So exciting news! For the first time ever, I will be paid for conservation work! This summer I will be travelling to New York to work at The Frick Collection with their furniture conservation department, and opportunity that I am both excited and nervous for. I'm thrilled to have managed to get this opportunity and I just hope that I can live up to the expectations laid out for me.
I had worried and wondered for so long if I was actually good at what I do. I have never been certain that this is truly the correct path for me. There is always the doubt that while I love conservation and I love working in museums, that I wasn't actually cut out for it, or that I wasn't good enough or know enough or worth it. This internship is my first little step of validation. Maybe this truly is my calling.
I thought that coming out here to London may have been a mistake, especially for the kind of career that I want. I have been proclaiming that I want to be a furniture conservator since I found out that it was even possible. Coming to a programme that is only objects based, and even worse, archaeology based, seemed like it might be a way of shooting myself in the foot. I thought I might be throwing those dreams aside, just to get the degree. I was beginning to be comfortable with the idea that maybe just doing objects or organics would be good enough.
Now, that's all looking like it's changing. I have the internship at the Frick. I'm going to be placed for the first half of my internship year at the National Maritime Museum under a furniture conservator who may actually let me build something and get my hand skills back. The Frick internship may open doors for me to work at the Wallace in their furniture department, and the combination of the Frick, the Wallace, and Winterthur may be enough to help me start my career. Will it be an easy foot in to the business when I graduate? Probably not. But it's a start. And it's a hope.
Lord knows I've tried coming at things from a different angle before.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Monday, March 3, 2014
Pancakes
So tomorrow is Shrove Tuesday, and while I'm not sure what 'Shrove Tuesday' actually is, what is more important is that it is NATIONAL PANCAKE DAY over here in England. We'll ignore the fact that English pancakes are like crepes, which is just stupid, but there is an entire day dedicated to quite possibly my favourite breakfast food. PANCAKES.
Clearly, I will be celebrating. Sean and I bought all of the fixings for blueberry pancakes (American style, because clearly we got this one right) and we are going to be having them for dinner tomorrow night.
There is something magical about breakfast for dinner. I remember my mother making pancakes and bacon for dinner like it was a special treat. I don't particularly care that she might have been to tired or couldn't be bothered to think of a 'proper' dinner, when we had pancakes for dinner (or "brinner" because I'm just about the coolest) it was an event.
Having breakfast for dinner was like breaking all the rules. Dinner was a strictly savoury meal, generally consisting of a main course with meat, and some sort of vegetables on the side. Getting sweet, buttery, delicious pancakes was like defying some higher authority. It felt like some kind of secret club, and we had the power. Who says you can't have pancakes at 8 pm? Screw those guys, they don't know what they're missing out on.
My mother would always make pancakes from Bisquick (something that I am struggling living without while over in England). She went through her fancy stages, we would get pancakes with blueberries or banana and caramelised walnuts in them (my sister does a rendition with blueberry and strawberry that would make your heart sing), but there is nothing quite like a straight up, hot off the griddle, plain ole pancake. I think that because of this pancake love, this quiet little revolt against the dinner gods, I am just that much more excited for National Pancake Day tomorrow. And when I go to take that first bite, I'll be toasting my mom.
Clearly, I will be celebrating. Sean and I bought all of the fixings for blueberry pancakes (American style, because clearly we got this one right) and we are going to be having them for dinner tomorrow night.
There is something magical about breakfast for dinner. I remember my mother making pancakes and bacon for dinner like it was a special treat. I don't particularly care that she might have been to tired or couldn't be bothered to think of a 'proper' dinner, when we had pancakes for dinner (or "brinner" because I'm just about the coolest) it was an event.
Having breakfast for dinner was like breaking all the rules. Dinner was a strictly savoury meal, generally consisting of a main course with meat, and some sort of vegetables on the side. Getting sweet, buttery, delicious pancakes was like defying some higher authority. It felt like some kind of secret club, and we had the power. Who says you can't have pancakes at 8 pm? Screw those guys, they don't know what they're missing out on.
