You know that song: the colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky, are also on the faces of the people going by....what a wonderful world. Well, it is, and of all those colors, violet chose to bloom for me, for the first time this week, outside my kitchen window. After it had spent several days smashed under snow, looking woeful, I was starting to doubt the advice of the girl in the farmers' market who had sold me the single pot of mixed, multicolored flowers (which are now brightening up my flat's garden in a technically illicit manner). She had told me the pot would bloom year-round, including some which would come up after the snow; sure enough, here came the sun, and the ice has slowly melted!
The sun made its first appearance in days on the same day that I decided that, flu aftereffects or nothing, I would. go. ice. skating. And that is how I ended up purchasing my first cocktail dress. Let me set the record straight here before anyone jumps to any conclusions: the party season is over, I don't drink cocktails, and I did go ice skating. It just so happened that the friend I had planned to go skating with, had changed her mind after seeing a hard fall on the ice, and invited me shopping with her and another friend who needed a woolen winter coat instead. Since this was one of the remaining non-tropical wardrobe items I had planned to buy, and since the coat shop happened to be both next door to a chocolate shop and a few streets over from the ice rink, I uncomplainingly accepted this unequal substitution and agreed to take the train to meet them at the mall.
This mall, the-largest-in-something-or-other, which I explored before they arrived, was in equal parts overwhelming and fascinating. Talk about rainbow colors, they were everywhere: cinnamon red, the 'fire gumball' which failed to heat my Eastern tastebuds; hot pink, my first official football shirt; kohl black, the burkhas and eye makeup of the half-veiled women who suddenly made me feel at home; caterpillar green, the play scape in the toy store where the fathers were having even more fun than their young ones; sail white, the chest shields of the seabirds wheeling overhead in the open air section, miles from the nearest coast. And finally, slate gray, my new coat.
It was some time after the pizza (which we had to wait in queue for, halfway out the door into the cold, as the restaurant was half cordoned off with a handwritten sign, saying 'this part closed due to customer complaints of cold winds'!), that I crossed that slippery one-way line between giving my opinion of how my friend looked in the sale dresses of every color she was trying on, and letting her select some for me so she could do the same. And after being very picky, I mean discerning, we finally found a suitable one for me, in the next size up. Being assured by my friend, who was off to catch her train, that I must. get. that. dress. and would surely find one in my size if I checked at the next nearest branch, right around the corner, I did so, wasting precious ice skating time in locating it, to find out they also had only the wrong sizes. They were kind enough to ask if I would like them to call around the local branches, who were also out of my size.
I finally went back to get the closest size from the first shop, got lost (my favorite new hobby), found it less than ten minutes before closing time, and got all of one foot in the door as customers exited, before being barred from entry; as, although I had already picked it out, and although it was not yet hours, 'they were closed.' It was not then that I lost my temper, nor after realizing that they were allowed to phone inter-store in the first place and hadn't, but, after explaining that I had actually come up there on the train and rarely visited, upon being asked very sharply to 'come back tomorrow'. There aren't that many things that make me lose my cool, and even then it's not always visible, but there are a few sure-fire ways to set me off -- teasing animals, being mean to children...breaking promises, ignoring friends, and...being rude to customers. It's just plain unfair.
Yes, I'm embarrassed to say that before leaving I told her all right but there was no need to be rude about it. (Which was, sigh, rude of me, but I least I can admit it.) And...um, then went onto the shop website and sent them feedback saying that one of their branches was lovely but another needed managerial help since it was overworked and undertrained, like many others in the holiday season...oh no, it gets worse, I included a link to an article reporting on the stress that shop assistants are suffering...as well as one to the great customer service motto by Gandhi (I really did. there's a copy here http://quotations.about.com/b/2004/05/07/was-gandhi-a-marketing-consultant.htm. I worked a bit in retail and am awed by his patience.)
And then I decided there was no use in crying over lost dresses and went ice skating for the first time in years. Which is an amazing activity, because it manages to marry so many of my loves -- music, dance, sprinting, and snow. Even if 'skating' in this case meant hobbling and wobbling along the wall for most of it before I picked up enough speed and balance to circle the rink and enjoy it. Imagine the aforementioned New Year's club, with rainbow disco lights and music -- but instead of alcohol, vomit, fog, and singletons on the dance floor, there are cones, buckets, penguin supports, ice, and families -- and there you have it. My third favorite part of the night was when I got down flat onto the ice at the beginning, so that I would be used to it and not afraid to fall, and then never did. My second favorite part was when a multiracial group of teens came over, concerned I wasn't going fast enough to have fun, each took one of my hands and skated around at top speed so fast I could feel the air rushing by and felt like flying, and then were astonished to discover I was from India and it was multiracial too. My favorite part was when the proud mother watching from the side in a wheelchair was rolled onto the ice by the very kind young skating assistant, and then slid by him around the rink so she could participate in the fun, too.
