I've just got back from a short break to London with my mum, which has been beneficial for many reasons: I got to catch up with my mum, whom I hadn't seen in person since Christmas, it was a complete change and break away from my normal routine, I was able to really catch up on some sleep, and I also got to see one of my best friends who came down to meet me for the afternoon from her university in Wales. I stayed in a four-star hotel in the area of London known as 'Kensington', whose name I refuse to give a nasal 'ng' sound when I pronounce it. Even though I've been corrected many times.
Part of our schedule included a shopping and Starbucks-trip to Oxford street, a delicious hotel fish-and-chips meal, two English-style cooked breakfasts, a trip to the Natural History Museum and lots of blethering!
One of the revelations I had during my break-away was something that every Christian brought-up-as-a-Christian has been taught since they were knee-high. Namely, that you shouldn't worry. Especially not about the future, since, as the cliché reminds us, "God is already there". I realised that, like I had heard in a sermon at church the Sunday before, that for many weeks I'd been living too far ahead of myself. What do I mean by this? Basically, I'd always been planning for the next deadline or event, trying to keep up with demands which were mostly self-imposed, and not being able to fully enjoy the moment.
I decided that I needed to focus on each day at a time, and only what I had to do in the next 12 hours. I needed to free myself up a little more and give myself time and room to relax and enjoy life. After all, being a student means two things. Work, of course, but also time to develop and enjoy hobbies and interests, time to meet and get to know friends better, even time to travel a little. Now I'm not saying I'm a workaholic or not able to enjoy myself. That's definetely not true, but I think that sometimes I can tend to bite off a little more than I can chew. I needed to remind myself again that all the 'have to dos' and 'must dos' can really only be done in God's grace, and he only gives us grace for each moment- not for something that's going to happen in 6 weeks time, or even next week or tomorrow. So actually there's no point in wasting any anxious thought over tomorrow. Of course it's good to plan ahead, but the NOW is far more important than the THEN. In the NOW we have the friends which belong to our present, the enjoyments of the present, and the God of the present, and we need to slow down and enjoy these. The present is indeed a gift, which so often goes to waste.
Since our future's safe in God's hands, why shouldn't we enjoy the present? I've decided I'm going to enjoy it. Fighting anxiety is something many people have to do, but I think it's definetely worth it.
Saturday, 5 March 2011
Friday, 25 February 2011
A Scottish Christmas
So I thought I’d take advantage of my exceedingly-precious, three-week Christmas holiday and do a bit more blogging. What a better way to begin again than by writing about my time back in Scotland. This is my first time home since last Christmas, so I suspect I will almost feel a bit like a tourist for a few days. I’m very excited to see my family and friends, some of which I haven’t seen for a year, and to spend a relaxing few days resting and enjoying myself. I just need to remember that ‘aye’ means ‘yes’, that one doesn’t need to put quite so much milk in one’s coffee to make it palatable, and that cars drive on the left-hand side of the road, so when I cross the road I’ll have to look right-left-right instead of left-right-left! (Or is it right-left-right in Britain? Hmmmm, I’m confused already!)
23rd December 2010
I’m currently sitting on the Eurostar, going through the ‘Chunnel’, or Channel Tunnel, on my way to London. Due to the heavy snowfall of the last few days, especially in Belgium, but also in Lille, the Eurostar service has been running rather spasmodically and unreliably. Many people have found getting back to Britain a bit of a task. However, with only (!) a 2 hour delay, I’m safely aboard and on my way home. I’ll miss my original connection at London Euston, but that’s OK because the Virgin Train service has announced that for today and tomorrow, passengers with non-refundable tickets (this includes me) can actually travel on any Virgin train at any time. This is good news. So I’m convinced I’ll actually be home tonight. A nice old lady at Gare Lille Europe told me that if the train is 2 hours late, passengers are usually entitled to a free ticket. As to whether this situation counts or not, I’m not quite sure. Should the Eurostar Service be held accountable for the snow? On the other hand, should passengers be forced to wait more than 2 hours? There is a fine line here; has Eurostar crossed it or not? Hmmm, this is the question.
In some ways it’s hard to believe I’m actually headed back to Scotland. Sitting here somewhere between France and England, I’m reminded of the fact that Scotland isn’t exactly on France’s doorstep. I think it’s amazing that I can feel so at home in a land which is so far away from the land of my origins. But I do. I suppose that’s because ‘home is where the heart is’, and my heart is with those who I love in whichever place that may be; whether it’s France or Scotland. However, there are certainly things about Scotland which I’ve missed. Starbucks, Primark, and Mum-cooked dinners, for example.
Glasgow, j’arrive!
I missed my initial connection at London Euston as foretold, but was able to get the train an hour later. While the train was being prepared, I treated my hungry stomach to some sandwiches and a coffee from Costa. I was overwhelmed by the sheer wonderfulness of my coffee. I ordered one of my preferences- a chai tea latte with soy milk. I chose the medium size, but the medium is already double or even triple the size of the biggest-sized coffee in France. It was hot, milky and spicy and I felt like I was drinking Christmas itself. I have missed a good British coffee.
