Field Trip: Whole Foods, Giffnock

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Though it opened in the south of Glasgow in November, it was kind of inevitable that we should go eventually. Despite the distance, we had a perfectly good excuse — we have friends who live that direction in Glasgow, and so we had the perfect excuse to pop in for a cuppa after a grueling trek through packed aisles, doing our marathon shopping session. Or something like that.

Ah, Whole Paycheck. We mock you with this name, and we’d all but stopped shopping with you in the U.S. (you do have some shoddy labor issues in the U.S. inexcusable ones, we thought at the time), but it was a treat to see you again. The eternal sameness of each and every WF in the world really closed the distance between Home & Abroad for us. To walk in was amusing, because somehow, it even smelled the same.

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There was the same complete and utter disregard for traffic flow, which put all the cool produce against one wall – creating the selfsame traffic jam in the produce section that happens in every WF in the world, it seems — there were the same fun and creative chalk-on-slate aisle marker illustrations (T. briefly met the guy who does them, who is our friend AB’s neighbor, the lucky, lucky man), product samples that you didn’t need (Hi Wee Fudge folks! We love you!) but take anyway, incomprehensibly expensive items like £12.99 sorbet, and £8 for two ounces of pine nuts, bottles and bottles and bottles and bottles of beverages to take the place of wine, beer, soda or even “normal” juices — elderflower and white grape cordial, anyone?? No? Perhaps ginger and apple?? White peach and hibiscus?? — and even the same smell – a slight metallic blood tang from the fish/meat counter, blended with hot cornmeal from the bottom of the breads in the bakery. It blends to make a smell uniquely Whole Foods.

If you go in on a rainy January day, there’s the added smell of wet wool, the squeak of wet carts, and the buzz of shoppers interacting in the bin section — “Wet one, isn’t it?” “Cor, listen to the wind!” “Oh, excuse me! Sorry! Are those lentils on special today?” — and the wailing of hipster music in the background – light jazz, something trendy; no sugar-synth pop or orchestral Beatles elevator Muzak to trouble you. Unlike other grocery stores, the loud voices calling so-and-so to the front are rare, as rare as people plugged in to iPhones and other devices. For some reason – maybe because it’s still new and easy to lose your way or your mind – “Those are Jerusalem artichokes? What do you do with them?” — people aren’t so tuned out.

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We were a little disappointed not to see the 365 Everyday WF store brand items – but one of the strengths of Whole Foods, before it started going crazy in the U.S., was that it sourced a lot of its inexpensive items locally. It was good to see a lot of familiar stuff, organic brands and UK vegetarian staples we appreciate from our jaunts to Grassroots in Glasgow (oh, how we miss living right down the block and across the street). A store with not only rice cakes but puffed wheat cakes, millet cakes and quinoa cakes plus popcorn cakes – well, see? You can have all of your tasteless diet-y wafers in all flavor(less)s. Or, something like that.

We had a good chuckle out of seeing tons of Amy’s Kitchen products, including Amy’s Burritos, which are sold in the frozen foods aisle, and in our Santa Rosa WF was a run-in-get-one-run-out items for many of the lunch crowd, who then used the store’s microwave to heat through their meal, and consumed it on the hoof. Um, yeah. Burritos. And south of Glasgow… not really that great of a combination. AB tells us that there was a full case of burritos in the freezer department when the store opened in November… and now there are two small boxes of individually wrapped tortillas-and-beans – one with cheese and one without. And that is all. Clearly, it’s a matter of figuring out what’s going to sell, and what will sit and stare at them.

Another surprise was the amount of Jewish nosh about the place. Mind, we cannot source Fleischmann’s Yeast to save our lives around these parts, but oy, the boxes of the matzah flour, crackers, the gefilte fish, the kasha, the pickles, the Kosher this and that. It was explained to us that the south of Glasgow has a large and venerable Jewish population, and a very old reform synagogue in the area, too, thus much of the Jewish population is in the area – and is able to shop at WF… which is a Jewish-owned store to begin with. A shtik naches, it now all makes sense. (A great joy, yes?) We are now excited that we can go ahead and use up our last, hoarded (and probably not very good anymore) matzah ball mix from our last trip home!!! Because we can indeed take two trains from two different stations and find more.