After having thus spent a bright, blessed day in the sun (marred by only a tiny little sunspot) and a white, wonderful night, I soon discovered that my friend had entered the no-return zone of the garment hunter, and was not giving up on finding that dress in my size if it meant she had to go hunt for it herself. Believing her, since I have a well developed stubborn, I mean persistent, streak myself, I decided to take matters in hand before she could do me such a huge favor, called my 'nearest' branch, found out they had it in my size, and hopped on the train. Which I almost missed, because it was on the opposite platform from the display I was reading, which only listed the next one, on the opposite platform but in the same direction (I have no idea how that works!), and, because I am generally scatterbrained, I mean absentminded, about ordinary obvious things and only perceptive about bizarrely remote ones.
Anyway, after weeks of being cooped up recovering from the flu, travelling by train around a still unfamiliar country seemed more like an adventure than a nuisance. I still can't get over the colored sheep, hills, forests, pheasants, mists, hay rolls, scarecrows, ravens, etc. that blur by. I wound up in a small town famous for its spa waters, which had a Polish bakery (complete with a friendly Polish assistant who very unhelpfully told me everything in it was her favorite); an Indian sweets store (where everything in it was my favorite) which also handed out free calendars featuring this picture of Salman Khan, the bad boy of Indian cinema (think Jude Law meets Arnold Schwarzenegger, and eyeballs suffer) www.chakpak.com/photo/salman-khan/2408?gtype=ufp&gdata=138468&index=5 , a museum that was closed; a park that was open, with ducks, and joggers, and dry fountains, and a river, where I ate my lunch of Polish bread, cheese, and chocolate; the dress shop which had no less than six identical dresses in my size to select one from; and a library, which used to be a swimming pool, and which had a friendly golden retriever guide dog named Grace, and a small spigot of spa water outside, in which I studied while waiting for my return train.
On the train back, I met my jetlagged classmate returning after the holidays, via London, whose suitcase was so heavy I don't know how she got it that far and with whom I compared stories of jogging (or in my case, walking) in Texas with coyotes. And after that, I went grocery shopping and talked to the person collecting for the mayor's fund and petted the charity collie, and realized the woman looked exactly like I remembered the mayor from the charity lunch (which is not farfetched because the Santa from it recognized me in the supermarket tonight; obviously this grocery store is the playground of the rich and famous), and then looked her up online and realized she was. And this is going to be a very long blog post because it is about my holiday break and I have not even gotten to the part about playing football, on a REAL PITCH. Or about washing my cell phone in the washing machine (accidentally). I think I will skip to the football.
So it was our annual interdepartmental football match, which was thrilling. Especially because by now I had real and proper football waterproof/mud-proof clothing (purchased after my last match, during which two people asked why on earth I was playing in wet muddy jeans). And because I wasn't going to play at first (which I was told was a good decision, since it was rough; but was really taken because I wanted us to win, since I'm definitely not one of the best 11!); however so few had come from the other department that they ended up needing more of us to play on their team (we have so much fun). And especially because I brought regular trainers instead of cleats/studs, which worked because it was a REAL PITCH. With astroturf. And floodlights. And dugouts. And chain mesh walls. And lots and lots of wind and rain and gigantic playing space and real markings.
Our department actually won a rare victory, 8-7!!!! And, I even made it for the post-match pub get-together, although one of our spectator classmates had told me it was cancelled, and dispersed without celebrating; because I decided to check anyway. But not before I made a (very) rare visit to Starbucks and got a peppermint hot chocolate in celebration (I told you I was determined. cough*stubborn*cough). I have finally forgiven them for serving me a peppermint mocha by mistake. Mint and coffee is a terrible combination. Plus I have never really accepted coffee since the terrible first impression it made on me at our first encounter, age 5, in a hospital kitchenette. My surgeon dad was brewing black coffee, and it smelled so wonderful I asked to taste it. (I grew up accompanying him to the hospital to 'make the rounds,' which nowadays is probably illegal; the nurses even once spoiled me with cake :D Recently, when a friend sprained her ankle and we took her there to the hospital, I was the only one who felt happy to walk through that familiar front door!). He shared it but said I probably wouldn't like it, and, sure enough, the bitterness was a terrible disappointment, much like the first time I tasted cooking vanilla. Coffee is a little better with sugar and cream, but still.