Since my ticket was for the previous train, I no longer held a reserved seat, so when I first got on I had to sit by a door. I wasn’t looking forward to spending 5 hours like that, but I thought, well, at least I’m getting home! However, a member of staff found me and another girl who sat by the other door, and told us there were spare seats in the next carriage we could have. I was very grateful. I even got to take advantage of some of the (although less-than-perfect) free internet connection. I passed my time a little online, sleeping, reading a magazine I found on the seat next to me, and trying to work out in which part of Britain we were.
Once we were in Scotland two men got on and sat diagonally opposite me. They had distinct broad Glaswegian voices with- shall we say- much colourful language. I thought to myself, yes, I am back in Scotland indeed.
It was so lovely to see my mum and sister when I got off of the train at Glasgow Central. We took the train back to Port Glasgow where Mum bought me a Chinese for my dinner. We took it home and I was reunited with the house, which I was disturbingly disorientated in for a little while. I tried to throw a dirty tissue in a wall-paper paste can and couldn’t find cups. I also made acquaintance with the newest addition to the family- my sister’s hamster, Fudge- and was reacquainted with our elderly dog, Penny. At first she didn’t recognize me and growled and cowered away, but gradually she’s getting used to me again.
Then it was upstairs to bed, lovingly pre-made by my mother and covered with the pretty covers I had gotten for my 18th birthday. This was after being reunited with certain pieces of jewellery and clothing which I’d sadly left behind in life.
Christmas Eve, 2010
I woke up this morning in my room in Scotland. It was a peculiar feeling. It was my room, but at the same it wasn’t any more.
In the morning, my sister and I went for a walk to the massive Tesco Extra which is only a five minute walk away from our house by the sea in Port Glasgow. As I walked along the promenade and was able to look over the clear, sapphire-blue water to the snow-topped mountains, I was reminded of Scotland’s beauty. I took plenty of photographs.
Walking into Tesco was also a peculiar experience. It was a massive store filled with every item you could ever wish to buy, for almost half the price of some things you find in France. There were happily-familiar items and the items which I’d even forgotten existed. I was struck with the apparent more luxurious lifestyle of the British. Almost all houses- even in the notorious and less-than-well-off Port Glasgow- are equipped with dishwashers and have double or even triple-glazed windows.
People were bustling about Tesco in a desperate rush to buy last-minute food items and presents for the next day, because it’s clear that Christmas- or at least the trappings of Christmas- are observed more in Britain than in France. And what was even more striking was the constant stream of broad Port-glaswegian. This is stronger and even less comprehendible than Glaswegian. It isn’t a very pretty dialect, I don’t think.
Melissa and I bought the ingredients necessary to make chocolate-fridge cake; a recipe which I’ve invented and wanted to teach my sister how to make, and also to take some to the cottage which we’re spending Christmas in. Mum had bought the vegetables to take for Christmas dinner and some dessert, and my mum’s best friend and my non-official Aunty Darlene and dear friend Becky (her daughter) would be providing all the meat and other trappings, but I felt I wanted to contribute something. We took all the ingredients back home and knocked some chocolate-fridge cake together, then went about packing for going away.
We’re spending Christmas in a lovely cottage in the North-central town of Pitlocherie. My non-official Aunty Darlene works for the Church of Scotland and this cottage- which is connected with a church and the manse- is provided as a holiday cottage for their workers. She and Becky went up last Wednesday, managing to get there despite the snow, and have been there since. It’s a lovely cottage, hidden away from most civilization, except from the beautiful church building and manse.
Pitlocherie is a town, but the cottage is set apart from it. It’s surrounded by woodland and fields, with highland cows and pigs in a field nearby, beautiful snowy-hills in the distance, with cold, clear tap-water coming from a well, and the smell and feel of the countryside. When you look out of the window, you feel like you’re looking out over a scene from Narnia, with the fir trees all covered in a fine dusting of snow like icing-sugar.
It took us a little over 2 hours to get there. When we arrived, I was very excited because I was looking forward to seeing Darlene and Becky for the first time in a year. It didn’t take long before I felt like it had been no time at all. To me they didn’t seem to have changed much at all, and we started back where we had left off. They feel, however, that I’ve changed quite a lot in a positive way. There was much hugging at our reunion.
Becky had made some pasta which we received gratefully, then Darlene, Becky and I headed out for the Carol Service at the church. I was so happy to be able to go to a carol service on Christmas Eve. The church is very tiny but sweet, and quite a handful of people turned up for the service, even though it lies in such a secluded area. Becky and I were asked to help light some candles. There was much caroling and passage-reading, and the peace of the Prince of Peace touched my heart again, amidst this busy, yet wonderful season. After the service we retired to the cottage, only to discover that there had been a power cut!
However, an electrician was called in, and since the power cut had affected our neighbours who have a baby, he was quick to come and fix the problem. We were happy to have it sorted for cooking the next day, but going about in candlelight for a short time had actually been rather lovely- heightening the Christmassy-feel of the evening.
