Live and Let live

Hello! I am back again and ready to fight off any remaining sickness that might wish to attack me. I have survived the flu through some mysterious German medicine. I do not know what my roommate gave me, I can only tell you that it works wonders. On Wednesday I was a carcass of a person, loopy on cold medicine, and today I am weak, but triumphant! Let that be lesson to any future viruses that attempt to hinder my enjoyment of Ireland - Don't mess with me, I live with Germans!

So, a review of the week.

Wednesday: A lovely day, for those not battling an unknown illness. I awoke to find my nose and throat area in a state of disarray. But I was not to be deterred. Today was an important day. I had music theory in the morning and I had an important task to achieve in the afternoon. That was where the real battle lay, in the afternoon. You see, Wednesday is the day before Thursday and Thursday was Manuel's birthday. Manuel is one of my lovely German housemates, I think I have mentioned his name in passing before. Well, Thursday was his birthday and, due to house tradition, on Wednesday night we celebrated into his birthday. Of course, the celebration is not the only part of the tradition. I will make any cake the birthday person desires (given certain limitations) and they must wear a birthday hat at all times while inside the house. Anyway, back to the cake. Manuel had his heart set on the cake that his mother makes him every year - a mole cake. Don't get too excited, it is not a cake in the shape of a mole. A Mole cake is apparently a very German thing, I am concluding this from the fact that every time one of our German housemates was informed of Manuel's cake choice they broke into a chorus of "ooo's" and "ahhh's". I have previously never made a mole cake and was forced to do some serious research on the topic. After sifting through many web pages giving instructions on how to mold a cake into the shape of a mole, I finally found an appropriate recipe. A mole cake made by doing the following. First you back a chocolate cake. After the cake has cooled, you remove the insides from it and place the aside for later use. You are creating a sort of cake shell - like the pastry of a pie without the filling. Then you fill the hole you have just created with a combination of whipped cream and chocolate pieces you have mixed together with a touch of gelatin to hold its form. Now, let me say that I did not skimp on this portion of the cake. I bought many carton of whipping cream and whipped all of it. No easy task for a sick woman who has never whipped cream in her life. It takes some real expertise. Now, after you have whipped the cream, added the melted gelatin, chocolate chips, AND let the mixture cool, you place it in the hole. Then you use the cake innards you scooped out earlier to cover the whipped cream filling. In the end it looks something like a pile of dirt a mole dug up - hence the name. It was a triumphant night. I created a beautiful cake while under the influence of some Irish cold medicine and people actually claimed it to be edible. Apparently I should bake when I am using cold medicine more often, because it was the best cake I have made - according to the rest of the house.

Thursday: This day gets a little fuzzy. This was the day of the German wonder-drug. I went to the lunchtime concert in the music building and was at once filled with nostalgia - or was it the cold medicine? The concert was all about Debussy. Only Debussy piano pieces graced my ears for a blessed hour and five minutes. Debussy always makes me think of home and my mother, and I will tell you why. My mom can play the crap out of Debussy's First Arabesque. I love the sound of it, the sight of her at the piano. It is, by far, one of my favorite childhood memories. My mom at the piano. I remember listening to that piece while sitting on the couch, or dancing around the house to it. And now, every time I hear anything by Debussy, I think of her at the piano. Debussy's arabesques are actually some of his least known works. It seems impossible to me, having grown up with them, but they are considered to be some of his worst work. They were done very early in his composing life and resemble that of his tutors. But to me, they are his best works. Now, it may have been the drugs, but listening to that concert I was transported back home. Come to think of it, I would definitely blame the drugs. regardless, I walked home with my head in the clouds thinking of my wonderful mother (I love you MORE) and was then given an even larger surprise. A package from my Grandfather. He had promised to send me some books once I got settled in Belfast and I had been awaiting their arrival ever since my own into Belfast. So the sight of that package, in combination with my previous state of mind, brought me to a new level of giddy. After that it gets very fuzzy. I can only tell you that Bill Bryson gets even funnier when you have been taking cold medicine.

That brings us to today, where not much has happened. I am going to go home and make myself a cup of tea, nothing warms you up better in this weather, and reread parts of "I'm a Stranger Here Myself". I am pretty sure Bill Bryson did not put on a leotard and read me parts of his book. I should really be less trusting of foreign medicines.

Kelsey