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(Oh, yes, did we fail to mention that? Train – from Stirling station – is forty minutes, give or take. We missed the fastest train, and took the next fastest, which left ten minutes later – into Queen Street Station, where we had to walk five city blocks to Central Station, found a train – which we missed by two minutes, thank you, we waited another twenty minutes, and took a thirty minute shuttle to Giffnock. Please add thirty-eight degree rain and gusting fifty mile per hour wind to this, and you’ll wonder why we don’t go every weekend.)

If you shop Whole Foods before mid-February, maybe you’ll run into another friend of ours, unless Junior makes an early appearance. A fellow American from chorus, our friend is working weird hours, mightily pregnant, but equally Zen and Whole Foodsish, so she’s in the right place. She can be cajoled into pointing out bargains, as she manages to do all of her shopping at WF, and still come away with some paycheck. That’s a mad Mom-to-Be Skill, so we paid attention. She can point out the line of Burt’s Bees baby products and some really cute olive wood baby utensils, too. Just in case you’re into that kind of thing.

In some ways, it’s like every other WF we’ve ever been to… and in other ways, it was still totally field-trip worthy, a fun little slice of home.

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Links

Today’s links are mostly about SOPA / PIPA. Who knows where it’ll all end up, but I guess we’ll know sooner or later whether the internet will be censored by the US government. Of course, that’s what everybody’s talking about, but it’s not necessarily the most important bit of legislation that’s under consideration. Have a read of Elsevier = Evil to get an earful.

With the PhD coming to a close, I suppose I’m wondering what’s next. In that vein, I had a nightmare that I went to work for Google, and it was just like high-school, with all of the cliques and cool kids and snobbery. How ironic that this article should show up to confirm that it would, indeed, be a nightmare: What It’s Really Like to Work at Google.

Continue reading “Links”

Behold! The PhD Is Done (ish)

Today’s Best Line: “Congratulations! You’ve passed your PhD!”

Today’s Second Best Line: “You know I’m never to call you Doctor, right? Ever.”

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Well. I passed the viva voce exam today, receiving 2 months in which to complete “minor corrections.” I defended my PhD thesis, and have no substantive changes to make. Now, by “substantive,” they mean that, “it’s good research, there are no flaws in the methodology or in the information presented, but you need to make it hang together a bit better – to tell the reader what you’re going to say, to walk them through the whole research a bit more, to join the bits together.” So – my guess is that that means about 40 or so more paragraphs in which I break things down for a larger audience, a bit of re-captioning, and (of course) the inevitable few typos which sneak into any large body of work.

Does this feel “real” yet? Well … not so much. I think it’ll feel more real when I really get through with making these changes. However: the research and degree have been defended to everyone’s satisfaction, and I have until the end of March to nail down the last few changes and get them approved by the internal examiner. So. I guess, put that way, it’s real.

What this means for us, in the short-term, is that we’ll be extending the student visas for a short time, and that we’ll also be able to qualify for post-study-work visas. The post-study visa allows us to stay here for another 2 years – and lets me find the right research job, rather than having to jump at whichever position is willing to take me immediately.

We have some celebrating to do (or, perhaps, sleeping, since I haven’t really slept in the last four days). We feel much safer, as we have a bit of breathing room.

-D

Edited To Add: Yes, that same won’t-call-me-doctor voice keeps saying, “I told you it would be fine.” Perhaps after a good night’s sleep, I’ll stop hearing that little mutter following me around…

Still Alive.

Dear

You might have noticed this same picture up on a tribute post for T’s grandmother. Well. This past weekend T’s grandmother was in the hospital and pronounced dead … but she wasn’t, and isn’t. She’s very much alive, no thanks to the medical world.

(What kind of a doctor pronounces someone dead, leaves them alone and naked in a room, only to discover that they’re alive hours later? Dead … except so not much. How does one make such a mistake?)

T’s grandmother is elderly, yes, had been ill, yes, but dead? No. She survived infection, hospital stays, and the unspeakable lack of care she received (and no, idiot doctor, we don’t want to put her onto morphine – she’s alive, please stop trying to kill her).

One could wish that T’s family were just a bit litigious, if only so that this doctor would feel some wrath in the form of a lawsuit. Or suffer some consequences of some kind. Something, because nobody should be pronounced dead when they’re still alive. Families should not have to grieve, and then wonder if they’re right to hope that the grief is not necessary. Which brings to mind the question of how often this happens. (Can somebody make such an egregious mistake and keep on practicing medicine?) The woman is over 80 years old and certainly didn’t deserve to be abandoned without food or comfort for the hours that she was.

