Alphabet Soup: M is for Misplaced

This segment titled Alphabet Soup: The alphabet according to someone with very little shame and a lot of time on her hands was inspired by blogger Mandy Wallace and the Writers of Kern A to Z challenge. Enjoy!

Afternoon, readers! It’s finally Friday and I bet you’re all as excited as I am! Regardless of what you’re doing with your life, Fridays always seem to carry with them an air of joy and freedom that’s hard to deny. It’s a day for doing new things, going on adventures, and getting misplaced.

M is for Misplaced

The weekend I hung out with Liverpool Guy (yes, he’s in this one as well. Don’t judge me!), we spent a lot of time getting misplaced. We weren’t lost exactly, but we also weren’t entirely sure where we were going most of the time. It became a thing for me to ask him if he knew where we were going. He’d say that he knew, it was just that the way there was a bit unclear. In any case, we were headed in the right general direction.

Being misplaced gave us things to talk about and, since we weren’t purposefully heading anywhere, it gave us the time to talk about them. Weird things mind you, like the one creepy street we passed and decided it was clearly where all the serial killers lived. It was something about the lights or lack thereof, I can’t remember. We talked about having no filter, about buildings and advertisements. We moved in a constant state of conversation.

The most memorable time for me happened on Thursday, our first night out. We’d driven to the restaurant and parked in a huge multi-story garage. When it came time to leave we kept driving around in circles because the arrows kept pointing us in weird directions. It doesn’t sound funny, but it was probably one of the funniest moments of my entire trip. We joked about touring the car park and about how scenic it was. How we couldn’t remember what it was like outside the car park. He grumbled about how it was the car park and not his fault, I told him the car park was mocking him. We eventually made it out, teary eyed from laughter and happy to finally be free.

We’re used to fighting the idea of being lost, that feeling of not knowing quite where you are, of being out of your element. We fight the uncomfortable sensation of having failed somewhat, of being aware you’re meant to know where you’re going, of leading people astray. For me, there are times when getting lost has proven better than getting somewhere without incidents or without turning the wrong way. With Liverpool Guy it meant getting to different places in our conversation. With my ex, who I spent time with in Scotland and Spain, it meant seeing beautiful scenery and watching him drive, which I enjoy.

Sometimes, getting lost can be the best thing that can happen. When you finally reach your destination, you reach it with your hands full of memories. You just need to take care to make them good ones.

Let yourselves get misplaced once in a while, readers. You might enjoy it!

Have a good one!

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Photo Post: England

Look at that, hanging out on a Tuesday and it feels so good!

As promised here are a few pictures from my trip. I figured I’d already shown you quite a few pictures from Scotland, so I started the photographic journey with England.

The Calder Piece was really interesting. It wasn’t at all what I expected, but it was still excellent. Entrancing is the word I’d use to describe it. Here’s what the Tate Museum says about the performance I went to:

Earle Brown was a major force in contemporary music and the American avant-garde since the 1950s and the creator of open form, a style of musical construction greatly indebted to the works of Alexander Calder.

In 1963, Brown and Calder embarked on a musical collaboration, for which Calder made Chef d’orchestre, where four percussionists are ‘conducted’ by the mobile. Some 100 percussion instruments are employed in a performance where the movement of the sculpture is read by the percussionists, responding to the varying configuration of its elements.

As well as functioning as conductor, the musicians actually play the mobile, making each performance both visually and musically unique. It was not until 1966 that the work was finished and Calder Piece was first performed at the Théâtre de l’Atelier in Paris, early in 1967.

Calder Piece is one of kind and Earle Brown insisted that the music must never be independent of Chef d’orchestre. This major revival of a work not played for over 30 years is its UK premiere, performed by the percussion ensemble of the Guildhall School of Music and Drama in collaboration with Gramophone Award-winning conductor Richard Bernas.

 

There you have it, readers! I realized I didn’t take as many pictures as I should’ve. For example, I have no pictures with Liverpool guy. What’s that about? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this brief journey through (some of) my trip memories. Stay tuned because the week of posts continues!

Have a good one!

Alphabet Soup: K is for Kiss

This segment titled Alphabet Soup: The alphabet according to someone with very little shame and a lot of time on her hands was inspired by blogger Mandy Wallace and the Writers of Kern A to Z challenge. Enjoy!

Hello, readers! I had my share of weird, unexpected, frustrating, beautiful moments during my trip. This is one that stands out in my memory.

K is for Kiss

I met a guy in Liverpool. It was unexpectedly amazing.

We’d actually met online, months before my trip. Here was a guy who was cute and funny and who I had things in common with, but we barely talked. A few messages here and there. We made plans to meet up when I was in England, actually the only reason I stopped in Liverpool was to hang out with him. When the time came for me to actually head down, I was nervous because it felt like we hadn’t spoken enough for me to take a whole detour just to see him.