Christmas Day, 2010
I woke up on Christmas Day with Aunty Darlene pulling open the curtain in front of my bed to expose the beautiful white wonderland which was outside. I got ready and then joined Mum and Becky for some breakfast. Once everybody was up, we gathered in the sitting-room to open Christmas presents. I had wrapped my presents the night before and added them to the massive collection which were piled under the little Christmas tree. As an aside, the Church of Scotland kindly donated the little Christmas tree to Aunty Darlene because there wasn’t one in the cottage. We wrapped some red ribbon around it and I put some golden chocolate coins amongst the branches and it actually looks quite attractive now.
Anyway, every one of us was completely overwhelmed by the quantity and quality of the gifts we received. I got some beautiful tops and a lovely dress, a handbag, a couple of perfumes, some jewellery, some cuddly toys, some craft stuff; everything a girl could ever ask for, actually! The gift opening lasted for quite some time. After we were tidied up and ready for action, we headed into the kitchen, two or three at a time, to prepare a laid-back Christmas dinner.
Christmas-dinner convenience is the way forward I reckon. Darlene cooked the turkey in a roasting bag; a trick which my mum has discovered in recent years. As a result, the turkey turned out to be the most delicious tasting turkey we’d ever eaten. There was also ham and plenty of vegetables. I dealt with the parsnips and roast potatoes, while Mum dealt with the sprouts and carrots, Becky with the ham and helpful cooking suggestions. Becky is a naturally-born cook. I sometimes tend to lack a measure of common sense in the kitchen, but what I lack in this respect, I make up for in creativity. No-one even suspected that I had never tried frying parsnips in honey before. Little did they know…
We had a delicious mid-afternoon dinner. We had plenty and there was plenty to spare. Everything tasted surprisingly good considering the lack of stress that had gone into preparing it! We were so full up afterwards that dessert was out of the question for a few hours anyway. Oh, and we drunk a lot of Shloer; a treat that tends to only happen once year.
In the evening we watched two ‘Santa Claus’ movies, had lots of teas and coffees, and finally ate dessert. Becky, Darlene and I also spent a lot of time in conversation. Needless to say we didn’t go to bed very early, but when I finally did, I must have gone out like a light. It had been a long yet lovely day, doing lots of nothing-much.
Boxing Day, 2010
On Boxing Day, like the previous morning, we got up quite slowly. As tends to happen with Darlene, she had already established a friendship with the cottage’s caretaker, a lovely woman in her sixties, who came to join us for breakfast. So when I finally appeared for breakfast, I joined her and my mum at the table, while Becky, bless her cotton socks, prepared us a cooked breakfast.
It turns out that this lady is bilingual in French and English and spent some years in France, in a very similar way to me. She went out as an assistant for one year and tried to renew but it didn’t work. So she went out some years later to work with Eurostar. She was actually there at the time of the ‘Chunnel’s’ construction.
Like me, this lady got involved with an English speaking church while she was in France. She loves translation and worked as a translator, too. She was very keen to hear about my life in France, about my flat and the food and the friends I’d made. I enjoyed sharing with her.
After a cooked breakfast, the lady decided to leave but gave us some directions in how to get to some nice grounds for walking on. Almost immediately, all five of us plus dog piled into my mum’s Yaris and we headed towards the Duke of Apple’s land in Blair Atholl.
Blair Atholl Castle is impressive although not overwhelmingly big. Like the lady had promised, the grounds around were extensive and beautiful. We walked along a woodland path, with the hore frost making it look as though we were in some kind of enchanted forest, and then along the edge of the walled-in castle gardens. There was a peculiar statue of Hercules and a lion, as well as many pretty little bridges. There was hardly anyone about at the castle, except from a family whose children were playing on a sledge. The grounds were perfect for sledging. I envied them there sledge on a day like it was.
When we got back home, I used a little of the German chocolate which I had bought in Aachen to give to people as presents to make some hot chocolate. We watched another movie and relaxed beside the crackling coal-fire, which Becky has become an expert in lighting and dealing with. On Christmas morning I’d tried putting some Christmas paper balls into the fire but the result had been somewhat disastrous, so from that point on I was banned from any dealings with it.
For dinner, Melissa and I helped Mum make her traditional Boxing-Dinner; Cranberry Turkey. It’s one of my favourite meals and it uses up left-over turkey as well as left-over cranberry sauce. The caretaker lady joined us again for dinner, then we retreated into the sitting-room to chat. I decided to take an early-bed since I’d been lulled into a sleepy stupor by the heat and the food.
23rd December 2010
I’m currently sitting on the Eurostar, going through the ‘Chunnel’, or Channel Tunnel, on my way to London. Due to the heavy snowfall of the last few days, especially in Belgium, but also in Lille, the Eurostar service has been running rather spasmodically and unreliably. Many people have found getting back to Britain a bit of a task. However, with only (!) a 2 hour delay, I’m safely aboard and on my way home. I’ll miss my original connection at London Euston, but that’s OK because the Virgin Train service has announced that for today and tomorrow, passengers with non-refundable tickets (this includes me) can actually travel on any Virgin train at any time. This is good news. So I’m convinced I’ll actually be home tonight. A nice old lady at Gare Lille Europe told me that if the train is 2 hours late, passengers are usually entitled to a free ticket. As to whether this situation counts or not, I’m not quite sure. Should the Eurostar Service be held accountable for the snow? On the other hand, should passengers be forced to wait more than 2 hours? There is a fine line here; has Eurostar crossed it or not? Hmmm, this is the question.