But, the family is not vengeful, and everybody’s just happy to have Dear back. This is the important part…

-D

T Minus 2 Days…

My oral exam (viva) is this Thursday. 3 years of effort, all down to one, single examination. It’s a bit terrifying, but I imagine that this time Thursday will be a moment of celebration – that it’s finally done, or that I have corrections to make, but that the end is well and truly in sight. Oh – and I have a new job, as well, working for a company here in town. So much change, all within such a short time. I’ve about a dozen academic jobs for which to apply, as well, and they’re in places such as Puerto Rico and New Zealand – completely random places, but where the teaching / research jobs are. We’ll see where we end up next – just need to make it through Thursday!

-D

Links

Hope you all had a good holiday, and are ready to get back to whatever it is you’re up to. 7 days from now I’ll have had my viva and will be contemplating revision, most likely.

Not much in the links these past few weeks – it appears that the only thing going, really, has been SOPA. I wonder if anybody’s making money off of the circus that is the American Legislative System. Really: they’re such a farce with this, it’s unbelievable. Of course, that seems to be an underlying theme in US Politics these days.

Continue reading “Links”

Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind

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Thanks to all of you who emailed and asked about us… we’re just fine.

Didja know that the United Kingdom has more tornadoes, relative to its land area, than any other country? Nope, when we moved here, we didn’t know that either. Of course, the United States still holds the dubious title of Tornado Leader, but it has a lot more land mass, and a lot more territory in the Midwest especially, prone to the nasty buggers. Prior to moving here, we would never have imagined that tornadoes were a part of the United Kingdom at all. The first winter in our tiny flat in the high rise, where the whole building tower swayed, though, should have been our first clue… Today, folks from Belfast to Bo’ness are suffering through flattened cars, uprooted trees, and sandstone bricks and slate roofing tiles scattered about.

Ladies and gentlemen, yesterday, we lost a mill building. We are now Hayford Mills – 1. Granted, the building wasn’t occupied, and the roof was shingle-free, but it was a four-walls, wooden-roofed, standing derelict building. Now it’s a roofless, crumbled wall, messy pile of bricks. We felt the house – – ours, and brick, mind you vibrate beneath us while we lay abed, and got up and got hurriedly dressed at a ridiculous hour, for fear of ending up in pajamas in our bed in the front yard. It’s disconcerting to feel a brick house vibrate, to be sure. It’s weird, when you don’t live in a high rise, to feel like things are swaying. And the noise – freight trains and eerie howling all day.

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At least we don’t live near the sea – the Beeb posted pictures of the poor people near the coast. With all of this wind and rain, the flooding is insane. Our adopted family in Largs is lucky that they live up a slight incline, since pictures news footage shows the main street of their wee town awash – the sea came over the seawall and into town (We hate to think of the island!! Oy.). Since they’re happily vacationing in Cuba at present, and have a bit of a creek in front of their B&B, we were concerned – and doubly worried, because there were NO trains going for awhile Tuesday, and we couldn’t easily get up to sandbag their house if they needed us – but it turns out they wisely have someone house sitting, and all is well.

Fourteen hours without power made us get creative with the daily activities. Since it’s dim these days anyway, night seemed to last a loooong time. Many of our neighbors went into town to coffee shops and theaters with power, but a few of us lit candles and settled in. D. read aloud, while T. knitted. It felt very pioneer-y, and would have been enjoyable if it hadn’t gone on for so many hours. As the sun begins to go down at 2:30, it was all a bit much. T. was disappointed in herself – she likes candlelight and knitting is supposed to be peaceful. She couldn’t settle into it, until she found the caving lights and strapped one onto her head. And then her mood improved greatly.

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Fourteen hours without electricity is hard, but it was the blackness – the choking, profound darkness that made things really difficult. After true sundown, the dark just went on forever. We hadn’t realized how much we relied, in our more rural circumstances, on streetlights and the glow from others’ homes to not feel like we were isolated in a tiny boat on the edge of a trackless sea. “I don’t know how they did it back then,” T moaned at one point, aggravated by walking into a room and automatically switching on a light yet again. We know, though, that the early Scots had no TV, radio, computers, or electricity to miss, no light switches to fruitlessly flip. They had storytellers and musicians and they could knit in the near-dark, or add to their population – that’s how they “did it.” The fact is, they were tired after dealing with sheep, cattle, fishing and nets, oats, stills, and other hard work all day. We can be sure they didn’t sit around and fuss about when the power company was at least going to have some explanation for the cold, dark hours. Only we wimps did that.

