Almost Like Being in Love

This year I endeavored to do something I have dreamed of for years. I decided that it was time to stop being a coward and face the music – Jazz music. 

I have completed my first Jazz concert ever and I am happy to say that I think it was a success. You may judge for yourselves, I have added a short clip of the night’s adventures. Imagine it – the band is swinging, the director is dancing to the music, I look like a million bucks (okay, closer to a hundred) and am channeling the wisdom of Ella Fitzgerald and Dinah Washington. It is full house, expectant faces at coffee tables drinking their mulled wine when I step forth and burst out a ballad with the power of – wait a cotton pickin’ minute! Is that a flower in my hair?!

In all seriousness though, it was possibly the most fun I have ever had performing. I love singing and performing, I always enjoy it. But for some reason that night was different from any previous experience. The muses were smiling down upon me and I was living in the music. The band did wonderfully, as did all the other singers. The night was perfection. I don’t think I ever stopped smiling. This whole experience has secured an opinion I have held for a couple of years – I was born in the wrong era. 

After the concert a large group of us hit the town in celebration. It was great fun. I was even convinced to go dance. We were by far the most overdressed people there, which was complimented by our outdated dance moves. I would just like to say that my best move is definitely the “shopping cart”, although I did bring the house down with “the sandwich”. (Thank you Missy; that would not have been possible without your teaching skills.) 

Kelsey

Winter Weather

Looking back on some of my blogs, I realized that some may think I am complaining about Northern Ireland. Therefore, I wish to set the record straight.

I love living in Belfast. I love this city atmosphere, where live music is literally just around the corner. I love that during every conversation, the person you are talking to will ask, “Fancy a coffee?” The one exception to this is when you are already having coffee with that person. I love that this has caused me to spend more on coffee than I could have ever anticipated. I now have a portion of my budget titled “Caffeine”. 

I love the people. I love how people call you “Lass” or “Love” without any regard to the fact that they have just met you. I love that the butcher wants to know if I am able to carry my groceries home. I am terribly in love with the drunken old man who serenades the post office with old Broadway tunes – every day of the week. I even have an appreciation for the drunken old men who talk nonsense at the pub and demand songs to be played that no one knows. I am forever grateful to the friends I have made, amazing talented friends. I love that when I invite people over for dinner, they bring two things; alcohol and a guitar. 

I cannot say that I love the weather, but even Mother Nature and I have come to some sort of arrangement. I no longer question intense cold with the absence of snow, or the arrival of all seasons in one day. In turn, she does nothing different. But there is a definite felling of mutual respect. I have come to enjoy the brisk mornings (brisk is really a joke – morning are freaking cold here) and find myself frolicking in the winter air (frolicking is also a joke – I walk with a bounce in my step). 

And these are just a few of the many, ever growing things I love about Belfast.

Have a happy holiday. I know I will.

Kelsey

I'll Fly Away

December. How has it arrived so quickly? It feels like only yesterday I arrived - nervous and full of hope - ready to begin my time here in Belfast. But forgive me, it is starting to sound like an old folks home in here.

Life has continued, as it usually does, here in Belfast and the switch from November to December did not go without its moments.

As you know, or as you may not, Sunday was the first Sunday of Advent. Kind of a big deal, I hear. I should preface this story by saying that my time as a tag-along in the Catholic church has been going quite well. We had a rough start, what with me telling pagan jokes and informing the seminary members that I did not take communion because I was, and I quote, "Going to hell in a hand basket". (In my defense, I had no idea that any of those people were in the seminary - it is not as though they wear name tags.) But my time there had settled into a nice pattern; Father Gary jokes about secretly baptizing me and I retort that I will do my best not to get struck by lightning while in the chapel. Anyway, I was sure to do some research on the whole Advent thing before coming to church on Sunday. Here is what I had: coming of Jesus, lighting of candles, swaths of purple fabric invading your life, ect. ect. Well, that is what I had mentally prepared myself for on Sunday evening. So, when I was visually assaulted by a member of the KKK I was, understandably, shocked and frightened. 

Now, I know that at this point you all must be freaking out and expecting this story to take a horrid and dangerous turn that involves the police, me going to the hospital, and some choice swear words. Calm down, it does not end how you may think. 

The man in the white robe with the pointed hood was not, as it turns out, a member of the KKK. It was Father Gary, merely dressed in his Advent outfit (minus the purple swaths, of course), praying before the service, and certainly not expecting a girl to shriek "Jesus Christ!" and wallop him with a hymn book. I cannot explain what came over me as I threw my hymnal down on the priest, I can only tell you that at the time he looked to be a member of the KKK and I, certain that this was not a good thing, thought it my duty to protect ... well, protect someone that is for sure. I apologized profusely to Father Gary, explaining my somewhat broken thought process, and justifying it all by pointing out that his outfit did bear some resemblance to that of the KKK. He laughingly conceded to this point and made a comment about avoiding the south during Advent. I have never felt so ridiculous in my life. But he seems to have forgiven me - although I think I will do my best to look very solemn and focused during his next homily. 

In comparison to Sunday, the rest of the week seems rather dull. But I think a little "dull" could be nice in the life of a girl who walloped a priest. 

I will say one thing though; whoever put that "Yoga Sessions" sign outside our house may want to think of another location to advertise their business. While I personally am all for supporting yoga, the sign is in an inopportune place for our house. It has been only five days since the sign appeared and we have already had two woman in yoga outfits (complete with yoga mats) inquiring about yoga class times and instructors. I have half a mind to clear out the common room, buy myself some plants, and start charging 10 pounds for classes.

Kelsey