My mother would always make pancakes from Bisquick (something that I am struggling living without while over in England). She went through her fancy stages, we would get pancakes with blueberries or banana and caramelised walnuts in them (my sister does a rendition with blueberry and strawberry that would make your heart sing), but there is nothing quite like a straight up, hot off the griddle, plain ole pancake. I think that because of this pancake love, this quiet little revolt against the dinner gods, I am just that much more excited for National Pancake Day tomorrow. And when I go to take that first bite, I'll be toasting my mom.
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Fix it
There is something comforting about routine. You know where you will be on any given day, at any given hour. You know when you will wake up and how long it takes to get somewhere. It's comfortable, it's steady, it's easy.
I think I cling to routine out of fear of the unknown. I don't like empty hours, I don't like spontaneous change. I don't like being unprepared. I spend a lot of time worrying about whether I'm prepared. What the hell for?
I had the terrible realisation earlier this week. My boyfriend and I had gotten into an argument, we were running late, I'm anal about time and he's not always great at being punctual. Either way, I stormed off because I was terrified of missing the train and being late on a day when I really needed to be on time. We got to where we needed to be with time to spare. We ate breakfast in silence. I apologised for being an ass over getting places on time. He shrugged.
And then he said some things that really stuck with me. I hadn't been very nice to him as of late. I'd been very quick to tell him off or say he was doing something wrong. I was cold where I would normally be affectionate.
I realised I'd been taking him for granted. I'd been so wrapped up in me and my worries and my routine that I just sort of treated him like he was a part of the furniture. I treated him as though he was always going to be around, which isn't true, there's no contract tying him forever to me. We haven't even dated for a year yet.
What struck me most is that I think that I have adopted the worst personality traits of my parents. My father is ungodly punctual. We used to be the first people at family parties, we would always be early for movies, everything was rush rush rush to make it on time. There are good things about being punctual. I think that it shows respect to other people, it shows that you value their time. It shows that you care to be where you're supposed to at the time you're supposed to be. But it is also a pain in the ass. I need to not care so much about it. I just have no idea how to break myself of it.
My father also used to walk so fast through a crowd (generally to get to whatever destination as quickly as humanly possible) that he'd often leave us in the dust. I was doing that to my boyfriend. I knew we were late for the train and I blazed on ahead, assuming he'd catch up (and he could, if he wanted to. He's one of the few people who can walk faster than I can). He never did. He kept behind me about 15 feet, like he was afraid to talk to me or I don't know what.
My mother could be very mean to my father. She could cut him down to size, tell him exactly what it was he was doing wrong, even if he was just doing something to be silly or funny. I had been unnecessarily curt with him on some things. I had been criticising him too harshly and too frequently. It felt as though we'd been married 50 years rather than dating 11 months. I feel like there should still be magic at this point. We shouldn't be ragging on each other about stupid things. That's not something I ever want to do.
I worry that I'm turning into this little self centred monster who doesn't know how to be kind anymore. I want to surprise him with sweet little things and I'm coming up blank. I hate that. I hate not being able to think of some small thing that I could get or do to make him smile. I joke occasionally that I'm a terrible girlfriend, but the truth is, I think I really may be. How do you fix that?
I think I cling to routine out of fear of the unknown. I don't like empty hours, I don't like spontaneous change. I don't like being unprepared. I spend a lot of time worrying about whether I'm prepared. What the hell for?
I had the terrible realisation earlier this week. My boyfriend and I had gotten into an argument, we were running late, I'm anal about time and he's not always great at being punctual. Either way, I stormed off because I was terrified of missing the train and being late on a day when I really needed to be on time. We got to where we needed to be with time to spare. We ate breakfast in silence. I apologised for being an ass over getting places on time. He shrugged.
And then he said some things that really stuck with me. I hadn't been very nice to him as of late. I'd been very quick to tell him off or say he was doing something wrong. I was cold where I would normally be affectionate.