Meanwhile, D. did well with what T. began to call “house camping,” and made foil reflectors to capitalize on the candlelight, lit the hob with matches and boiled up big pots of water and pots of tea, and made a nests of blankets (which, at age ten, he might have called a fort) and dug around for snacks. He read aloud to T. for hours, photographed the stars, bivouacked into the frigid blackness of the garage to find useful items to make the time pass. At least one of us enjoyed being on The 1890’s House, Hayford Mills episode.


And The Countdown Continues: Eight days to the viva!

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For those of you who have been asking how the job hunting is going — well, it’s going. It’s a lot of hurry-make-the-deadline and wait-for-some-response, and we’re in the waiting bit right now. Meanwhile, recruiters and tech personnel are phoning, now that D.’s taken his resume out of mothballs. He’s been contacted by Amazon, and weird (not at all likely to get polite responses) people are even calling Martinez, looking for him! Fortunately, the parents there have one of those Byzantium phone tree things – If you’d like to speak to the lady of the house, say your name clearly, and whistle the first three bars of the Largo from Dvorak’s “New World Symphony.” I’m sorry, we don’t recognize that name. To try again, press 3, and jump on your left leg while raising your right hand – and no one ever really makes it through to speak to them anyway. (We do want to warn all of those people that bothering our people makes us VERY UNLIKELY to be willing to speak nicely to you. Go away.) Job prospects remain a little iffy – lots of nice people want to talk, but it’s difficult to be able to read a situation, job, or person long-distance, and while we’re wary on this end, they’re wary on their end as well. However, we remain confident that we will end up exactly where we’re supposed to be, and if that’s a beach in the Bahamas, well, then, so be it, right?

T., struggling with finishing her latest novel, has begun counting words. She doesn’t usually, but the Winter Blahs (TM) are killing her creativity, so she’s trying a variety of ways to revive it, and her current means is to write two thousand words a day. For the rest of us, this is not the way to happy liveliness, but it seems to be working for her so far. She remains giddy that at long last, her orchids are preparing to bloom, and has high hopes for her African violet as well. For someone who has killed more plants in Scotland than she has kept alive, this is Symbolic and Meaningful for her. Meanwhile D. continues to work on his notes for The Kelvingrove Review, the University’s journal for which he is reviewing a book on the internet. He’ll be glad to be finished, as ironically, the review is due the day of his viva – he might actually want to look at his completed dissertation one last time!

Before After
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Despite flying branches, howling winds, pelting sleet and a lot of sneezing — when it’s not raining, the dust is certainly airborne – all is well at Casa Hayford Mills. Hope you’re doing well, too.

New.

Well, the stork came ’round last night, and delivered. Congratulations. You have now gone once more around the sun, and are the sole guardian of a wrinkle-free, blank-paged new year.

Boy, howdy was 2011 a difficult year. The vicious cold last Christmas which led to frozen pipes, then thawing-flooding rooms, and the return of the under-toilet mushroom. D’s nameless illness which went on and on and on; icy falls, deaths of friends, dumb dissertation delays, D’s work woes, Mom’s pulmonary embolism, carpet-eating moths, selling many possessions, leaving the city. So much change. So much growth. So much… well, angst.

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No one ever mentions that whilst the caterpillar is busy heading butterfly-wards that there’s a lot of hard work, sweat, and tears involved. (No blood, because caterpillars only have this kind of green gook, which you discover if you accidentally squish one. But we digress. Badly.) Battling to emerge from the last tough bits of a cocoon, whether scholastic, psychological or work-related is difficult. Even at our geriatric stage, growing up is hard to do. In myriad ways, we are fundamentally changed from living through a painful 2011 – we are, perhaps a little more serpent-wise than dove-harmless. We are less apt to tolerate liars, less apt to be people-pleasers, and we say no a lot more often – but we’ve managed to keep our people-pleaser smiles as we say it. We’ve re-evaluated many of our relationships, and have hopefully become calmer and kinder and smarter about weighing what really matters.