I almost forgot, my dress is cream. With a black sash. That also reminds me, we are starting our next amateur play rehearsals. I'm the king's young son, who comes on at the very end and weeps as he's dying. It's so sad that every time I read it it makes my eyes well up, but I'm not used to crying in front of people so...we'll see how that goes!
So, back to the football match. It being the most fun I'd had all month made up for the fact that my (backup, dry) mobile had managed to vanish somewhere between home, the football pitch, and the pub, one reason why I missed the get-together alert (fortunately, my phone turned out to have fallen out in our captain's car). The topic of our colorful pub conversation was a mixture of: what teams we supported (ManU, ever since I actually recognized some of the players!); library services and ebook procurement; the genius of my tutor (she plays football too!); and the itchiness of new beards. Which brings me to my favorite joke of the night: Visiting player 1 'What color are beards normally then?' player 2 'Color? Well, they're like doors really, they come in 12 standard colors -- Oxford Blue, Pea Green..'
This conversation together with other highlights of the week can only partially explain why I had such interesting dreams that night, of a line of football players handing down a bar of blueberry chocolate meant for me. It is too bad I did not get to meet the person they were delivering it on behalf of, and who took a square first, because I woke up before I got to try any and do not know who exactly to contact for the rest (although I googled his 'name' too, for fun to see exactly where my subconscious gets all its input, and turned up a famous dead war hero. He still managed to heroically send chocolate. It was Lindt, dark, and thin, which I have googled and indeed exists, a promising start.) Meanwhile I have filled the gap in dessert experiments by visiting the milkshake store again and trying Flake+strawberries, and out of the topping options choosing...parma violets. These had come up in the same love-it-or-hate-it conversation with my classmates as root beer (love) and I just had to try them. And although I hate violet creams, I loved them. Sitting there outside in the windy cold sipping my milkshake mixture (the violets kept sticking up the straw), I was listening to a guitarist playing 'Stand By Me' for tips down one street (he got mine) and professionals performing a skit for free in the background, while reading the 'disco rave' pamphlet someone was busy passing out in front of it all; it was a blend more wonderful than the milkshake. The world doesn't get much more colorful.
I think I hear my roommates returning from the late night showing of Black Swan. My classmates and I have been seeing it in batches all day. One summed it up perfectly: "The part of me that isn't very disturbed is very impressed." That swan queen lived in a black/white world, but not all swans die -- some of them manage to escape evil sorcerers, deluded princes, and prisons of perfection, and fly away to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
The sun made its first appearance in days on the same day that I decided that, flu aftereffects or nothing, I would. go. ice. skating. And that is how I ended up purchasing my first cocktail dress. Let me set the record straight here before anyone jumps to any conclusions: the party season is over, I don't drink cocktails, and I did go ice skating. It just so happened that the friend I had planned to go skating with, had changed her mind after seeing a hard fall on the ice, and invited me shopping with her and another friend who needed a woolen winter coat instead. Since this was one of the remaining non-tropical wardrobe items I had planned to buy, and since the coat shop happened to be both next door to a chocolate shop and a few streets over from the ice rink, I uncomplainingly accepted this unequal substitution and agreed to take the train to meet them at the mall.
This mall, the-largest-in-something-or-other, which I explored before they arrived, was in equal parts overwhelming and fascinating. Talk about rainbow colors, they were everywhere: cinnamon red, the 'fire gumball' which failed to heat my Eastern tastebuds; hot pink, my first official football shirt; kohl black, the burkhas and eye makeup of the half-veiled women who suddenly made me feel at home; caterpillar green, the play scape in the toy store where the fathers were having even more fun than their young ones; sail white, the chest shields of the seabirds wheeling overhead in the open air section, miles from the nearest coast. And finally, slate gray, my new coat.
It was some time after the pizza (which we had to wait in queue for, halfway out the door into the cold, as the restaurant was half cordoned off with a handwritten sign, saying 'this part closed due to customer complaints of cold winds'!), that I crossed that slippery one-way line between giving my opinion of how my friend looked in the sale dresses of every color she was trying on, and letting her select some for me so she could do the same. And after being very picky, I mean discerning, we finally found a suitable one for me, in the next size up. Being assured by my friend, who was off to catch her train, that I must. get. that. dress. and would surely find one in my size if I checked at the next nearest branch, right around the corner, I did so, wasting precious ice skating time in locating it, to find out they also had only the wrong sizes. They were kind enough to ask if I would like them to call around the local branches, who were also out of my size.
