some days I don't want my life to take shape here, I want it to take shape there. Some days the thought that I do not know when I'll get to meet my godson, that he'll probably have doubled or quadrupled (how quickly do babies grow?!) in size and weight by the time I get to hold him, kills me. Some days I want a hug from my mum so much that there is physical pain in my chest. I'll be walking down the street and the need for 'home' and old friends and family is so acute I start to cry.
Some days.
Those days have basically been this week. Possibly because of the life-shape-taking events. Because those events root me here - they dictate how much vacation I have to go home and see friends and family, and how much money I have to do it with. They tell me what my life is going to be like here, what my label will be and what people I will meet. They tell me that life here is going to be real and normal and I am going to be far-away from my other life for a long time.
Of course this is a fairly negative way of looking at things.
I think at this point I should probably give credit to Jeremy, who has had to deal with a wife this week who, rather than getting excited and happy about exciting and happy life-building news, has got anxious and low and positively pessimistic. Not because I'm not excited and happy about those things - but because my best friend just had a baby and I can't go to visit her and, well, it's all a bit overwhelming. Jeremy, thank you for not bopping me over the head with a frying pan - I'm sure the temptation is sometimes very strong.
Maybe that's what love is - resisting the urge to bop someone with a frying pan when they most truly deserve it and instead giving them a hug and telling them it's going to be ok. Because of course it is going to be OK - I just have to live with the reality of what being 3000 miles from 'home' means. And I need Henny to get on Skype so I can make cooey noises at my Godson.
The good life...
I haven't been writing a whole lot of late because the only interesting things that are happening are job interviews and, well, it seems unwise to start blogging about them.
So instead I am going to tell you that my kitchen smells of vinegar.
The reason it smells of vinegar is because Jeremy decided a few weeks ago that he would like to make some vinegar and, in true Jeremy fashion, he set about doing so with enthusiasm, determination, and little thought to what inconveniences might ensue. Consequently, there are now 3 or 4 tubs of wine / fruit juice / mushed up peaches slowly but surely doing their vinegarising thing in our kitchen cupboards.
(Is anyone else disturbed that the jelly-like creature that lurks in vinegar is called a 'mother'?)
Their vinegarising thing is having two notable effects:
1. It smells of vinegar. Well of course, I hear you say.... but it smells of vinegar even with the lid on and the cupboard door shut. Did your lovely store-bought balsamic ever do that to you?
2. It's attracting fruit flies. It seems they don't care if the 'fruit' is slowly fermenting and acidising and whatever else happens to make vinegar vinegar. Fruit is fruit to these flies and they can sniff it out a mile off. As a result, these tiny floaty bugs are busy floating all over my house and they also do not know the difference between vinegar and end-of-the-day-glass-of-wine, so all attempts to drink in peace are thwarted by the little buzzy buggers.There are also a suspicious number of black fly-like dots floating around in the vinegar. Jeremy seems unperturbed and just fishes them out from time to time.
I shouldn't be surprised. This is Jeremy - the boy who gets more excited about buying a pressure canner than most 'normal' men would get about their ball bouncing / kicking / throwing / batting team winning the world whatever.
We don't boil pasta in this family. We mix it, roll it, stretch it, slice it and then we get to boil it. Yoghurt is not bought from the store (or the shop), it's cooked overnight on a very low-heat oven, inevitably using up the last of my all essential coffee-in-the-morning milk. Beer is brewed, bread is baked and left-overs are not thrown away, they are fed to the worms which then fertilize the tomatoes which, if there are any left over, will be canned for the winter.
Don't get me wrong. I love this about him - even if at times I do foresee my own end as being brought on by an avalanche of kitchen equipment.
I could, however, do without the fly vinegar.
So instead I am going to tell you that my kitchen smells of vinegar.
The reason it smells of vinegar is because Jeremy decided a few weeks ago that he would like to make some vinegar and, in true Jeremy fashion, he set about doing so with enthusiasm, determination, and little thought to what inconveniences might ensue. Consequently, there are now 3 or 4 tubs of wine / fruit juice / mushed up peaches slowly but surely doing their vinegarising thing in our kitchen cupboards.
(Is anyone else disturbed that the jelly-like creature that lurks in vinegar is called a 'mother'?)
Their vinegarising thing is having two notable effects:
1. It smells of vinegar. Well of course, I hear you say.... but it smells of vinegar even with the lid on and the cupboard door shut. Did your lovely store-bought balsamic ever do that to you?
2. It's attracting fruit flies. It seems they don't care if the 'fruit' is slowly fermenting and acidising and whatever else happens to make vinegar vinegar. Fruit is fruit to these flies and they can sniff it out a mile off. As a result, these tiny floaty bugs are busy floating all over my house and they also do not know the difference between vinegar and end-of-the-day-glass-of-wine, so all attempts to drink in peace are thwarted by the little buzzy buggers.There are also a suspicious number of black fly-like dots floating around in the vinegar. Jeremy seems unperturbed and just fishes them out from time to time.
I shouldn't be surprised. This is Jeremy - the boy who gets more excited about buying a pressure canner than most 'normal' men would get about their ball bouncing / kicking / throwing / batting team winning the world whatever.
We don't boil pasta in this family. We mix it, roll it, stretch it, slice it and then we get to boil it. Yoghurt is not bought from the store (or the shop), it's cooked overnight on a very low-heat oven, inevitably using up the last of my all essential coffee-in-the-morning milk. Beer is brewed, bread is baked and left-overs are not thrown away, they are fed to the worms which then fertilize the tomatoes which, if there are any left over, will be canned for the winter.
Don't get me wrong. I love this about him - even if at times I do foresee my own end as being brought on by an avalanche of kitchen equipment.
I could, however, do without the fly vinegar.
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