We’ve realized that we spent 2011 sort of reeling – creeping and cringing from one crisis to the next. There are so many places to err in a normal life, but being outside of our culture provides even more ways. We misspoke, we misunderstood, we …missed the mark. And while today is a new day in a new year, we figure a lot of that will happen again. And again…

Christmas Here Right Now

We are not much given to making resolutions. (In fact, we are not much given to even paying attention to the traditional celebrations of the new year; T. thought the first fireworks [at 9:30!?] were someone dragging a trashcan over the cobblestones.) If we were to make a resolution, though, it would go something like this: we will not fear. Or, perhaps more realistically, “we’ll fear, but move forward.” We’ll stand up straight, instead of cringing, and put some boldness in our steps, instead of creeping. Crises happen, after all… The pop-psychology catchprase says “Do It Scared.”

Human beings live in fear of those squidgy moments no one can control. We live in fear of embarrassment and the horror of awkwardness. Most of us are deathly afraid of pain. Many of us are afraid of voicing our opinions, our likes, our dislikes, or desires, for fear that everyone will say, “eeew!” like they did in grade school when we brought too brown of a banana or tofu in a sandwich. But part of that last moment of birth is the pain – for all parties involved. Being squeezed is uncomfortable, and the last push to break through the cocoon is the one the butterfly – weary, damp, and losing hope – probably believes will kill them.

The goal is to feel the fear and move forward. And while that may sound simplistic to the extreme, it’s what successful people do. They don’t look too far ahead, and try to swallow down the entire scope of the days before them, they take in the immediate challenges of the now, solve them, and go on to the next. It’s T’s mantra, which a friend embroidered on sleeves for her: be here now.

And we, who don’t know what we’re doing or where we’re going or how our work will be received, or what the future holds – we are here now. Today we take the first step on another journey around the sun, clutching both hands to a fragile faith, waiting for our wings to dry, so we can fly.

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Holiday Lounging!

Our Christmas decorations weren’t all that complete, as we’re not entirely sure where some of them are stored … well, in the garage, yes, but we didn’t want to open every box to find them. Nevertheless, we did have a bit of fun cutting out stars and snowflakes – from paper recycled from our Christmas Cracker flyers, pulling out the whirling pyramid Christmas thing (Weihnachtspyramide) that we got from a Christmas Market in Germany in 1999, and making a clove orange to hang in the entryway. Now T’s reading the last of her Cybils nominations and working on book reviews in preparation for tonight’s midnight (well, between 5-7 p.m. for everyone else) meeting with her judging panel, and D’s catching up on fiction reading, and generally enjoying some time off. D. has a telephone interview-ish thing today with a professor from Puerto Rico – and we’re dreaming of warm places for our next location!

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It was nice not to feel the need to do much of anything – while J. was here, we mostly sat around and chatted. J. crocheted up a flower for T.’s felted hat, D. nearly finished up another knitted-felt project (yet another hat – but an actual hat, rather than merely a cap), and T. has taken up a striped cabled scarf on her knitting loom.

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Of course, no one should visit without us using the occasion as an excuse to do some baking. We had a lovely basket of raspberries and a pair of old, wizened apples, so we made Raspberry-Apple Pasties. We also made some savory ones, with a curried lentil-carrot filling, but the filling just wasn’t as picturesque as the fruit ones. No sugar, only 4 ingredients, and they were fabulous: apples, raspberries, cranberry wensleydale cheese, and a crust. Pinch them up, bake them until golden, and you have a pie!

And if we might say so: Scottish raspberries are a blessing from God. Amen. Amazingly sweet, even for so early/late in the year. We get them from the farm folks, so someone still has them growing – and we’re really, really glad.

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Today we’re being thankful that the incessant wind has stopped (which sounded rather like the ocean, it was so loud) and working our way through those things on the to-do list which have been delayed for too long. T’s been muttering about finally trying out a faux Goldfish cracker recipe to give away paired with her painted glass jars of layered soup ingredients, and we’ll try to bake up another batch of gingerbread cookies later on, or perhaps watch a movie – although hopefully our second one is nothing like that dumb one with monsters and aliens…

Our families all have this week off as well, so we suspect there’s a great deal of lounging going on all around. Hope you’re able to kick back a little bit, too.

-D & T