I have been trying to maintain two blogs for several months. My first blog, Culinary Cowgirl, has been loads of fun...indulging my passion of all things food. And this blog has been my release for all things non-food. But, after taking a long think about it and after noticing that my life wouldn't support the time for two blogs, I have opted to quit the first two and begin a new one.
Just This Side of Normal will still have an enormous helping of my food fanaticism, as well as my thoughts that have been a part of Notes from a Caffienated Cowgirl.
So I'm not really leaving...just changing location. See you there!
Showing posts with label ramblings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ramblings. Show all posts
30 June 2007
21 May 2007
Adaptation...
English weather is schizophrenic. One day it is sunny, the next rainy, and then sunny again. It just can't make up it's mind. Yesterday it was beautiful. Not too warm, but sunny with a mild wind. I spent most of the day in our garden, since this past week had been less than stellar. And yet today, as if God thinks English weather is his own personal joke, it's raining again...and cold. Three years and I still haven't gotten used to it. I've decided to seek refuge in a cup of coffee and piece of chocolate. Maybe that will help.
How is it that we may move from place to place, yet our bodies seem set on staying in their original climate? I grew up in a Mediterranean climate. Winters that were cold, but not harsh. Summers that were hot, but not humid. After leaving home, I've lived in a variety of climates and no matter how hard I try, I never fully adapt. When I do get to go home for a visit, my body breathes a sigh of relief as if to say "yes, this is where I belong."
If you can never fully adapt to the weather, then can you ever fully adapt to the place? Does my lack of stripping down to a t-shirt and shorts when the weather hits 65 degrees Fahrenheit make it obvious that I'm not a native? Or that the raincoat I had when we moved here would be laughed at by locals as it was not "serious" enough for the wet weather? I'd like to think I fit in here pretty well after all this time, but I guess I still don't truly grasp the instability of English weather.
Ugh, it's still raining. Time for another cup of coffee. But, on the bright side, tomorrow it will probably be sunny again...WAIT - maybe I'm getting the hang of this after all!
How is it that we may move from place to place, yet our bodies seem set on staying in their original climate? I grew up in a Mediterranean climate. Winters that were cold, but not harsh. Summers that were hot, but not humid. After leaving home, I've lived in a variety of climates and no matter how hard I try, I never fully adapt. When I do get to go home for a visit, my body breathes a sigh of relief as if to say "yes, this is where I belong."
If you can never fully adapt to the weather, then can you ever fully adapt to the place? Does my lack of stripping down to a t-shirt and shorts when the weather hits 65 degrees Fahrenheit make it obvious that I'm not a native? Or that the raincoat I had when we moved here would be laughed at by locals as it was not "serious" enough for the wet weather? I'd like to think I fit in here pretty well after all this time, but I guess I still don't truly grasp the instability of English weather.
Ugh, it's still raining. Time for another cup of coffee. But, on the bright side, tomorrow it will probably be sunny again...WAIT - maybe I'm getting the hang of this after all!
09 May 2007
Shades of deja black and blue...
Having two older brothers guaranteed one thing for me while growing up - various cuts, scrapes and bruises covering my arms and legs at any given time. I was their guinea pig, their crash test dummy. I would end up wounded in some way and go running for the house...and my mom would always say, "oh, you're not dead...if you had the brains God gave you, you wouldn't do what they asked."
But I wanted to fit in. I didn't want to be a girly-girl. I wanted to be one of the boys. They would talk me into playing Evil Knievel with my bike (never a wise choice), having me barrel down one of the hills attempting some sort of jump at the bottom (the bike usually ended up on top of me). They had me try to ride my pet donkey - who didn't want to be rode. They were always successful at talking me into being a passenger on one of their motorcycle rides (can't tell you how many times I fell off the back when hitting a bump in the road). They even got me to ride in makeshift wagons that were hooked up to the back of dirtbikes (you can only imagine the outcome). And I still have many of the scars to this day.
Plus, on top of what my brothers got me into, I have to admit I am a natural klutz. Grace is not my middle name. So, even when I was not being used for experiments, I was finding my own way to injuries. And it's never improved. Even now, I always have a cut, scrape or burn somewhere on my body. But I've lived through it all and actually feel that I am stronger (so to speak) because of it.
So, I guess it really shouldn't surprise me that my son is following in my footsteps...or missteps. He is always falling or banging his head on something. But it was just this past week, when he fell on the sidewalk and took a good portion of hide off his right knee, that I had that odd sense of deja vu and saw multiple visions of what his future would be like. He is currently an only child. Will he learn from his own self-inflicted wounds? Will he grow up to be the ringleader of crash test dummies? I shudder to think.
And yet, at the same time, I find myself repeating my mom's words to him - "oh, you're not dead...here's a bandaid...and just be more careful next time."
But I wanted to fit in. I didn't want to be a girly-girl. I wanted to be one of the boys. They would talk me into playing Evil Knievel with my bike (never a wise choice), having me barrel down one of the hills attempting some sort of jump at the bottom (the bike usually ended up on top of me). They had me try to ride my pet donkey - who didn't want to be rode. They were always successful at talking me into being a passenger on one of their motorcycle rides (can't tell you how many times I fell off the back when hitting a bump in the road). They even got me to ride in makeshift wagons that were hooked up to the back of dirtbikes (you can only imagine the outcome). And I still have many of the scars to this day.