I realised I'd been taking him for granted. I'd been so wrapped up in me and my worries and my routine that I just sort of treated him like he was a part of the furniture. I treated him as though he was always going to be around, which isn't true, there's no contract tying him forever to me. We haven't even dated for a year yet.
What struck me most is that I think that I have adopted the worst personality traits of my parents. My father is ungodly punctual. We used to be the first people at family parties, we would always be early for movies, everything was rush rush rush to make it on time. There are good things about being punctual. I think that it shows respect to other people, it shows that you value their time. It shows that you care to be where you're supposed to at the time you're supposed to be. But it is also a pain in the ass. I need to not care so much about it. I just have no idea how to break myself of it.
My father also used to walk so fast through a crowd (generally to get to whatever destination as quickly as humanly possible) that he'd often leave us in the dust. I was doing that to my boyfriend. I knew we were late for the train and I blazed on ahead, assuming he'd catch up (and he could, if he wanted to. He's one of the few people who can walk faster than I can). He never did. He kept behind me about 15 feet, like he was afraid to talk to me or I don't know what.
My mother could be very mean to my father. She could cut him down to size, tell him exactly what it was he was doing wrong, even if he was just doing something to be silly or funny. I had been unnecessarily curt with him on some things. I had been criticising him too harshly and too frequently. It felt as though we'd been married 50 years rather than dating 11 months. I feel like there should still be magic at this point. We shouldn't be ragging on each other about stupid things. That's not something I ever want to do.
I worry that I'm turning into this little self centred monster who doesn't know how to be kind anymore. I want to surprise him with sweet little things and I'm coming up blank. I hate that. I hate not being able to think of some small thing that I could get or do to make him smile. I joke occasionally that I'm a terrible girlfriend, but the truth is, I think I really may be. How do you fix that?
Thursday, September 19, 2013
English Weather
I know that England gets a bad reputation for having some pretty terrible weather. Having lived here for a year, I've seen just about everything that this little island can do from snow to hail to pouring rain. And that was all in one day.
Normally, the weather here doesn't bother me too much. I'm fairly productive when it's grey and rainy, and since that is most of the time, I'm pretty good about getting my work done. The few days that it is brilliantly sunny and pleasant makes those days even more wonderful; the grey makes you appreciate the blue skies that much more. I can generally even tolerate the cold and damp that seems to seep into every corner of the house. There is no toasty warm feeling when you walk in from out of the cold, only a slight less cold feeling.
I think what astounds me the most about English weather is that it is so... abrupt. There is none of the 'transition period' that exists in the states. There are no brisk mornings that melt into pleasantly warm afternoons, easing the switch from summer to fall. No. In England, we had weather that was in the mid to upper 80s, sunny, bright, swelteringly hot even. I went so far as to switch to my lightest duvet.
One week later, it went grey, cold, and hasn't peaked past 60. I've taken to sleeping in sweats and using my fleece blanket (although I haven't caved on the heavier duvet yet. I'm still holding on to hope). We've even turned on the heat for first thing in the morning when my other flatmates get up for work. It's hardly the end of September and I'm bundled up in blankets and I honestly debated bringing out my winter coat the other day. I'm sure, come November, I'll be talking about how we had a balmy Autumn, and this unpleasant and sudden switch from summer to late Autumn will feel like a distant memory. But seriously, England? Can we get at least a few warm days?
Normally, the weather here doesn't bother me too much. I'm fairly productive when it's grey and rainy, and since that is most of the time, I'm pretty good about getting my work done. The few days that it is brilliantly sunny and pleasant makes those days even more wonderful; the grey makes you appreciate the blue skies that much more. I can generally even tolerate the cold and damp that seems to seep into every corner of the house. There is no toasty warm feeling when you walk in from out of the cold, only a slight less cold feeling.
I think what astounds me the most about English weather is that it is so... abrupt. There is none of the 'transition period' that exists in the states. There are no brisk mornings that melt into pleasantly warm afternoons, easing the switch from summer to fall. No. In England, we had weather that was in the mid to upper 80s, sunny, bright, swelteringly hot even. I went so far as to switch to my lightest duvet.