In some ways it’s hard to believe I’m actually headed back to Scotland. Sitting here somewhere between France and England, I’m reminded of the fact that Scotland isn’t exactly on France’s doorstep. I think it’s amazing that I can feel so at home in a land which is so far away from the land of my origins. But I do. I suppose that’s because ‘home is where the heart is’, and my heart is with those who I love in whichever place that may be; whether it’s France or Scotland. However, there are certainly things about Scotland which I’ve missed. Starbucks, Primark, and Mum-cooked dinners, for example.
Glasgow, j’arrive!
I missed my initial connection at London Euston as foretold, but was able to get the train an hour later. While the train was being prepared, I treated my hungry stomach to some sandwiches and a coffee from Costa. I was overwhelmed by the sheer wonderfulness of my coffee. I ordered one of my preferences- a chai tea latte with soy milk. I chose the medium size, but the medium is already double or even triple the size of the biggest-sized coffee in France. It was hot, milky and spicy and I felt like I was drinking Christmas itself. I have missed a good British coffee.
Since my ticket was for the previous train, I no longer held a reserved seat, so when I first got on I had to sit by a door. I wasn’t looking forward to spending 5 hours like that, but I thought, well, at least I’m getting home! However, a member of staff found me and another girl who sat by the other door, and told us there were spare seats in the next carriage we could have. I was very grateful. I even got to take advantage of some of the (although less-than-perfect) free internet connection. I passed my time a little online, sleeping, reading a magazine I found on the seat next to me, and trying to work out in which part of Britain we were.
Once we were in Scotland two men got on and sat diagonally opposite me. They had distinct broad Glaswegian voices with- shall we say- much colourful language. I thought to myself, yes, I am back in Scotland indeed.
It was so lovely to see my mum and sister when I got off of the train at Glasgow Central. We took the train back to Port Glasgow where Mum bought me a Chinese for my dinner. We took it home and I was reunited with the house, which I was disturbingly disorientated in for a little while. I tried to throw a dirty tissue in a wall-paper paste can and couldn’t find cups. I also made acquaintance with the newest addition to the family- my sister’s hamster, Fudge- and was reacquainted with our elderly dog, Penny. At first she didn’t recognize me and growled and cowered away, but gradually she’s getting used to me again.
Then it was upstairs to bed, lovingly pre-made by my mother and covered with the pretty covers I had gotten for my 18th birthday. This was after being reunited with certain pieces of jewellery and clothing which I’d sadly left behind in life.
Christmas Eve, 2010
I woke up this morning in my room in Scotland. It was a peculiar feeling. It was my room, but at the same it wasn’t any more.
In the morning, my sister and I went for a walk to the massive Tesco Extra which is only a five minute walk away from our house by the sea in Port Glasgow. As I walked along the promenade and was able to look over the clear, sapphire-blue water to the snow-topped mountains, I was reminded of Scotland’s beauty. I took plenty of photographs.
Walking into Tesco was also a peculiar experience. It was a massive store filled with every item you could ever wish to buy, for almost half the price of some things you find in France. There were happily-familiar items and the items which I’d even forgotten existed. I was struck with the apparent more luxurious lifestyle of the British. Almost all houses- even in the notorious and less-than-well-off Port Glasgow- are equipped with dishwashers and have double or even triple-glazed windows.
People were bustling about Tesco in a desperate rush to buy last-minute food items and presents for the next day, because it’s clear that Christmas- or at least the trappings of Christmas- are observed more in Britain than in France. And what was even more striking was the constant stream of broad Port-glaswegian. This is stronger and even less comprehendible than Glaswegian. It isn’t a very pretty dialect, I don’t think.
Melissa and I bought the ingredients necessary to make chocolate-fridge cake; a recipe which I’ve invented and wanted to teach my sister how to make, and also to take some to the cottage which we’re spending Christmas in. Mum had bought the vegetables to take for Christmas dinner and some dessert, and my mum’s best friend and my non-official Aunty Darlene and dear friend Becky (her daughter) would be providing all the meat and other trappings, but I felt I wanted to contribute something. We took all the ingredients back home and knocked some chocolate-fridge cake together, then went about packing for going away.
We’re spending Christmas in a lovely cottage in the North-central town of Pitlocherie. My non-official Aunty Darlene works for the Church of Scotland and this cottage- which is connected with a church and the manse- is provided as a holiday cottage for their workers. She and Becky went up last Wednesday, managing to get there despite the snow, and have been there since. It’s a lovely cottage, hidden away from most civilization, except from the beautiful church building and manse.
Pitlocherie is a town, but the cottage is set apart from it. It’s surrounded by woodland and fields, with highland cows and pigs in a field nearby, beautiful snowy-hills in the distance, with cold, clear tap-water coming from a well, and the smell and feel of the countryside. When you look out of the window, you feel like you’re looking out over a scene from Narnia, with the fir trees all covered in a fine dusting of snow like icing-sugar.
