Yesterday, February 15, I did indeed break my something green every day resolution. It just completely slipped my mind. Because I had soup for lunch instead of a salad, I went home fully intending to eat a veggie burger and spinach, but, for some reason, the need for comfort food and self-indulgence took over. So instead I ate leftover paella (cooked from scratch by a rather lovely friend) with leftover aioli and gorgeous red cabbage braised in stock (another friend**). Oops. I really did just forget. It was only today that I remembered that I hadn't eaten anything green at all. Gah. So it's double duty today - salad for lunch, spinach for supper. Still, usually the problem with nothing green is that I eat nothing healthy at all. Whereas yesterday I had vegetable soup for lunch and a LOT of cabbage. So that's something.
In other news, I'm over halfway through the month of living abstemiously. This is the first year that I'm attempting no days off whatsoever. Of course, this is inconveniently the first leap year that's happened while I do the abstinence thing, so it's extra torturous. Except, of course, it's not that bad at all. I had to nix the idea of wine tasting in RI this weekend, but otherwise it's not really affecting my life too much. It's boring, but that's ok. Early nights and lots of reading works for me and, in particular, my bank balance
* This is the title of a Tiffany song. No, really. No judgment, kids - it was 1987 and we all loved her. I remember my Dad being HIGHLY unimpressed when I bought the album (tape cassette, obviously) in Our Price in Lewisham Shopping Centre. I am unwilling, even now, to concede he was right about how rubbish it was, despite clear evidence to the contrary.
** Saturday was the best dinner party ever, in that we had friends over and they provided all the food and drinks. All we had to do was a dip and provide the space, plus the washing up. I like dinner parties like that.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Thursday, February 09, 2012
Far from (the) Heaven(s)
On Sunday I flew back after a jaunt to the UK. Jaunt is appropriate, as it really was an extraordinary use of money and natural resources, that I don't want to examine too closely, but was a glorious luxury to visit home for a weekend, be part of a spectacular birthday surprise for my stepmother, as well as spending some much needed time with my mum. It was grand.
The flight back was pretty stellar as far as flying goes - I'm afraid I've become rather jaded about the joys of flying. While at a wedding recently I was talking with some mums who had come away for what was the first time without their young kids, and they had been extremely excited about the prospect of eight hours on their own, to just watch tv, movies, read and, frankly, just be on their own, as them, without being a parent. Sometimes I understand that freedom to be away, but it's not been like that of late. There's always some work I could/should be doing; or sleep to be had; or a terrible selection of in-flight entertainment.
Sunday was great, however: I read The Knife of Never Letting Go in one fell swoop, devouring it and genuinely gasping at the end, wanting to scream in frustration that I didn't have the next book with me to plough through. I then watched Super 8 (The Goonies, basically, but that's not an insult, and I was genuinely dazzled by Elle Fanning, I thought she was great) and Drive (underwhelmed, but I do think a plane is not the best place to watch something that clearly was meant to be optimally seen and heard in a cinema). Nonetheless, it's a rare flight where there are two movies I want to see that I've not promised to watch with TOH, so that in and of itself was a joy.
The best part, however, was that midway through Drive, something caught my eye out of the window. We probably were coming just over Canada, somewhere, and settlements along the seaboard suddenly appeared through the clouds. I love seeing those at the best of times, but the busy, orange lights starkly contrasted with the vast blackness of the sky, which was illuminated by a gloriously bright moon and Winter Triangle. The Winter Triangle consists of Betelgeuse, the big red star in Orion's shoulder, Sirius (the Dogstar, part of Canis Major, and the brightest star as seen from Earth), and Procyon, in Canis Minor. Orion really is something special to me - the first constellation I learned to recognise, and a symbol of long, winter nights with clear skies and visible puffs of breath in the cold. It particular reminds me of one New Year's Eve (I think) that we spent on my uncle's barge in the middle of nowhere, with miles and miles of sky above us, clear and beautiful. Terrifying in its vastness and emptiness, but beautiful and comforting, too. There is a Summer Triangle, but it just doesn't have quite the same magic, for some reason. Being 30,000ft up made the Winter Triangle seem much closer, as if we were sharing the same space, equally separated and distant from the Earth's surface. It was disorienting but glorious, and all too fleeting. The clouds covered the settlements and we moved on, touching down all too soon.
The flight back was pretty stellar as far as flying goes - I'm afraid I've become rather jaded about the joys of flying. While at a wedding recently I was talking with some mums who had come away for what was the first time without their young kids, and they had been extremely excited about the prospect of eight hours on their own, to just watch tv, movies, read and, frankly, just be on their own, as them, without being a parent. Sometimes I understand that freedom to be away, but it's not been like that of late. There's always some work I could/should be doing; or sleep to be had; or a terrible selection of in-flight entertainment.
