Libby Loves London

10 months ago to the day (left on September 18, returning on July 18) I stood in front of Peter's building as I went off to do errands and he left for work.  We cried.  Then he walked away, and I turned around and cried some more, then sat on a bench and tried to will the crying away so I could carry on with my final day errands.

I just walked The Other Libby outside in a somewhat similar act of "goodbye avoidance".  I had to mail a letter and she is off to this big arts festival, Latitude.  We walked along, talking about the most mundane things as if nothing was happening.  I put my letter in the red pillar box, dropped off some clothes in a bin to donate, and then, we couldn't avoid the inevitable any longer.  I tried to hug her around her big camping backpack and tried not to cry.  But, as she walked away, I did.  I didn't look back because I couldn't.  I just refuse to believe that, after ten crazy months together, I won't be living with The Other Libby anymore.  She has done so much for me, from telling me where to drink too expensive cocktails to understanding when I'm moody, stressed, or crying.  She saw me through a couple of really rough patches this year, and helped me celebrate some exciting milestones.  She translated British English for me, and made fun of the way I said "basil", "tomato" and, well, almost everything.  Most of all, she helped me adjust here and feel connected to this city in a way that I probably wouldn't have if it wasn't for her.  That is an invaluable gift that I hope I have a chance to repay in New York one day.  From a misstep with another potential housemate and a random ad on Gumtree, I managed to find myself a life long friend.  For that, I consider myself very, very lucky. 

 

And, hopefully, this sentimental rambling will make her FINALLY read my blog!

So much has happened since I last posted.  Pam visited for a week and we had a fabulous time doing touristy, and non-touristy, things in London.  When she left, Andrew came, my Dad joined two days later, and then I graduated.  Officially a "professionally trained art historian."  After they left, it has been a long two weeks of goodbyes, packing, and running around the city like a mad woman.  I've also been quite the "lady of leisure" with sitting in parks, having long meals, and just hanging out with friends.  It has been busy, emotional, and great.  And now, faster than I ever could have imagined, the end has come.  I leave tomorrow and return to New York, ending this whirlwind year of studying and living in our neighbor to the east. 

It is always said that life is cyclical but it seems like nothing more than a tired expression until you really notice how true it is.  When I first got here, I had a million different strands of life that had to be sorted out and put in place: living, banking, phoning, bearing finding, etc.  All of those different strands got woven into each other to form the consistency and comfort of my life here.  As this year winds to a close, I have found myself unraveling the cord and returning it to its original, unbound state.  Today, I went to the phone shop where I spent many hours ten months ago trying desperately to get a phone contract and ended said contract.  I have passed the store almost every day since but have not been in since October.  Similarly, I visited the Courtuald Gallery which I, sadly and to much regret, have not visited since that first trip with my Dad.  I have also, in the past few days, been to areas such as Hampstead, Camden and this small square near Paddington that I had been to right at the start but not returned to subsequently.  Furthermore, just like how we all met organically and in small groups, eventually coalescing into the static and strong group of six girls--Molly, Allana, Kathering, Cameron, and Jen--I have been slowly saying goodbye to each of them and many others in small and often anticlimactic ways.  These are moments, like when we met, that seem fairly insignificant when they are happening but will certainly grow to occupy an important place in my memory.

Without even reading back to the beginning of this blog, I know that one of my first posts talked about how I had a heightened sense of perception of the world around me in the last few days in New York.  That acute awareness has returned.  I've been looking at everything today, from the beautiful Somerset House where I went to school, to the grungy, annoying tube stop that I get off at, with a different set of eyes.  I am appreciating the world around me more and preparing to miss it terribly.  It is unfortunate that I cannot go around life with these glasses all of the time, but it would be impossible.  Instead, I am trying to visually--optically and photographically--cement the sensations of my London.  It is so easy to gripe and moan about something when it is your day to day existence but, as that existence threatens to disappear, you realize how wonderful it is and bemoan the fact that you did not appreciate it more. 

She may think this review is average, but I think it's pretty great and prestigious for someone her age and experience.  So I'm going to brag for her.  And I'll let you know what I think, not that I'm as qualified as Michael Billington (a well known theater critic) when I see it with Andrew on Saturday. 

I spent my entire vacation in Portugal, of which an update is imminent, applying sunscreen religiously.  I used at least spf 40 on my entire body, only laid in the shade for the most part, and wore my cover-up and hat most of the time.  Not only did I not get burned, but I barely even got any color at all. Then, the next time I go to the ocean, even though I was not in a bathing suit, did not lie on the beach, and wasn't even near the water all day, I get burned.  It's like rain on your wedding day....

Despite the burn, my trip to Brighton with Cameron and Harriet was really lovely.  When we arrived in the morning, we headed straight down to the beach.  It is exactly what I imagined it to be.  A rough, dark English sea crashing against a rocky beach with lots of painted iron and Victorian buildings.  I practically expected people to emerge from striped tents in their bathing costumes.