I finally went back to get the closest size from the first shop, got lost (my favorite new hobby), found it less than ten minutes before closing time, and got all of one foot in the door as customers exited, before being barred from entry; as, although I had already picked it out, and although it was not yet hours, 'they were closed.' It was not then that I lost my temper, nor after realizing that they were allowed to phone inter-store in the first place and hadn't, but, after explaining that I had actually come up there on the train and rarely visited, upon being asked very sharply to 'come back tomorrow'. There aren't that many things that make me lose my cool, and even then it's not always visible, but there are a few sure-fire ways to set me off -- teasing animals, being mean to children...breaking promises, ignoring friends, and...being rude to customers. It's just plain unfair.
Yes, I'm embarrassed to say that before leaving I told her all right but there was no need to be rude about it. (Which was, sigh, rude of me, but I least I can admit it.) And...um, then went onto the shop website and sent them feedback saying that one of their branches was lovely but another needed managerial help since it was overworked and undertrained, like many others in the holiday season...oh no, it gets worse, I included a link to an article reporting on the stress that shop assistants are suffering...as well as one to the great customer service motto by Gandhi (I really did. there's a copy here http://quotations.about.com/b/2004/05/07/was-gandhi-a-marketing-consultant.htm. I worked a bit in retail and am awed by his patience.)
And then I decided there was no use in crying over lost dresses and went ice skating for the first time in years. Which is an amazing activity, because it manages to marry so many of my loves -- music, dance, sprinting, and snow. Even if 'skating' in this case meant hobbling and wobbling along the wall for most of it before I picked up enough speed and balance to circle the rink and enjoy it. Imagine the aforementioned New Year's club, with rainbow disco lights and music -- but instead of alcohol, vomit, fog, and singletons on the dance floor, there are cones, buckets, penguin supports, ice, and families -- and there you have it. My third favorite part of the night was when I got down flat onto the ice at the beginning, so that I would be used to it and not afraid to fall, and then never did. My second favorite part was when a multiracial group of teens came over, concerned I wasn't going fast enough to have fun, each took one of my hands and skated around at top speed so fast I could feel the air rushing by and felt like flying, and then were astonished to discover I was from India and it was multiracial too. My favorite part was when the proud mother watching from the side in a wheelchair was rolled onto the ice by the very kind young skating assistant, and then slid by him around the rink so she could participate in the fun, too.
After having thus spent a bright, blessed day in the sun (marred by only a tiny little sunspot) and a white, wonderful night, I soon discovered that my friend had entered the no-return zone of the garment hunter, and was not giving up on finding that dress in my size if it meant she had to go hunt for it herself. Believing her, since I have a well developed stubborn, I mean persistent, streak myself, I decided to take matters in hand before she could do me such a huge favor, called my 'nearest' branch, found out they had it in my size, and hopped on the train. Which I almost missed, because it was on the opposite platform from the display I was reading, which only listed the next one, on the opposite platform but in the same direction (I have no idea how that works!), and, because I am generally scatterbrained, I mean absentminded, about ordinary obvious things and only perceptive about bizarrely remote ones.
Anyway, after weeks of being cooped up recovering from the flu, travelling by train around a still unfamiliar country seemed more like an adventure than a nuisance. I still can't get over the colored sheep, hills, forests, pheasants, mists, hay rolls, scarecrows, ravens, etc. that blur by. I wound up in a small town famous for its spa waters, which had a Polish bakery (complete with a friendly Polish assistant who very unhelpfully told me everything in it was her favorite); an Indian sweets store (where everything in it was my favorite) which also handed out free calendars featuring this picture of Salman Khan, the bad boy of Indian cinema (think Jude Law meets Arnold Schwarzenegger, and eyeballs suffer) www.chakpak.com/photo/salman-khan/2408?gtype=ufp&gdata=138468&index=5 , a museum that was closed; a park that was open, with ducks, and joggers, and dry fountains, and a river, where I ate my lunch of Polish bread, cheese, and chocolate; the dress shop which had no less than six identical dresses in my size to select one from; and a library, which used to be a swimming pool, and which had a friendly golden retriever guide dog named Grace, and a small spigot of spa water outside, in which I studied while waiting for my return train.
On the train back, I met my jetlagged classmate returning after the holidays, via London, whose suitcase was so heavy I don't know how she got it that far and with whom I compared stories of jogging (or in my case, walking) in Texas with coyotes. And after that, I went grocery shopping and talked to the person collecting for the mayor's fund and petted the charity collie, and realized the woman looked exactly like I remembered the mayor from the charity lunch (which is not farfetched because the Santa from it recognized me in the supermarket tonight; obviously this grocery store is the playground of the rich and famous), and then looked her up online and realized she was. And this is going to be a very long blog post because it is about my holiday break and I have not even gotten to the part about playing football, on a REAL PITCH. Or about washing my cell phone in the washing machine (accidentally). I think I will skip to the football.