I got to Liverpool on a Thursday, we went out that same night. He was late, which gave me more than enough time to wonder if we’d have a good time, whether there would be chemistry, if he’d show at all. My landlady told me to make him pay for everything, whether it was a date or not. Was it a date? “Thanks landlady, now I don’t even know what to call the outing”.

He did show up. He looked nice, smelled better. The combination of his smile and his accent and his nearness was enough to give me a buzz before I started drinking. He’d made reservations to a great restaurant. He was sweet and attentive and leaving because he had to work the next day. The ride home had been occupied with funny conversation and an inner monologue of “To kiss or not to kiss, that is the question”. I decided not to kiss him. He had to go and we still had the rest of the weekend, was what I told myself.

Friday found us drinking at a Circus themed bar. He still smelled good. He was still funny and charming and smart. We were on the clock though, public transport ended early which meant an early (ish) night for us. It was a good night. I felt instant chemistry with this guy who was quick to smile and wasn’t afraid to laugh at himself and the world. This guy who, as I got on the bus told me “call me if anything happens with the bus, I’ll get you a taxi.” I thought it was sweet then, it still seems sweet now. He’d said he was feeling the onset of a cold. Jokes were made about kissing and illnesses. About how illnesses ruin plans of kissing. We laughed.

Saturday felt like the day. The lights were dimmed at the Circus bar, where we found ourselves yet again after a brief stint at the Tate Liverpool museum and a dinner of Fish and Chips. He was warm and sitting close to me. We were drinking cider and talking about pretty much everything. Sex and kinks and past relationships. The couple in the booth next to us spent the night listening in on our conversation, while trying hard to pretend they weren’t. He kept talking in spite the fact that people were listening in, which I liked.

He was dying. Soldiering on, trying not to sniffle, but dying. We hugged as I got on the bus. I remember my hand on his neck and a small feeling of surprise. Partly because hugging him felt like the most natural thing in the world, partly because stopping felt like a disappointment. Saturday was not the day.

I woke up unnaturally early on Sunday. My train was due to leave at 8am and he was coming to pick me up to take me to the station. He was still sick. We parked, he took out my suitcase. We hugged again. He was so close. I told him I still wanted to kiss him. He reminded me that I would get sick. “Yeah, but I still want to kiss you”. “Well, what’s stopping you?”

And my hand went to his neck. And I kissed him. And I remember being surprised by how soft he was, his beard, his lips, his hair. He tasted like candy and I wondered what it was. It ended and I thought, “worth it”. I gave him another quick hug and walked away without looking back because looking back would’ve meant staying just to kiss him a bit longer.

In the end I didn’t get sick. I left and I enjoyed the rest of my trip. But I kept thinking about that one quick kiss, like one of those moments whose full potential goes unexploited. It just rests in your memory, like a pulsing seed waiting for the next chance to bloom.

Have you ever felt that, readers? A moment that ends before it’s ready to? Tell me about it. And, as always, stay cool.

Alphabet Soup: J is for Journey

This segment titled Alphabet Soup: The alphabet according to someone with very little shame and a lot of time on her hands was inspired by blogger Mandy Wallace and the Writers of Kern A to Z challenge. Enjoy!

Happy Friday, readers!

It’s been a while since I’ve posted something, I know. I was enjoying my last week in Scotland! My last few days in Port Logan were absolutely lovely, even if they were blanketed in fog. They brought about interesting events like watching a game of Curling and picking mushrooms that may or may not have been safe for consumption. However, the journey continues….

J is for Journey

I’m currently in Liverpool. Yesterday was a long day of travel, followed by a lovely dinner. Today I’m tired and sore and cranky, so this might turn out to be a bit shorter than usual. I can’t help but wonder at how much traveling takes out of you. You spend the day sitting down, not really doing much of anything, but it’s incredibly draining. Is it the constant motion? Not being able to fully relax for fear of missing your train or your plane or your bus?

You can’t go anywhere for free. Whether it’s a physical or emotional journey, there is always a price to pay and it’s not always money. We pay by sacrificing hours of sleep, the possibility of comfort, in some cases more time than we’d care to. And yet we still do it, because no matter how draining it is and how much it demands of us, the rewards are far greater than the sacrifices would ever be.

My current journey through the UK has led me to new things, new people, new places. I’m tired right now. Writing in my pj’s while I wait for the pain medication to kick in. (My bag probably weighs more than 60 pounds, just think about dealing with that across 4 different trains.) But I’m grateful and happy to be where I am, to have the opportunity to travel. I’m constantly amazed that I get to do this, even if it’s for a short period of time.

I’m in Liverpool right now, my next stop is London on Sunday. Up until now they UK has been incredible, really everything I’d thought it’d be and more. Hopefully London won’t disappoint! 

Until next time readers!