Sunday was great, however: I read The Knife of Never Letting Go in one fell swoop, devouring it and genuinely gasping at the end, wanting to scream in frustration that I didn't have the next book with me to plough through. I then watched Super 8 (The Goonies, basically, but that's not an insult, and I was genuinely dazzled by Elle Fanning, I thought she was great) and Drive (underwhelmed, but I do think a plane is not the best place to watch something that clearly was meant to be optimally seen and heard in a cinema). Nonetheless, it's a rare flight where there are two movies I want to see that I've not promised to watch with TOH, so that in and of itself was a joy.
The best part, however, was that midway through Drive, something caught my eye out of the window. We probably were coming just over Canada, somewhere, and settlements along the seaboard suddenly appeared through the clouds. I love seeing those at the best of times, but the busy, orange lights starkly contrasted with the vast blackness of the sky, which was illuminated by a gloriously bright moon and Winter Triangle. The Winter Triangle consists of Betelgeuse, the big red star in Orion's shoulder, Sirius (the Dogstar, part of Canis Major, and the brightest star as seen from Earth), and Procyon, in Canis Minor. Orion really is something special to me - the first constellation I learned to recognise, and a symbol of long, winter nights with clear skies and visible puffs of breath in the cold. It particular reminds me of one New Year's Eve (I think) that we spent on my uncle's barge in the middle of nowhere, with miles and miles of sky above us, clear and beautiful. Terrifying in its vastness and emptiness, but beautiful and comforting, too. There is a Summer Triangle, but it just doesn't have quite the same magic, for some reason. Being 30,000ft up made the Winter Triangle seem much closer, as if we were sharing the same space, equally separated and distant from the Earth's surface. It was disorienting but glorious, and all too fleeting. The clouds covered the settlements and we moved on, touching down all too soon.
Saturday, February 04, 2012
Testing, Testing
I've probably remarked on it before, but the main tests of abstinence are not the big nights out; it's relatively easy to avoid going out for drinks if you're not drinking (surprise!). What are difficult are those nights after a long, cold, wet day when you could really do with a glass of red wine; or, like today, when I wandered around a cold, snowy London, and saw people huddled in gorgeous old pubs, and I experienced a serious yen for a whiskey mac, with its spice and warmth.*
But the biggest test in all four days was likely to be the biggest test of all this whole month: getting on a plane last night. TOH and I are now, for our sins and for a horrible carbon footprint, experienced overnight flyers, and one has to have a set routine to maximise sleep. One has to take it seriously and treat it like a military operation. The steps are simple:
Except, of course, last night I didn't have any wine. I'm afraid I cheated somewhat, in that I took cold medicine that I specifically chose for its ability to cause drowsiness. And it worked. And, bonus, my sinuses feel not too bad today. But I really was worried that I would have to crack last night. Luckily, it worked and I got about 4.5 hours. Not perfect, but probably more than most people in economy.
God, this post is dull. I blame the tiredness and not drinking. Off to catch some more sleep.
* Whiskey and ginger wine, for those who don't know - an absolutely glorious winter warmer that was apparently, strangely enough, invented in the Raj - at least, it was if you believe wiki.
But the biggest test in all four days was likely to be the biggest test of all this whole month: getting on a plane last night. TOH and I are now, for our sins and for a horrible carbon footprint, experienced overnight flyers, and one has to have a set routine to maximise sleep. One has to take it seriously and treat it like a military operation. The steps are simple:
- Make sure carry on luggage contains a sleep mask, a neck pillow, noise-reducing headphones and a pre-arranged sleep inducing playlist.
- Arrive at airport fairly early, early enough for a big, carbo-loaded dinner, such as burger and fries. Nothing light or energising - something heavy and greasy that will send me to sleep fairly promptly. Add a giant glass of red wine.
- Once on plane put on that eye mask and use the neck pillow and just fall asleep. Seriously, I'm normally asleep by the end of take off.
- Don't panic when waking up shortly thereafter. I usually wake up about 45-60 minutes into the flight. Don't be tempted by the food/movies available, as this is often the time the entertainment system kicks in. Make self comfy, get the blanket out, put on playlist/noise reducing headphones, go back to sleep.
Except, of course, last night I didn't have any wine. I'm afraid I cheated somewhat, in that I took cold medicine that I specifically chose for its ability to cause drowsiness. And it worked. And, bonus, my sinuses feel not too bad today. But I really was worried that I would have to crack last night. Luckily, it worked and I got about 4.5 hours. Not perfect, but probably more than most people in economy.
God, this post is dull. I blame the tiredness and not drinking. Off to catch some more sleep.