It took us a little over 2 hours to get there. When we arrived, I was very excited because I was looking forward to seeing Darlene and Becky for the first time in a year. It didn’t take long before I felt like it had been no time at all. To me they didn’t seem to have changed much at all, and we started back where we had left off. They feel, however, that I’ve changed quite a lot in a positive way. There was much hugging at our reunion.
Becky had made some pasta which we received gratefully, then Darlene, Becky and I headed out for the Carol Service at the church. I was so happy to be able to go to a carol service on Christmas Eve. The church is very tiny but sweet, and quite a handful of people turned up for the service, even though it lies in such a secluded area. Becky and I were asked to help light some candles. There was much caroling and passage-reading, and the peace of the Prince of Peace touched my heart again, amidst this busy, yet wonderful season. After the service we retired to the cottage, only to discover that there had been a power cut!
However, an electrician was called in, and since the power cut had affected our neighbours who have a baby, he was quick to come and fix the problem. We were happy to have it sorted for cooking the next day, but going about in candlelight for a short time had actually been rather lovely- heightening the Christmassy-feel of the evening.
Christmas Day, 2010
I woke up on Christmas Day with Aunty Darlene pulling open the curtain in front of my bed to expose the beautiful white wonderland which was outside. I got ready and then joined Mum and Becky for some breakfast. Once everybody was up, we gathered in the sitting-room to open Christmas presents. I had wrapped my presents the night before and added them to the massive collection which were piled under the little Christmas tree. As an aside, the Church of Scotland kindly donated the little Christmas tree to Aunty Darlene because there wasn’t one in the cottage. We wrapped some red ribbon around it and I put some golden chocolate coins amongst the branches and it actually looks quite attractive now.
Anyway, every one of us was completely overwhelmed by the quantity and quality of the gifts we received. I got some beautiful tops and a lovely dress, a handbag, a couple of perfumes, some jewellery, some cuddly toys, some craft stuff; everything a girl could ever ask for, actually! The gift opening lasted for quite some time. After we were tidied up and ready for action, we headed into the kitchen, two or three at a time, to prepare a laid-back Christmas dinner.
Christmas-dinner convenience is the way forward I reckon. Darlene cooked the turkey in a roasting bag; a trick which my mum has discovered in recent years. As a result, the turkey turned out to be the most delicious tasting turkey we’d ever eaten. There was also ham and plenty of vegetables. I dealt with the parsnips and roast potatoes, while Mum dealt with the sprouts and carrots, Becky with the ham and helpful cooking suggestions. Becky is a naturally-born cook. I sometimes tend to lack a measure of common sense in the kitchen, but what I lack in this respect, I make up for in creativity. No-one even suspected that I had never tried frying parsnips in honey before. Little did they know…
We had a delicious mid-afternoon dinner. We had plenty and there was plenty to spare. Everything tasted surprisingly good considering the lack of stress that had gone into preparing it! We were so full up afterwards that dessert was out of the question for a few hours anyway. Oh, and we drunk a lot of Shloer; a treat that tends to only happen once year.
In the evening we watched two ‘Santa Claus’ movies, had lots of teas and coffees, and finally ate dessert. Becky, Darlene and I also spent a lot of time in conversation. Needless to say we didn’t go to bed very early, but when I finally did, I must have gone out like a light. It had been a long yet lovely day, doing lots of nothing-much.
Boxing Day, 2010
On Boxing Day, like the previous morning, we got up quite slowly. As tends to happen with Darlene, she had already established a friendship with the cottage’s caretaker, a lovely woman in her sixties, who came to join us for breakfast. So when I finally appeared for breakfast, I joined her and my mum at the table, while Becky, bless her cotton socks, prepared us a cooked breakfast.
It turns out that this lady is bilingual in French and English and spent some years in France, in a very similar way to me. She went out as an assistant for one year and tried to renew but it didn’t work. So she went out some years later to work with Eurostar. She was actually there at the time of the ‘Chunnel’s’ construction.
Like me, this lady got involved with an English speaking church while she was in France. She loves translation and worked as a translator, too. She was very keen to hear about my life in France, about my flat and the food and the friends I’d made. I enjoyed sharing with her.
After a cooked breakfast, the lady decided to leave but gave us some directions in how to get to some nice grounds for walking on. Almost immediately, all five of us plus dog piled into my mum’s Yaris and we headed towards the Duke of Apple’s land in Blair Atholl.
Blair Atholl Castle is impressive although not overwhelmingly big. Like the lady had promised, the grounds around were extensive and beautiful. We walked along a woodland path, with the hore frost making it look as though we were in some kind of enchanted forest, and then along the edge of the walled-in castle gardens. There was a peculiar statue of Hercules and a lion, as well as many pretty little bridges. There was hardly anyone about at the castle, except from a family whose children were playing on a sledge. The grounds were perfect for sledging. I envied them there sledge on a day like it was.
When we got back home, I used a little of the German chocolate which I had bought in Aachen to give to people as presents to make some hot chocolate. We watched another movie and relaxed beside the crackling coal-fire, which Becky has become an expert in lighting and dealing with. On Christmas morning I’d tried putting some Christmas paper balls into the fire but the result had been somewhat disastrous, so from that point on I was banned from any dealings with it.