So it was our annual interdepartmental football match, which was thrilling. Especially because by now I had real and proper football waterproof/mud-proof clothing (purchased after my last match, during which two people asked why on earth I was playing in wet muddy jeans). And because I wasn't going to play at first (which I was told was a good decision, since it was rough; but was really taken because I wanted us to win, since I'm definitely not one of the best 11!); however so few had come from the other department that they ended up needing more of us to play on their team (we have so much fun). And especially because I brought regular trainers instead of cleats/studs, which worked because it was a REAL PITCH. With astroturf. And floodlights. And dugouts. And chain mesh walls. And lots and lots of wind and rain and gigantic playing space and real markings.
Our department actually won a rare victory, 8-7!!!! And, I even made it for the post-match pub get-together, although one of our spectator classmates had told me it was cancelled, and dispersed without celebrating; because I decided to check anyway. But not before I made a (very) rare visit to Starbucks and got a peppermint hot chocolate in celebration (I told you I was determined. cough*stubborn*cough). I have finally forgiven them for serving me a peppermint mocha by mistake. Mint and coffee is a terrible combination. Plus I have never really accepted coffee since the terrible first impression it made on me at our first encounter, age 5, in a hospital kitchenette. My surgeon dad was brewing black coffee, and it smelled so wonderful I asked to taste it. (I grew up accompanying him to the hospital to 'make the rounds,' which nowadays is probably illegal; the nurses even once spoiled me with cake :D Recently, when a friend sprained her ankle and we took her there to the hospital, I was the only one who felt happy to walk through that familiar front door!). He shared it but said I probably wouldn't like it, and, sure enough, the bitterness was a terrible disappointment, much like the first time I tasted cooking vanilla. Coffee is a little better with sugar and cream, but still.
I almost forgot, my dress is cream. With a black sash. That also reminds me, we are starting our next amateur play rehearsals. I'm the king's young son, who comes on at the very end and weeps as he's dying. It's so sad that every time I read it it makes my eyes well up, but I'm not used to crying in front of people so...we'll see how that goes!
So, back to the football match. It being the most fun I'd had all month made up for the fact that my (backup, dry) mobile had managed to vanish somewhere between home, the football pitch, and the pub, one reason why I missed the get-together alert (fortunately, my phone turned out to have fallen out in our captain's car). The topic of our colorful pub conversation was a mixture of: what teams we supported (ManU, ever since I actually recognized some of the players!); library services and ebook procurement; the genius of my tutor (she plays football too!); and the itchiness of new beards. Which brings me to my favorite joke of the night: Visiting player 1 'What color are beards normally then?' player 2 'Color? Well, they're like doors really, they come in 12 standard colors -- Oxford Blue, Pea Green..'
This conversation together with other highlights of the week can only partially explain why I had such interesting dreams that night, of a line of football players handing down a bar of blueberry chocolate meant for me. It is too bad I did not get to meet the person they were delivering it on behalf of, and who took a square first, because I woke up before I got to try any and do not know who exactly to contact for the rest (although I googled his 'name' too, for fun to see exactly where my subconscious gets all its input, and turned up a famous dead war hero. He still managed to heroically send chocolate. It was Lindt, dark, and thin, which I have googled and indeed exists, a promising start.) Meanwhile I have filled the gap in dessert experiments by visiting the milkshake store again and trying Flake+strawberries, and out of the topping options choosing...parma violets. These had come up in the same love-it-or-hate-it conversation with my classmates as root beer (love) and I just had to try them. And although I hate violet creams, I loved them. Sitting there outside in the windy cold sipping my milkshake mixture (the violets kept sticking up the straw), I was listening to a guitarist playing 'Stand By Me' for tips down one street (he got mine) and professionals performing a skit for free in the background, while reading the 'disco rave' pamphlet someone was busy passing out in front of it all; it was a blend more wonderful than the milkshake. The world doesn't get much more colorful.
I think I hear my roommates returning from the late night showing of Black Swan. My classmates and I have been seeing it in batches all day. One summed it up perfectly: "The part of me that isn't very disturbed is very impressed." That swan queen lived in a black/white world, but not all swans die -- some of them manage to escape evil sorcerers, deluded princes, and prisons of perfection, and fly away to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
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