* Whiskey and ginger wine, for those who don't know - an absolutely glorious winter warmer that was apparently, strangely enough, invented in the Raj - at least, it was if you believe wiki.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
The Month of Living Abstemiously: The 2012 Edition
No drinking in February tends to come at a most opportune moment. Today it feels most welcome, having spent a weekend overindulging at friends' nuptials in the Caribbean. That was terribly indulgent, and Sunday my body utterly rebelled at the thought of more booze for supper; this, of course, came in response to drinking rum most of the early evening while on a catamaran. Ahem. So I'm very much looking forward to it, along with trying to keep up with some healthier living i.e. exercise. I've not done much of that at all.
I've also failed utterly at two of my four resolutions - walking home and a movie. But:
I've also failed utterly at two of my four resolutions - walking home and a movie. But:
- Tonight I am going to see a friend for dinner and I'm going to walk the three miles between work and the restaurant to meet her, so that's a start.
- I watched two movies on the plane to and from the nuptials - Moneyball, which made me really want to read the book (and delight in the badarsedness that is Brad Pitt), and Crazy Stupid Love, which I liked a lot more than I was expecting - although given that that was about zero, it's not saying much. Julianne Moore is just lovely, but it really would have been nice to have seen the movie flesh out why she wanted a divorce, but that wouldn't have fit with the narrative. Instead we got a lot of Steve Carrell (who I'm still on the fence about) and Ryan Gosling, who is nothing but a pleasure to watch, for many reasons.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Reading the Detectives
I am a big fan of the detective fiction genre. I could always tell when I was stressed as a youth, because I'd wander to the library and head back with armfuls of Agatha Christie and various other detective writers. I love a great many and, recently, in Claire De Witt and the City of the Dead have read one of my favourite new voices in years; I am genuinely excited about the prospect of future books in this series. I'm also about to read another new voice (well, new to me) in Jussi Adler-Olsen. Am hopeful this is not yet another male detective with a drinking problem, a cool record collection and problems with his spouse/ladies yet absolutely irresistible to the ladies. Not that I didn't love the early Rebus/Wallander, but there is something a little tiring about those, which is why Claire De Witt struck me as a nice alternative (although **SPOILER ALERT** there are substance abuse issues. sigh). I also very much enjoyed the Tana French novels for their effed up but at least different narrators.
Anyway, I digress. The spur for this post is the death of my all time favourite detective fiction writer, Reginald Hill. His books I have loved more than any others. They span an extraordinary number of books, subjects, ingenious plots - animal rights activism, flooded villages, Passchendaele, rugby clubs, amateur dramatics, South American guerrillas.
They also feature functional human beings. One of the best things about the Dalziel & Pascoe books is the marriage between Ellie and Peter; the reader follows them falling in love and growing into a marriage that has its issues but, basically works. It has the normal stresses and strains (in a way that portraits of idealized "happy marriages" often don't work - yes, Ian McEwan, I'm looking at you, and am not the only one, apparently - because they're portrayed as "perfect" rather than happy - a different thing).
The relationship between Dalziel and Pascoe is funny, affectionate, tense; everything a yin and yang, two-member team should be. Pascoe underestimates Dalziel's ability to read people, situations, his intelligence; Dalziel underestimates Pascoe's grit and determination. It works beautifully. I'm tempted to re-read them - I had them all in one place, in sequential order, before we moved to the US. Maybe it's now time to regather them and start again. Once I've got rid of the mountain of library books and Christmas books that are piled around the house.
Anyway, I digress. The spur for this post is the death of my all time favourite detective fiction writer, Reginald Hill. His books I have loved more than any others. They span an extraordinary number of books, subjects, ingenious plots - animal rights activism, flooded villages, Passchendaele, rugby clubs, amateur dramatics, South American guerrillas.
They also feature functional human beings. One of the best things about the Dalziel & Pascoe books is the marriage between Ellie and Peter; the reader follows them falling in love and growing into a marriage that has its issues but, basically works. It has the normal stresses and strains (in a way that portraits of idealized "happy marriages" often don't work - yes, Ian McEwan, I'm looking at you, and am not the only one, apparently - because they're portrayed as "perfect" rather than happy - a different thing).
The relationship between Dalziel and Pascoe is funny, affectionate, tense; everything a yin and yang, two-member team should be. Pascoe underestimates Dalziel's ability to read people, situations, his intelligence; Dalziel underestimates Pascoe's grit and determination. It works beautifully. I'm tempted to re-read them - I had them all in one place, in sequential order, before we moved to the US. Maybe it's now time to regather them and start again. Once I've got rid of the mountain of library books and Christmas books that are piled around the house.
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