For dinner, Melissa and I helped Mum make her traditional Boxing-Dinner; Cranberry Turkey. It’s one of my favourite meals and it uses up left-over turkey as well as left-over cranberry sauce. The caretaker lady joined us again for dinner, then we retreated into the sitting-room to chat. I decided to take an early-bed since I’d been lulled into a sleepy stupor by the heat and the food.
Friday, 19 November 2010
Just the way you are
I would like to share something that I was thinking about today. I think it is an inspiring topic.
I'm currently listening to "Just the way you are" by Bruno Mars. It's a beautiful song with beautiful words. One line is very lovely indeed: 'If perfect's what you're searching for then just stay the same." The man in the song loves the woman so much that he doesn't see a single flaw in her, even though she probably sees plenty in herself!
Being a woman brings with it very common plaguing fears over, sadly, what we perceive to be our inadequacies. We go through rituals of comparing ourselves to others, fretting over the size of our hips, the spots on our face, the shade of our teeth- the list is endless. And when we feel we have 'worked out' one inadequacy, it won't be long before we're battling with another.
It isn't just in appearance. We worry about out personalities, about being too shy or too loud, or too overbearing, or too weak, or too serious, or too sad; again, the list is endless.
When it comes to being a Christian, I know that I can often do the same thing with my spiritual life. I think about all the mistakes I've made that week or that day, and I compare myself with this person who prays for an hour every morning when I can barely manage more than fifteen minutes at a time, or with somebody else who also seems to be 'doing much more for God' than me, and I wonder how on earth I'll get any better.
Today I had a revelation which, if I endeavour to put into practice as much as possible, I'm sure will sort out my attitudes so that suddenly all these 'plaguing fears' will be put to rest!
I was standing in the queue to buy a sandwhich for my lunch. Suddenly the thought crossed my mind, 'you know, God sees you as perfect.' The Bruno Mars song popped into my head, and particularly that line, 'If perfect's what you're searching for then just stay the same.' I had just been churning over many less-than-happy thoughts about my appearance and inadequacies. I thought, 'nice thought!', but promptly forgot about it as I thought it would take far too much of an effort of faith to thoroughly believe it with all my heart- not just in my head.
Then when I got into the shop, you'll never guess what song was playing! That's right, Bruno Mars, "Just the way you are"! Call me a romantic, call me far-fetched, call me whatever you like!, but I believe that was God speaking to me. He sees me as a perfect, just because I have faith in him.
To me, that song represents how God feels about us. He adores us, and sees no imperfection in us, even though we're fundamentally sinners, and will be untill we die! He just loves us, and that's it.
It's time we- and I- started living in the light of this, and stopped living in the lies which makes us feel so bad about ourselves.
Jesus died for us, so let's not live like we're worthless! We're unique, beautiful, lovely and LOVED. Just the way we are.
I'm currently listening to "Just the way you are" by Bruno Mars. It's a beautiful song with beautiful words. One line is very lovely indeed: 'If perfect's what you're searching for then just stay the same." The man in the song loves the woman so much that he doesn't see a single flaw in her, even though she probably sees plenty in herself!
Being a woman brings with it very common plaguing fears over, sadly, what we perceive to be our inadequacies. We go through rituals of comparing ourselves to others, fretting over the size of our hips, the spots on our face, the shade of our teeth- the list is endless. And when we feel we have 'worked out' one inadequacy, it won't be long before we're battling with another.
It isn't just in appearance. We worry about out personalities, about being too shy or too loud, or too overbearing, or too weak, or too serious, or too sad; again, the list is endless.
When it comes to being a Christian, I know that I can often do the same thing with my spiritual life. I think about all the mistakes I've made that week or that day, and I compare myself with this person who prays for an hour every morning when I can barely manage more than fifteen minutes at a time, or with somebody else who also seems to be 'doing much more for God' than me, and I wonder how on earth I'll get any better.
Today I had a revelation which, if I endeavour to put into practice as much as possible, I'm sure will sort out my attitudes so that suddenly all these 'plaguing fears' will be put to rest!
I was standing in the queue to buy a sandwhich for my lunch. Suddenly the thought crossed my mind, 'you know, God sees you as perfect.' The Bruno Mars song popped into my head, and particularly that line, 'If perfect's what you're searching for then just stay the same.' I had just been churning over many less-than-happy thoughts about my appearance and inadequacies. I thought, 'nice thought!', but promptly forgot about it as I thought it would take far too much of an effort of faith to thoroughly believe it with all my heart- not just in my head.
Then when I got into the shop, you'll never guess what song was playing! That's right, Bruno Mars, "Just the way you are"! Call me a romantic, call me far-fetched, call me whatever you like!, but I believe that was God speaking to me. He sees me as a perfect, just because I have faith in him.
To me, that song represents how God feels about us. He adores us, and sees no imperfection in us, even though we're fundamentally sinners, and will be untill we die! He just loves us, and that's it.
It's time we- and I- started living in the light of this, and stopped living in the lies which makes us feel so bad about ourselves.
Jesus died for us, so let's not live like we're worthless! We're unique, beautiful, lovely and LOVED. Just the way we are.
Thursday, 9 September 2010
Goodbye and Hello!
