foodstuff
I had forgotten just how much selection there is here. An entire aisle of pasta for chrissakes! In this particular store, they had three 'food of the world' themed aisles, and loads of cross marketing. If you wanted beans, for instance, you could either go to the general canned food section, or to the country-specific section. (There was even a cajun section!) I was after black beans, for instance, which were in three different areas. You can't find them anywhere in Glasgow. It nearly made me weep. If only I could transplant Shaw's to Yorkhill... ack.
My sister and I made a short stop last night for very specific dinner items, and I was lost in awe and admiration. She cracked the whip to get me out of there fast, however, explaining that the less time we spend in there, the less we'd be tempted. Fair enough. When I remarked on the selection, she replied: 'And you wonder why Americans are fat.' So true. But the thing is, there was so much great good food too. I don't care about the 10 varieties of Doritos or whatever, but what I wouldn't give to be able to stroll into any shop and find five different types of rye bread, or 12 varieties of Boca burger flavours. They even had fake Philly cheese steaks!
I must say, the obsession with carbs is really frightening. I don't understand the concept of low carb Reeses peanut butter cups or Snickers. We went out to breakfast this morning, to a big greasy spoon chain restaurant and they had a separate low carb menu. One of the most popular TV shows at the moment is a reality show/competition about teams of people duking it out to see who can lose the most weight on killer training regimes. Both my sister and mother are hooked on it. I'm horrified.
I'm finding everything a bit of a culture shock, which seems ridiculous, as I'm a native here. But I guess I've become too immersed in the laconic British sensibilities. Everyone seems over-the-top friendly, it makes me wince. I find myself giving them mistrustful shifty glances, not knowing how to respond. It's quite funny actually, because while in Glasgow, I consider myself a rather friendly person - as in, I say hello to people. Here, it's not just hello, it's 'Hi! How ya doin! Crazy weather we're having huh? What can I do for ya?' What would serve as an entire conversation in Glasgow, passes as a greeting here. Amazing.
I'm even finding it difficult sometimes relating to my sister. I spent the bulk of my day yesterday hanging out with her. We did a spot of shopping - I got jeans! yay! - then went to hers for the primary purpose of the day: completing portraits of two distant relatives. Yeah, random. See, my sister studied art in college, concentrating in photography. My aunt was in her condo for some reason recently and noticed a painting she had done of a small boy as part of an assignment way back when, and asked if she'd be able to paint something from a photo. She then commissioned my sister to paint two portraits of her grandchildren for Christmas. Lordy. She relunctantly agreed to take on the project, and has been regretting it. Her goal is to finish both this week, but the first one wasn't going very well. And she wanted ME to fix it. ME!
I actually used to be quite the artist in high school. I almost went to art school, but was too daunted by the idea of what competition I might face there. And the lack of job prospects. (So I studied classical archaeology instead? Yeah, go figure that one out.) I haven't done much with my talents in the past 10 years, unless you count creative card decorating and collage. Richard was shocked when I took him home last year and unearthed my slide portfolio. He hadn't even realised I could draw. God only knows when was the last time I picked up a paint brush. At any rate, I hardly felt skilled enough to fix the portrait. But she was wimpering and begged me to at least have a go at the scary forest backdrop, as I couldn't make it much worse anyway.
So I hesitantly dipped a brush in, and started. It was great. I never realised how much I missed it. It's not exactly something you just pick up again easily, as it requires so many materials, and putting pencil to paper after so many years is daunting. I usually give up after a few minutes when the initial sketches turn out badly. That sort of thing takes practice, and I'm too impatient. I just assume I've lost it. But this time, the groundwork had already been laid, I could start with the fun bit. And I actually made progress! After building confidence on the background, I got into detailing the face and body of the little cousin I've never met. Granted, the painting doesn't exactly look like him, but at least it looks human. Hmmm. So it's still not perfect, but Sandy seemed happy with it. Meanwhile, she started the second one, and did a might fine job of it. It's so much pressure though, creating a portrait. Ack. I'm glad it's not my name on it.
After all that, she made me a great meatless taco dinner, then we went out shopping with my mom. She hates my coat and was determined to buy me a new one. I don't understand her loathing, but I wasn't about to object to a new coat. I was in pretty dire need of underwear, however, and convinced her to buy me loads of fancy new knickers. I'm wearing a lacy red number now. Ooooh!
Have I mentioned how much I envy my sister's apartment, by the way? It's so nice. So nice. And nicely furnished. And hers. She owns it. It's just so perfect. I want one! After all the comforts of a warm, well-stocked home, it will be mighty hard to return to Richard's big old airy flat, which is distinctly lacking in any comforts - or modern conveniences for that matter. It could be a problem.
Speaking of the sweetpea... I do miss him. And from what I can gather, I think he's really missing me too. I feel so bad for him. It must be much more difficult, as he is the one left behind - he's the one returning to an empty flat, an empty bed. I have many distractions, and plenty of people around me. It's terrible, but I have yet to have a proper conversation with him since I left. I've just been that busy. Crazy eh? Tonight it will happen, however. My sister is in Boston with her latest boy toy, and my schedule has been cleared. My only requirement is to cook dinner for my dad, which I'm eager to do. I need to prove I'm a good cook - they're all convinced I can barely fry an egg. I dunno where this comes from. Ok, so maybe that tofu in peanut (butter) sauce was a bit misguided, but that was just one meal! Surely I've redeemed myself since then? At least I know how to make pasta sauce that doesn't come out of a jar. Mom.
Anyway... time to finish trawling through my past. There are so many boxes of shit to sift through. I never realised how much stuff I had collected - and books! Most of which I don't want to get rid of. I was going to ship the books to Glasgow, but every time I think I've gone through the last of them, I discover another box. It would cost a fortune to send them all, even at book rate. I'm trying to be ruthless, and I've filled three boxes and one enormous garbage bag for the charity shop. Let's see if I can fill another one.