Plus, on top of what my brothers got me into, I have to admit I am a natural klutz. Grace is not my middle name. So, even when I was not being used for experiments, I was finding my own way to injuries. And it's never improved. Even now, I always have a cut, scrape or burn somewhere on my body. But I've lived through it all and actually feel that I am stronger (so to speak) because of it.
So, I guess it really shouldn't surprise me that my son is following in my footsteps...or missteps. He is always falling or banging his head on something. But it was just this past week, when he fell on the sidewalk and took a good portion of hide off his right knee, that I had that odd sense of deja vu and saw multiple visions of what his future would be like. He is currently an only child. Will he learn from his own self-inflicted wounds? Will he grow up to be the ringleader of crash test dummies? I shudder to think.
And yet, at the same time, I find myself repeating my mom's words to him - "oh, you're not dead...here's a bandaid...and just be more careful next time."
28 April 2007
A good day for a cat...
I was never a sun worshiper...until I moved to England. Growing up in Northern California, we had our fair share of sun all year. When summer hit, I was not one of the masses that would stake a place in the sun and bake for hours. My sunbathing lasted only minutes (luckily I tan easy). I preferred sun from a shady point of view.
However, after three winters in England, I have changed my mind. It's no wonder that come winter, the Brits all make plans for holidays in Florida and the Canary Islands. They're not worried with the beauty of it all, they just want sun. And frankly, I don't blame them. Grey day after grey day leaves you begging for a break in the clouds, and when it comes you run outside like a madman so that you don't miss it.
I have to think, if I were a cat, I would've probably curled up and stayed there the rest of the day...
However, after three winters in England, I have changed my mind. It's no wonder that come winter, the Brits all make plans for holidays in Florida and the Canary Islands. They're not worried with the beauty of it all, they just want sun. And frankly, I don't blame them. Grey day after grey day leaves you begging for a break in the clouds, and when it comes you run outside like a madman so that you don't miss it.
Today was one of those days. We've been having beautiful weather for a couple of weeks now (with only a few minor exceptions), but for some reason today just seemed better. There was a haze, but the sun was warm. Before I set out to actually work in the garden, I relaxed in one of our patio chairs, stretching my legs out to try and remove some of their winter white. Our little boy played in his sandbox and I just sat soaking up the light. I had to laugh - where did this woman come from? Can a change of location really affect a person that much? I guess so...when you deny them their sunlight.
I have to think, if I were a cat, I would've probably curled up and stayed there the rest of the day...
23 April 2007
Where life takes you...
Truth - I really am a cowgirl.
I grew up on a ranch in California. My life for over 20 years consisted of ranchers, cowboys, cows, cowdogs, foothills and mountains. From the time I was born, I figured that was were I would be forever. When you're born into tradition, you tend to stay in tradition. Why would I have dreamt that I would do anything else?
Mind you, while we lived on a ranch, we weren't isolated from the rest of the world. Our area was reasonably close to major cities, so I wasn't that much of a country mouse when it came to understanding what lay beyond the ranch gate. Like most girls during the time, I had crushes on all the right heartthrobs (with the exception of Roy Rogers...he wasn't too popular with my friends, but hey, they didn't know any better!), listened to all the right music (mostly), and wore all the right clothes....okay, maybe not the right clothes, but I wasn't that bad. I fit in with my contemporaries, and yet I didn't. There has always been a part of me that remains a cowgirl through and through.
As life progressed, I followed paths that made sense. I worked in marketing for the beef industry. I was an outspoken proponent of all things ranching. I had a mission and I was on a roll. Then I met my future husband...and life turned upside down. Within a few years, I was married and headed on a path that would take me all over the world...and far away from the life that I grew up with.
Today we live across the pond in England. A million miles away from things and a life familiar to me. For a country girl, even when you adapt to a new area, there are days that make you gasp for air. So I have decided the best therapy to maintain my sanity is to put my thoughts down in writing. I'll grab my cup of coffee and share my views on the path that I am following.
Truth - I still wear cowboy boots.
I grew up on a ranch in California. My life for over 20 years consisted of ranchers, cowboys, cows, cowdogs, foothills and mountains. From the time I was born, I figured that was were I would be forever. When you're born into tradition, you tend to stay in tradition. Why would I have dreamt that I would do anything else?
Mind you, while we lived on a ranch, we weren't isolated from the rest of the world. Our area was reasonably close to major cities, so I wasn't that much of a country mouse when it came to understanding what lay beyond the ranch gate. Like most girls during the time, I had crushes on all the right heartthrobs (with the exception of Roy Rogers...he wasn't too popular with my friends, but hey, they didn't know any better!), listened to all the right music (mostly), and wore all the right clothes....okay, maybe not the right clothes, but I wasn't that bad. I fit in with my contemporaries, and yet I didn't. There has always been a part of me that remains a cowgirl through and through.
As life progressed, I followed paths that made sense. I worked in marketing for the beef industry. I was an outspoken proponent of all things ranching. I had a mission and I was on a roll. Then I met my future husband...and life turned upside down. Within a few years, I was married and headed on a path that would take me all over the world...and far away from the life that I grew up with.
Today we live across the pond in England. A million miles away from things and a life familiar to me. For a country girl, even when you adapt to a new area, there are days that make you gasp for air. So I have decided the best therapy to maintain my sanity is to put my thoughts down in writing. I'll grab my cup of coffee and share my views on the path that I am following.
Truth - I still wear cowboy boots.
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