One week later, it went grey, cold, and hasn't peaked past 60. I've taken to sleeping in sweats and using my fleece blanket (although I haven't caved on the heavier duvet yet. I'm still holding on to hope). We've even turned on the heat for first thing in the morning when my other flatmates get up for work. It's hardly the end of September and I'm bundled up in blankets and I honestly debated bringing out my winter coat the other day. I'm sure, come November, I'll be talking about how we had a balmy Autumn, and this unpleasant and sudden switch from summer to late Autumn will feel like a distant memory. But seriously, England? Can we get at least a few warm days?
Sunday, September 1, 2013
My Dissertation
There is something about a looming deadline that makes me very productive. The problem is that my productivity involves getting every thing else that I needed to get done finished instead of whatever it is that is due. My dissertation has been sitting at a lamentable (and laughable) 10,000 words for the past two weeks, I only need another 3500 to hit the minimum word count, 5000 to hit the maximum. The problem is that I can think of about 100 hundred other things that I could do instead.
20 Things I've Done INSTEAD of my Dissertation:
1. Cleaned my room.
2. Reorganised my books.
3. Done laundry.
4. Gone to Scotland.
5. Read a 400 page book.
6. Read another 400 page book.
7. Caught up on some movies I've never seen, such as When Harry Met Sally, Pretty Woman, and Magic Mike.
8. Found out Cleopatra is a 4 hour long movie and watched it anyway.
9. Caught up on some movies I've seen about a hundred times, such as The Swan Princess, Up, The Rescuers Down Under, and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.
10. Watched 3 seasons of Qi.
11. Gone rock climbing.
12. Gone running.
13. Wandered aimlessly up and down the aisles of Sainsbury's.
14. Wandered around London to look at hidden gardens.
15. Looked at flats on spareroom even though I'm not moving for at least a year.
16. Looked at flights to see where Sean and I should travel to next.
17. Looked at just about every cute cat picture on the internet.
18. Caught up on Jenna Marbles.
19. Folded origami.
20. Looked at desk organisers, and desks, decided against all of them.
So that, ladies and gentleman, is how I've avoided doing any work for the past few weeks. Good for me. And now I guess I can add "wrote a blog post" to that as well....
20 Things I've Done INSTEAD of my Dissertation:
1. Cleaned my room.
2. Reorganised my books.
3. Done laundry.
4. Gone to Scotland.
5. Read a 400 page book.
6. Read another 400 page book.
7. Caught up on some movies I've never seen, such as When Harry Met Sally, Pretty Woman, and Magic Mike.
8. Found out Cleopatra is a 4 hour long movie and watched it anyway.
9. Caught up on some movies I've seen about a hundred times, such as The Swan Princess, Up, The Rescuers Down Under, and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.
10. Watched 3 seasons of Qi.
11. Gone rock climbing.
12. Gone running.
13. Wandered aimlessly up and down the aisles of Sainsbury's.
14. Wandered around London to look at hidden gardens.
15. Looked at flats on spareroom even though I'm not moving for at least a year.
16. Looked at flights to see where Sean and I should travel to next.
17. Looked at just about every cute cat picture on the internet.
18. Caught up on Jenna Marbles.
19. Folded origami.
20. Looked at desk organisers, and desks, decided against all of them.
So that, ladies and gentleman, is how I've avoided doing any work for the past few weeks. Good for me. And now I guess I can add "wrote a blog post" to that as well....
Friday, July 26, 2013
Patience
I have some of the best siblings in the world. I really do. They're supportive, they know how to make me laugh, and I know, no matter what, they will be there for me if I need them.