I went back to Roubaix yesterday, to return a set of pillowcases which I had accidentally taken from the house of my au pair family after I finished with them. It was lovely to see them again. The kids were all sitting round the dinner table like I'd seen them do so often. They were pleased to see me. Almost straight away, Clémence wasted no time in telling me that she had a new electric horse, and Thomas showed me what he was eating. I still felt 'part of the family' so to speak, like a big sister, but I was no longer part of the household. Things have moved on. The kids have moved on; Clémence has started school already; the baby's grown. I've moved on, too. I'm moved on into new and greater adventures.
It can be hard. Change is always hard. There are sadnesses which come with it. It's sad to leave the ones you love behind- even if it is only a few kilometres behind you - and the things you were familiar doing. It's uncomfortable when you have to leave something that you've grown accustomed to; a job you felt safe in; a routine you were familiar with. But more than that is the excitement and expectation which comes with stepping out into something completely new and different. To know that you're taking a step and moving out in a direction which will ultimately bring you to your goal.
I started university today at l'Institut Catholique de Lille. I will be studying here for the next two years, having transferred my credits from my Masters course in Glasgow University to a course called LCE2 (licence en anglais) which basically means I'm starting in my 2nd year of an English degree, here in France.
My very first lecture was at 8am - o horror of horrors - which meant I had to wake up at the enthralling time of 5.45am. I made sure to leave plenty of time to get to the university (which is about a 15 minute walk from my house). Unfortunately I hadn't bargained for the confusing room-number system which appears to be in place at la Catho (a shortened name which one often hears in place of l'Institut Catholique de Lille, which is the university's full or Sunday-name, if you like!). I was supposed to be in salle 276 for my lecture on American Government, but I could only find salles 269 and 280, with not much in between. I asked directions from a secretary's office, but this landed me in a greater sense of disorientation. Fortunately Suzanne (a lecturer at la Catho, also a friend from church!) found me in my disorientated stupor and got someone to take me to my class and explain my lack of presence for the first hour. I was just in time to hear lots of big words including 'Confederation', 'democracy', etc, etc. In fact, I had made it just on time to be early for my next class- a seminar on the same subject!! My terrorized heart was quietened when I realised that this frightening talk would actually take place, for the mostpart, in English. So I took enough notes to cover me for my 'missed' lecture.
After this was my 'English oral' class. I can tell this is going to be a challenging class. Or, not! In order to help us build-up our confidence in communicating verbally in the English language, we introduced ourselves to our fellow classmates, telling each other our names, ages, favourite ice-cream flavours, and which anglophone countries we'd already visited. I discovered in this class that two of my classmates are bilingual, so I won't be the only one feeling slightly and awkwardly competent in er... my English-speaking skills. There's a girl who has an Irish surname - she's 21- and a guy of 19 who's sounds very English; both are fluent in my opinion. My tutor for this class was a girl who is now coming to church, too! In fact she comes to House Group and she isn't that much older than me. I had lunch with her after class.
This afternoon I had my French-as-a-foreign-language exam which was to determine into which level I should be placed, i.e. there will be 3 or 4 groups of us arranged into competency. It was a fairly hard exam, but I felt it was a honest evaluation of my level. In some ways it doesn't matter how well I did; what matters is that I get placed in a group which challenges me but doesn't crush my spirit.
I copied out my timetable today. I'll definetely be at university a few more hours than I'd originally thought, but hey, it's the middle year of my degree and I can't expect a light-load. Much of my course is going to be very, very interesting and enjoying. Things like creative writing, German, linguistics and filmology. Even translation. I do enjoy a good translate every so often.
I should go to bed now and not sleep away too much of my last day of freedom tomorrow.
Tschuss and ciao.
It can be hard. Change is always hard. There are sadnesses which come with it. It's sad to leave the ones you love behind- even if it is only a few kilometres behind you - and the things you were familiar doing. It's uncomfortable when you have to leave something that you've grown accustomed to; a job you felt safe in; a routine you were familiar with. But more than that is the excitement and expectation which comes with stepping out into something completely new and different. To know that you're taking a step and moving out in a direction which will ultimately bring you to your goal.
I started university today at l'Institut Catholique de Lille. I will be studying here for the next two years, having transferred my credits from my Masters course in Glasgow University to a course called LCE2 (licence en anglais) which basically means I'm starting in my 2nd year of an English degree, here in France.
My very first lecture was at 8am - o horror of horrors - which meant I had to wake up at the enthralling time of 5.45am. I made sure to leave plenty of time to get to the university (which is about a 15 minute walk from my house). Unfortunately I hadn't bargained for the confusing room-number system which appears to be in place at la Catho (a shortened name which one often hears in place of l'Institut Catholique de Lille, which is the university's full or Sunday-name, if you like!). I was supposed to be in salle 276 for my lecture on American Government, but I could only find salles 269 and 280, with not much in between. I asked directions from a secretary's office, but this landed me in a greater sense of disorientation. Fortunately Suzanne (a lecturer at la Catho, also a friend from church!) found me in my disorientated stupor and got someone to take me to my class and explain my lack of presence for the first hour. I was just in time to hear lots of big words including 'Confederation', 'democracy', etc, etc. In fact, I had made it just on time to be early for my next class- a seminar on the same subject!! My terrorized heart was quietened when I realised that this frightening talk would actually take place, for the mostpart, in English. So I took enough notes to cover me for my 'missed' lecture.
