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 We were by far the most overdressed people there, which was complimented by our outdated dance moves.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

Alice's Restaurant

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays - and this love stems directly from the food involved. And I was not going to miss out on all the good food just because I was studying abroad in Northern Ireland. I also thought that by putting  on my own Thanksgiving feast I would forget that I was miles away from those that I love. So, bright and early on Thursday morning, the cooking began. Well, if I was perfectly honest, the cooking began Wednesday night. 

I prepared for Thanksgiving by making the pies the night before. Which was an adventure in itself. You see, many of the ingredients needed for a pumpkin pie are called by a different name in Belfast, or they simply do not exist. For instance, you won't find pumpkin puree in any local Irish grocer. This is because, for obvious reasons, people who reside in Belfast do not celebrate thanksgiving. Go figure. I searched high and low for the pumpkin and was just about to give up the search when I found a jar of some in a small health food store. I was the most enthusiastic customer in the store. Once I finally found all the ingredients I began to bake. And then found myself in another predicament. My directions included oven temperatures in Fahrenheit. But everything over here is in Celsius. Now, usually I would just pull out a computer and look up some conversions. But due to the lack of internet at my house, I did what any person would do. I did the conversions myself. With the help of some of my housemates. I paused at one moment and looked around, realizing the depth of our nerdiness, and felt that my mother would be very proud. I can recall many a baking adventure with my mother where she made me do all of the conversions myself, assuring me that I would thanks her one day, and now I can finally say what she has been knowing would come one day. 

Mom, you were right. It was very helpful. 

So, one hour later, I put my pies in the oven. I personally think it is a miracle that the pies turned out so well because I am almost positive that (despite having two math majors assist) our math was terribly wrong. 

Thursday arrived much to soon for me. I had to wake up before the sun to go get the turkey. I had planned to get to the butcher's when they opened to get my fresh turkey in enough time to brine it and cook it. (See previous blog for more Butcher Shop hilarity) I also employed the help of Simon, a housemate, to help me carry the turkey back to the house because I had been informed that it would be quite heavy. And it is a good thing I did. The turkey was massive. I mean, HUGE. The butcher was nice enough to give me a little meat thermometer as well because I had been commenting on how I was worried because I did not have one. At this point Simon is staring at the bird with complete awe. Then Declan, the butcher, and I chatted a little about Thanksgiving traditions while Simon proceeded to make wild gestures of unbelief at the turkey in the background. I have never seen a person so excited about a turkey. I mean, I was very excited as well, but I managed to keep it all contained. 

I brought the turkey home and unwrapped it. It was truly a massive bird. As I began preparing it and reading the directions I had a realization. It had not occurred to me that, when the directions said rub with salt, inside and out, it meant that I would have to put my hand inside the turkey. I do not think of myself as a squemish person, but this grossed me out just a bit. Oh, but there was more to come. I noticed a small bag next to the turkey, a mysterious red bag. As I was wondering what it might be, Karin came in to the kitchen to view the turkey. Together we cautiously open the bag. It was the heart and some other mysterious bird organs! Karin and I flew backwards in shock and disgust, both cringing. It was so nasty - they were bloody and everything. I am sure Declan thought he was being a nice guy - giving me some bird parts as an extra bonus - but I could have done without. They went into the trash. 

The rest of the day is filled with flashes of memory: peeling potatoes, chopping madly, mixing, melting, baking, cooking, taking occasional swigs from the cooking wine, basting, more temperature conversions, moments of panic, washing dishes, it all continues until a few minutes before people began arriving. Until that moment, I don't think I had actually stopped for air. But then everything came together. People came in, hugs and kisses were exchanged, and the feast began. Everything was wonderful. Among the champion dishes were, the green bean casserole, the turkey (I took their word for it), and the pecan pie. I was better than I had imagined. But I was tired. Exhausted is a better word. I kept thinking - How do people do this EVERY year and make it look so easy? It was all worth the effort though. For a little bit, I forgot that I was not home for my favorite holiday. 

So, I am thankful for this experince (how else would I learn how to make a turkey), thankful for all the news freinds who helped celebrate Thanksgiving, for being able to study abroad, for all of my family and those that I hold dear, and also for the people who make me feel important by actually reading this blog (Where is the motivation? I mean come on- the writing sucks!). 

Happy Thanksgiving.

Kelsey

Little Birdie

Today I ordered an honest to god, formerly clucking, turkey. And I feel very accomplished. Not exactly the emotion I imagined feeling after buying a turkey, especially being a vegetarian. But nonetheless, I am filled with triumphant joy. I feel as though I have just run across the finish line of an important race. My own personal Boston Marathon. 

The butcher shop where I placed an order for the blessed bird was exactly the sort of shop you imagine would be in a small town. The sigh outside assured you of the authenticity of the meat you were buying – “Real meat, Real Irish Farms, Real People” – and while I pondered why they would feel the need to be specific about the real meat (no fake stuff here!) I was more worried about the “real people” portion. Stepping into the shop, I could not help but admire the red and white striped awning that hung overhead, which perfectly matched the aprons of the store clerks (complete with matching hats). The store was littered with elderly women and a few, admittedly lost looking, husbands. I was the youngest person there by about fifty years. Even the clerk who took my order looked old enough to be my grandfather. He leaned over the counter and, after waving goodbye to some usuals, asked “What can I do for you love?”  I explained my turkey predicament; buying a frozen turkey and having to defrost it versus spending the extra pounds to buy a fresh turkey. He gave me a knowing look and said, “Thanksgiving?” And here I was, thinking I had concealed my Americanism so well. He chuckled and went about checking prices and turkey deliveries, while I chatted with a lovely woman (Susan) who was buying some lamb for this evening. Her grandson was coming into town for a visit – “He’s such a nice lad, it is a wonder her hasn’t found a girl yet, you should really meet him….” Lucky the butcher came back then or I fear I may have been going to dinner as her grandson’s welcome home surprise. 

