the day you move, I'm probably gonna explode.

I'm in Brighton.

I realized I promised many things in my last post, promises I will not be able to keep. My computer is packed away, the computer cords are packed away in another place, my computer charger is packed in still one other place. So... Pictures will have to appear when I return to the states. Many apologies, darlings.

The last couple days at UEA and MCC and Norwich were lovely. We reminisced, we partied. We danced, we cooked. We took pictures and went out to dinner and out to breakfast. We turned flat one into a dance floor, flat four into a mess hall. I had a final cocktail at the Birdcage, my favorite pub. Joseph and I had a filling meal together at the Bell Hotel. I had planned to see a movie at Cinema City, a wonderful movie theater, but it fell through. We shopped. We had hot chocolate. I watched folks ice skate. I turned in my final assignments.

One final night at the UEA club was spent watching the Vengaboys, bumping cars on the dodge 'ems, getting twisted on the Twister. I had a vodka red bull, which happened to be just as bad idea as I imagined. Almost everyone from MCC went together, and I saw people from my courses and my clubs and we danced, and we shook, and we stomped. We sang along and clapped.

I kind of felt like it was the end of days, like we were dancing and eating and looking and hugging and crying as though this was it, the world was ending, goodbye earth, goodbye moon, goodbye stars. Of course it's a much nicer reality than that - as I was packing things haphazardly into my suitcase, saying goodbye to people and feeling a tightness in my stomach and in my throat, people were coming in to say goodbye, to gasp at my barren walls, to take final pictures... but it never felt final. At first I imagined it was because I didn't want to leave, didn't want to deal with the reality that everything was ending... but to be truthful, it's because I know I will see these people again. Patrick is easy, he's in San Diego. Jack and Joe have a year abroad, both of them near northern California. Alice loves traveling, I'm sure we could backpack someplace together. Hannah promised she'll teach me how she dances. Joseph is a SoCal kid at heart, he just has to come and visit me to realize how much he needs the sand and sun to live. All these lovely folks are not relegated to this period in my life. I am a good letter writer, a good facebook messager, a good email-er.

I am going to keep in touch.

But now I'm in Brighton with Joseph, spending our time walking through the shops but not buying anything, drinking mulled wine, being cooked for by his parents who are incredibly nice to me. It's making me very homesick. I want my parents. I want my home. I want mulled wine in my city... although I think I will have to make it somehow.

Home soon, and I doubt I will post before then. But good news... I'm going to keep this blog.

they made a wreck of you.

Happy December! Joseph and I are going to go buy an advent calendar. Chocolate helps count down days, were you aware of it?


Ready for this? Thanksgiving, England style. Patrick and I managed to have 18-20 people over, which was more than we bargained for. Both apartments contributed chairs from rooms and dining rooms, their dining room tables, and our tiny ovens, to concoct wonderful Thanksgiving staples like sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, cauliflower smothered in cheese, roasted vegetables, fried parsnip, and two giant roast chickens. It was cheaper than Turkey.


It was incredibly heartwarming to be surrounded by so many loving, wonderful people, brought together to stuff themselves silly. Our table was fantastically multi-cultural, with only four people out of the 20 or so ever having experienced a Thanksgiving before. Sam insisted it was much more British because 53 pint cans of Strongbow Hard Cider were consumed. For some reason, Sam measures British-ness in drunkenness. This is not a universal measurement.


My favorite bit was saying what we were thankful for. So many people thanked us for their first thanksgiving, others thanked families that could probably hear them with heartstring connections, (I partook in that. Did you, family, hear it?) I also tthanked everyone for coming together and being like family - Patrick and Joseph like brothers of mine. Alice like a mom. That's about where the family metaphor ends, but the family connection is a lot stronger. We are a fantastic group.

Oh yes. My contribution was coconut tea cake, which was like pound cake. I don't understand why, in these autumn/winter months, you can buy coconuts in every single market, but pumpkin is completely scarce. Still though. It was delicious. I took this picture in the middle of dessert, remembering I didn't take a picture before this.


I called the family on Thanksgiving. It was a lovely conversation, and bittersweetly, it was the last time that I talked to Bill Foster. Bill Foster passed away on Sunday, and he will be missed. Losing family is one of the most surreal and terribly sad things that can happen when you are away - or at any time, really. He was a wonderful man and my best wishes and thoughts are with Aunt Annette and my cousins. My thoughts are always with my family at any given time, but even more so now.

Sortie.

As we drove down a french freeway in Yanne's convertible, Ariane turned and said, "See? That was kind of like time travel."

She referred to our afternoon in the gardens of Versailles. String music played out of hidden speakers, allowing someone with a royally inclined imagination to pretend their was a string quartet following him around, continually playing his favorite song (the music was on repeat). I even drank my Orangina like a king - through a straw. Only peasants drink straight from the can. Right as we were about to leave, the fountains turned on, forcing me to make a royal decree: all fountains should have water out of jets, not statue's mouths. Water jets out of a statue's mouth is not pleasant.

Then another Orangina, again like a king, near a modern art museum with Caroline (who should be reading this now. Hi Caroline!)

Ariane and I traversed the streets of Paris one last time before dinner with Paul, Jean, Ariane, and Yanne. I had scallops, then créme bruleé. And everyone sipped nice wine and either talked in english about Paris, music, the weather in England, and literature, or in french about war and... banking? Resolution, and I know that I have probably typed this before: I will return to Paris, french vastly improved.

And now I am repacked and showered, with an address for the english cab driver and pounds in my pocket instead of euros. London Orientation awaits.