In a time where I feel completely ungrounded and homeless, torn between two countries and three families and who knows how many responsibilities, I know I can count on them to help me through. I have these two wonderful safety nets, and I am going to miss them like crazy when I head back to England. I never really realised how hard being away is until I come back. I don't know if I really am willing to give that up permanently, or even for longer than this program. I don't know anymore. I know myself well enough to know that I flip flop back and forth enough between these emotions that I'm sure within a month of being back I'm going to be so sold on England that I won't believe I ever wrote this post.
I guess the main focus is that I need to be patient. I need to know my limitations with people, with my own family, and I need to let go. This isn't home anymore, and I need to figure out what is.
In a time where I feel completely ungrounded and homeless, torn between two countries and three families and who knows how many responsibilities, I know I can count on them to help me through. I have these two wonderful safety nets, and I am going to miss them like crazy when I head back to England. I never really realised how hard being away is until I come back. I don't know if I really am willing to give that up permanently, or even for longer than this program. I don't know anymore. I know myself well enough to know that I flip flop back and forth enough between these emotions that I'm sure within a month of being back I'm going to be so sold on England that I won't believe I ever wrote this post.
I guess the main focus is that I need to be patient. I need to know my limitations with people, with my own family, and I need to let go. This isn't home anymore, and I need to figure out what is.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Two more days
Hey all,
As I sit here in the tiny little common room in my flat, staring out into the darkness that has fallen over London, I'm thinking pretty heavily how things will be different in just two days time. In less than 48 hours I will be on a plane on my way back home for the longest I've been home in 9 months. It's a little surreal.
I know this post is along the same veins as the last one I put up, but I've been thinking a lot about how things will be different in the next two months, much less the next two years. There's going to be a lot that I'm going to miss.
First off is where I live (and who I live with). I live with one of my best friend's ever, and I'm really going to miss her when I head back home. It's good to have a buddy to cook with, or hang out with, or even to just go and do stupid shopping with. I'm going to be on my own a lot during the days when I'm home, everyone I know has a 'normal' job. I'm sure I'll do a lot of visiting and I'll spend a lot of time doing work, but I'm going to really miss the atmosphere of living with people my age and in my situation. I'm going to miss Kelsey's ridiculous food OCD when it comes to dissecting chicken, and also just having stupid stuff to talk about and ridiculous videos to watch. I'm going to definitely miss having a drinking partner, and a climbing partner (and a climbing gym).
I'm going to miss being in the city, where if you want to, you can just walk out the door and explore. I've spent hours walking around Hyde and Regent's Park, going up and down the South Bank, or just wandering down Oxford Street. I'm not looking forward to paying for gas again, or having to deal with traffic. The tube and bus are great ways to mindlessly get around. How else am I supposed to feed my Solitaire addiction?
Thursdays at the Betsy Smith are definitely going to be missed. Nothing like getting a great group of people together for delicious pizza, awesome 2-for-1 cocktails, totally inappropriate conversation, and ridiculous 90s music. Plus it's just a stumble down the road!
I'm going to miss feeling like I'm in charge of my life. I don't think I'll have that same sense when I go back to Philly. I won't be living in my own place where I contribute to rent, which already puts you into a weird position of owing. It'll be interesting to see how it works out.
Obviously I'm going to miss Sean. I feel like that might be the hardest part about this whole trip. I hate the 5 hour difference, and I've gotten so used to him being a part of my everyday life. I don't think we've gone a day without talking since we started dating, even when I was in Ireland we still made time to chat for a little bit. I've actually never gone this long without seeing each other ever, in any relationship. It's scary, especially since we haven't been dating for all that long, two months apart is a pretty significant chunk of our relationship alone. I know we'll be okay, but it still worries me slightly.