After this was my 'English oral' class. I can tell this is going to be a challenging class. Or, not! In order to help us build-up our confidence in communicating verbally in the English language, we introduced ourselves to our fellow classmates, telling each other our names, ages, favourite ice-cream flavours, and which anglophone countries we'd already visited. I discovered in this class that two of my classmates are bilingual, so I won't be the only one feeling slightly and awkwardly competent in er... my English-speaking skills. There's a girl who has an Irish surname - she's 21- and a guy of 19 who's sounds very English; both are fluent in my opinion. My tutor for this class was a girl who is now coming to church, too! In fact she comes to House Group and she isn't that much older than me. I had lunch with her after class.
This afternoon I had my French-as-a-foreign-language exam which was to determine into which level I should be placed, i.e. there will be 3 or 4 groups of us arranged into competency. It was a fairly hard exam, but I felt it was a honest evaluation of my level. In some ways it doesn't matter how well I did; what matters is that I get placed in a group which challenges me but doesn't crush my spirit.
I copied out my timetable today. I'll definetely be at university a few more hours than I'd originally thought, but hey, it's the middle year of my degree and I can't expect a light-load. Much of my course is going to be very, very interesting and enjoying. Things like creative writing, German, linguistics and filmology. Even translation. I do enjoy a good translate every so often.
I should go to bed now and not sleep away too much of my last day of freedom tomorrow.
Tschuss and ciao.
Monday, 6 September 2010
Oui-oui
I thought it would be fun to reflect on the changes that living in France for ALMOST A YEAR NOW! has brought about in my life.
Let's begin with my diet, since the French seem to be so big on this anyway! Do I think I'm like a francaise in my eating habits? Answer: not quite yet. Although I've definetely been influenced! I still prefer having my dinner at an earlier time in the evening, if possible, and often still find it difficult to stomach a massive breakfast (including bread!) first thing in the morning. But the ways my diet have changed are as follows:
1. I think I eat far more healthily now. Spurred on by the example of my au pair family (with whom I lived for more than two months), I drink water with almost every meal and much more besides, I try and have vegetables or fruit with every meal (and often multiples of vegetables at dinner-time) and I think my diet is also more balanced.
2. My dinner-eating times, whether I like this or not, have gradually changed. I used to eat dinner at about 6pm in Scotland, whereas my average dinner-eating time here in France is 7.30pm.
3. I eat a lot more bread and cheese now. But who wouldn't; not when Roquefort is so delicious and readily available, and there is such an extensive variety of nutritious but scrumptious breads!
Obviously, I feel my French has come on quite a lot since moving here. I don't know about calling myself fluent yet, but having spoken French almost all summer-time with my au pair family, and speaking it more readily and accurately now (I hope!) with others, I feel like I'm on a good path! I was told by various people that I've got very good French-speaking skills and Caroline, the au pair mum, even told her mum and aunt that I was just about fluent! Of course I don't always feel fluent, and I learn new things about the language all the time and get corrected often, but I do believe that once I've completed my studies here, I should be just about at the bilingual/fluent level.
I think it goes without saying that French-ness is rubbing off on me, and I feel it's definetely for the better.
Let's begin with my diet, since the French seem to be so big on this anyway! Do I think I'm like a francaise in my eating habits? Answer: not quite yet. Although I've definetely been influenced! I still prefer having my dinner at an earlier time in the evening, if possible, and often still find it difficult to stomach a massive breakfast (including bread!) first thing in the morning. But the ways my diet have changed are as follows:
1. I think I eat far more healthily now. Spurred on by the example of my au pair family (with whom I lived for more than two months), I drink water with almost every meal and much more besides, I try and have vegetables or fruit with every meal (and often multiples of vegetables at dinner-time) and I think my diet is also more balanced.
2. My dinner-eating times, whether I like this or not, have gradually changed. I used to eat dinner at about 6pm in Scotland, whereas my average dinner-eating time here in France is 7.30pm.
3. I eat a lot more bread and cheese now. But who wouldn't; not when Roquefort is so delicious and readily available, and there is such an extensive variety of nutritious but scrumptious breads!
Obviously, I feel my French has come on quite a lot since moving here. I don't know about calling myself fluent yet, but having spoken French almost all summer-time with my au pair family, and speaking it more readily and accurately now (I hope!) with others, I feel like I'm on a good path! I was told by various people that I've got very good French-speaking skills and Caroline, the au pair mum, even told her mum and aunt that I was just about fluent! Of course I don't always feel fluent, and I learn new things about the language all the time and get corrected often, but I do believe that once I've completed my studies here, I should be just about at the bilingual/fluent level.
I think it goes without saying that French-ness is rubbing off on me, and I feel it's definetely for the better.
Wednesday, 1 September 2010
The Girl on the Bench
Proof that you can do anything if you set your mind to it! I've managed to finally fulfil one of my life-long ambitions by publishing a book. I can't tell you what the story's about; you'll have to find out for yourself! Follow this link to purchase your very own copy.
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