From the beach, we wandered over to the large pier that has lots of rides and games on it.  Essentially, it is a British Coney Island.  The tackiness of it was incredible.  We played a few games, walked around, and took in view before heading back to the beach for a delicious lunch of fish and chips (surprisingly enough, the first fish and chips I've had since I've been in the UK...quite good).
After lunch, we had some ice cream and then rode the ferris wheel.  It was incredible.  Old school music, horses with funny names, and a view of the beach.  Real, clean, good fun. For the rest of the day, after taking some atmospheric photos of the pier that burned down, we wandered around the cute streets that make up the "Lanes" section of town.  We did too much shopping, some sitting, and a lot of admiring or this town so close to London that we had, unfortunately, only just made it too. 

I guess something must happen to your brain when, after a period of intense activity, you shut it down almost completely for over a week.  At least, I hope that's what happens because the only other explanation for my action this evening is sheer stupidity.

The Other Libby and I ordered Thai food to be delivered for dinner.  The guy rang the buzzer and I went to go to the main door to get the food.  As I stepped out of my apartment, which leads to a small patio outside before you go back into the main building, I realized that I had slammed the door shut.  And had no keys.  And no shoes or cell phone.  I got the dinner, and then, without any other options, just sat on the stoop reading a moronic community newspaper from the mail recycling bin waiting for my savior to come home.  Fortunately, before she got back, the landlord rang the buzzer.  At least I thought he did.  Apparently, he rang the buzzer for another flat but I thought he was ringing it for ours.  Without a way to let him in, since the button is inside of the flat I was locked out of, I went to go get him.  While he wasn't actually coming to our flat straight away, to check out the myriad of problems he keeps promising to fix, he gave me the keys and my time of peril was over.

This morning, the girls and I went to see the preview of the evening Impressionist and Modern sale at Christie's.  While there, we admired this amazing, huge, Monet water lilies painting that was, at the high end, estimated at $47 million. 

Tonight, the Times reported on how much that painting actually sold for:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/25/arts/design/25auct.html?_r=2&hp&oref=slogin&oref=slogin

I should have bought it.

In other news, this whole "lady of leisure" thing is fairly fantastic.  After Christie's, we went for lunch at Rose Bakery at the top of Dover Street Market, a very high-end, arty clothing boutique (that really feels much more like a museum than a shop, based on the 4 digit price tags).  From there, the rest of the day was spent just wandering around, drinking summery beverages (mostly Coronas and cider), sitting on large, astroturf covered furniture in front of the National Theatre, and chatting.  Not a bad life to lead. 

There are so many updates to write about.  There's my trip to Berlin about three weeks ago, there's the Summer Ball at the Courtauld, and there's my trip to Portugal with my five closest Courtauld ladies.  And I'm going to get to all of that, slowly but surely, now that I am a "lady of leisure."*

Before all of those wonderful things, however, I just had to note the milestone I hit tonight.  I made my first Sunday roast! Having a roast--some sort of roast meat, lots of root vegetables, yorkshire pudding, and gravy--is a big tradition in England on Sundays.  The pubs all serve their own versions and its immensely popular to cook at home as well.  I got an e-mail from The Other Libby sometime in the afternoon that our new flatmate, Brendon, (another update I must write about), had bought a chicken and veggies at Borough Market and could I roast them up for all of us as our first meal together?  Using some instructions from Mr. Jamie Oliver and some of the things I learned from my turkey back in November, I managed to pull a fairly decent and juicy chicken off.  With a mortar and pestle, I ground up this salt, herb, and pepper mix I had bought a while back and added it with chopped garlic to butter that I then rubbed under the skin and over the chicken.  I topped the whole thing off with a few generous dashes of  some of the homemade, amazingly spicy, piri-piri sauce I bought in Portugal and then, half-way through roasting, added the regular and sweet potatoes.  I must have inherited something from my mom in the moist chicken department, because both of my flatmates were fairly impressed. 

Everyone in New York, watch out.  I'm bringing this tradition home!

*By this I mean: I need to find a job, figure out how I'm getting my stuff home in less than a month, and finally do all the London things I've been putting off for a while, while entertaining a stream of house guests for two weeks.  Still, much more relaxing than writing a dissertation.

I'm done! I have completed my MA dissertation, and, barring any disasters, am on my way to receiving my degree!

Pretty exciting.

And, I have to say, this is the first time I have ever handed in a document that I have read this many times over and am so intimately familiar with.  I am sure there are still some mistakes but, if there are, there is no way I would be able to see them at this point.  Let's just hope the ideas can stand up to the near perfection of the editing.*

* I have to keep my fingers crossed when I say this in fear of jinxing myself.  If we have more than 20 typos, we have to go back and correct them before graduation and I am convinced that, despite all this hard editing work over the last week, I will have to do that.

There is something about the repetitive, consistent nature of a bibliography that I am finding very soothing right now. 

I think its time to leave the library before I officially go insane...

Apparently I have skipped the wife and mother phase and gone straight to being a grandmother.  Last night, when I got home from a long day at the library, Jo and The Other Libby said they were planning on having a fun evening out on the town.  Seeing as my dissertation is due frighteningly soon, I figured drinking was a bad idea.  Instead, as they got ready to go out, I sat in the kitchen and embroidered while critiquing their outfits. 

They raided my closet, I painted The Other Libby's nails metallic purple, and tried to teach Jo how to flatter her figure better, a la Tim Gunn or Stacey and Clinton.  Here are the results of the evening (including the finished embroidery above):