Anyway, I'm hoping to fill my days with productivity. I hope my normally (week)day will go as follows:
8:30 - wake up
9:00 - get on the treadmill or out for a run
10:00 - eat you some breakfast (probably yogurt and muesli with blueberries, because I'm oh-so-original)
10:30 - shower
11:00 - work on some chemistry review
1:00 - lunch
2:00 - work on dissertation, I want to have 2000 words a week (I'm already behind by about 500)
4:00 - maybe hang out by the pool if it's nice, if not, blow through to 6:00
6:00-8:00 (whenever I'm actually hungry) make and eat dinner
9:00-12:00 more work/dissertation/chemistry review/note-taking/transcription
12:30 - bed
I'm betting it doesn't make it a week, but I do want to start getting back into running. It was so miserable here for so long that I couldn't bear the thought of running outside, and I didn't really want to fight for a spot on a treadmill at the school gym (or drag my bag of gym stuff that far).
Here's hoping I'll be productive! And fill my hours so I can't miss England too much.
As I sit here in the tiny little common room in my flat, staring out into the darkness that has fallen over London, I'm thinking pretty heavily how things will be different in just two days time. In less than 48 hours I will be on a plane on my way back home for the longest I've been home in 9 months. It's a little surreal.
I know this post is along the same veins as the last one I put up, but I've been thinking a lot about how things will be different in the next two months, much less the next two years. There's going to be a lot that I'm going to miss.
First off is where I live (and who I live with). I live with one of my best friend's ever, and I'm really going to miss her when I head back home. It's good to have a buddy to cook with, or hang out with, or even to just go and do stupid shopping with. I'm going to be on my own a lot during the days when I'm home, everyone I know has a 'normal' job. I'm sure I'll do a lot of visiting and I'll spend a lot of time doing work, but I'm going to really miss the atmosphere of living with people my age and in my situation. I'm going to miss Kelsey's ridiculous food OCD when it comes to dissecting chicken, and also just having stupid stuff to talk about and ridiculous videos to watch. I'm going to definitely miss having a drinking partner, and a climbing partner (and a climbing gym).
I'm going to miss being in the city, where if you want to, you can just walk out the door and explore. I've spent hours walking around Hyde and Regent's Park, going up and down the South Bank, or just wandering down Oxford Street. I'm not looking forward to paying for gas again, or having to deal with traffic. The tube and bus are great ways to mindlessly get around. How else am I supposed to feed my Solitaire addiction?
Thursdays at the Betsy Smith are definitely going to be missed. Nothing like getting a great group of people together for delicious pizza, awesome 2-for-1 cocktails, totally inappropriate conversation, and ridiculous 90s music. Plus it's just a stumble down the road!
I'm going to miss feeling like I'm in charge of my life. I don't think I'll have that same sense when I go back to Philly. I won't be living in my own place where I contribute to rent, which already puts you into a weird position of owing. It'll be interesting to see how it works out.
Obviously I'm going to miss Sean. I feel like that might be the hardest part about this whole trip. I hate the 5 hour difference, and I've gotten so used to him being a part of my everyday life. I don't think we've gone a day without talking since we started dating, even when I was in Ireland we still made time to chat for a little bit. I've actually never gone this long without seeing each other ever, in any relationship. It's scary, especially since we haven't been dating for all that long, two months apart is a pretty significant chunk of our relationship alone. I know we'll be okay, but it still worries me slightly.
Anyway, I'm hoping to fill my days with productivity. I hope my normally (week)day will go as follows:
8:30 - wake up
9:00 - get on the treadmill or out for a run
10:00 - eat you some breakfast (probably yogurt and muesli with blueberries, because I'm oh-so-original)
10:30 - shower
11:00 - work on some chemistry review
1:00 - lunch
2:00 - work on dissertation, I want to have 2000 words a week (I'm already behind by about 500)
4:00 - maybe hang out by the pool if it's nice, if not, blow through to 6:00
6:00-8:00 (whenever I'm actually hungry) make and eat dinner
9:00-12:00 more work/dissertation/chemistry review/note-taking/transcription
12:30 - bed
I'm betting it doesn't make it a week, but I do want to start getting back into running. It was so miserable here for so long that I couldn't bear the thought of running outside, and I didn't really want to fight for a spot on a treadmill at the school gym (or drag my bag of gym stuff that far).
Here's hoping I'll be productive! And fill my hours so I can't miss England too much.
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