In the end, I ordered my turkey and managed to leave knowing more about turkey than I had coming in. I almost didn’t make it out, a few old ladies tried to entice me with their own turkey recipes and discussions on proper brining (a word I learned today) and a debate over giblets (with or without?). By the time I left the store, with a wave from Declan the butcher, I felt like a usual myself. 

This really is a momentous occasion. My first thanksgiving turkey. I feel ever so important and grown up. This is the first thanksgiving I am not spending with family and, while I will miss Aunt Kathryn’s turkey and accoutrement, I feel that this is almost a rite of passage that I must complete. But I am also realizing the work that goes into Thanksgiving. There are so many things I must make – and all in one day?! How is it done? I am torn between buying some of the food pre-made and making it all for the sake of authenticity. I fear that I am too proud to buy pre-made food in this situation. Half of me is very rpoud of this – we will not yield to the pressures! – while the other half groans and thinks of all the work to be done. 

Now only one question remains in my mind: How am I going to fit a whole turkey into our tiny oven?

Wish me luck,

Kelsey

Tale as Old as Time

Yesterday was no ordinary day. Yesterday, I saw Beauty and the Beast. (The musical, I am not referring to a sighting of a ugly man with a beautiful woman. I mean, come on, that happens every day.)

Esther (a housemate) heard that the show was happening down at the Belfast Opera House and the tickets were cheap for students. At the time, a few of us made semi-excited, non-commital responses of joy at this announcement. But then the idea took root in our brains and it became so much more than a night at the Opera House. 

It started with a few inquiries about what we should wear to the event. Someone made the comment of dressing up and suddenly this "casual evening" was given the dress code of "cocktail". Of course, this provided the house with another dilemma because only a few of the girls possessed dresses appropriate to the dress code. Fortunately, I came to Belfast equipped with enough exciting performance outfits to last the year. This resulted in an hour long session of trying on dresses in my room. It was very girly and filled with all the cliches you look for in a girly clothing session. There was cheesy 80's music, boy talk, chocolate, trash talk, nail painting, the only thing missing was hair braiding. By the time we were out of chocolate, it was decided that we would get all dressed up in our high heels and some of my best dresses, complete with hair and make-up; all with the intent of taking the Opera House by storm. 

In the last few minutes before our taxi arrived, we strutted our stuff in the common room, much to the confusion of our male housemates. 

When we arrived, in style I might add, the Opera House was in full swing. People in fancy uniforms doing god knows what, classy music playing - the works. We were, however, clearly overdressed. But I think that added to the experience. We headed to the bar and ordered some pre-show drinks. I have to say, I felt quite impressive in my dress, make-up and hair done, sipping a glass of red wine before the opera (okay, it was a musical. But it was IN an Opera House...that definitely counts). Then, as we headed to our seats, a wonderful man told us that our seats had been upgraded and we were now sitting in the balcony. Dead center. Oh, yeah. Life is pretty great. 

It was an interesting show. The costumes were, well, mostly for the kids. The music was well done, I was pleasantly surprised. In truth, I enjoyed myself immensely. Beauty and the Beast is one of my favorite Disney films and seeing it onstage was just as much fun. And who doesn't love watching adults run around pretending to be flatware? The best was the wardrobe - I forgot that she was supposed to be an opera singer. 

Thanksgiving is next week and I am already starting to make preparations. It is going to be a wonderful dinner - so long as I don't screw it up!

Kelsey

This Land is Your Land

This weekend was the beginning of something great. It was the "Kelsey revitalizes her life" weekend.

I had been feeling rather boring and dull, constantly consumed with school work and the mundane activities of life (ie. Laundry, grocery shopping, ex.). While I was glad that my studies were not being neglected, I felt that I should be living life a little fuller. The weekend provided a wonderful solution to my predicament.

Step One: Friday Night

Oh what wonders will the night hold? A little bird told me that there was to be live music at Ye Old Egglantine Inn, a local pub not far from my lovely abode.So, with the company of Karin and Alex, off we went to expand our musical horizons. Unfortunately, the show did not start until 11:35 and by then we had had a few drinks. So we were very appreciative of the music. To say the least. In our waiting period we did have many philosophical discussions, perhaps made even more so by the fact that we were taking full advantage of the three for five student deal. But after the band's first set we decided that we were beat and headed home. A slow start for a supposed wild weekend. But Saturday held promise...

Step Two: Saturday

Bright and early Saturday morning, five intrepid trekkers from 76 Malone headed out on a FREE international student hiking trip. As we walked to the bus in two degree weather, we worried that Saturday was going to resemble Friday night. As the bus dropped us off outisde Newcastle, a few of us realized that the sceneery looked fairly familiar. that is because we had all visited this lovely National Park on a previous adventure. You may recall the lovely pictures. Yes, it was the same place, but with one change. We were on the opposite that we started on in the previous hike. Feeling foolish we headed out. But what a day it turned into! The weather cleared and the forest was filled with sunshine (a novelty for Northern Ireland). Accompianing our usual group was Lionel and Lenin - to musician friends of mine. So, naturally, the hike was filled with lovely harmony and song. Which added to the enjoyment. I was filled with energy. I went for a short run through the forest, played with some particularly happy puppies, and even payed homage to The Sound of Music by frolicking across a hill.

Sunday: Don't worry - nothing happened.

Monday: And the excitement continues!!! We went out to see lionel and Lenin perform of the John Hewitt Pub. It was open mike night and I am happy to say that they brought the house down. Now, that may be because the pub was filled by, mostly, their friends. Regardless, they were amazing.

A fabulous weekend. 

Kelsey