aamcnamara: (Default)
Things that my life will be lacking when I leave London:

1. The sharp-sweet taste of very lemony lemon cookies.
2. A bar of soap that smells of lavender.
3. The taste and mouth-feel of oatcakes spread with jam from Wales (blueberry-apple, I think).
4. Rosemary-scented handsoap in public restrooms (the National Archives, and I think the British Museum as well, though I did not today become a person who smells their hands in the bathroom while washing them).
5. Strawberry toothpaste, which I used to use as a kid but hadn't for years (I have become a mint-toothpaste person) until I ran across it in a store and it was the only flavor they had of Tom's of Maine. Which, well, I have never looked very deeply into the matter of toothpaste, but I needed toothpaste past the tiny travel tube I brought, and I knew that buying Tom's of Maine would make my mother happy. (Hi, Mom.) Hence strawberry, which will now have layered memories of childhood and London in it, if I ever buy it afterward.

Yesterday I finished everything I could do in the National Archives early, so I wandered around in Kew. I found a really nice little used-books shop, where I will endeavor not to spend all of my money (they have dragon sculptures, and shelves that look like trees!), and an organic-food store where I found--glory of glories--EnerG bread, aka the first loaf of bread I have found in England that I can eat. And the aforementioned very lemony lemon cookies, which similarly are the first cookies I have found in England that I can eat. Sandwiches! Toast! Cookies!

Today I went to the British Museum. It is overwhelming and impressive and full of amazing things. I saw several Greek vases that we talked about in my art history class last year! And of course the Elgin Marbles, which were mentioned in novels I read as a kid and imagined as spheres made of marble.

It also wore me down, little by little, by the crowds and the hugeness and the fact that I know that a lot of what's there--all the cultural diversity, and the variety, and the vast timespan covered--was stolen from graves, taken without permission, cheated out of people, etc. Which just kind of came to a head when I got to the Egyptian gallery, already footsore, and realized that they had actual mummies in the cases; and then went into the next room, where there was an example of a basketweave coffin with what appeared to be an actual skeleton in it. Just--people. Is this actually acceptable?

So I left, resisting the urge of "but I haven't seen everything yet!". The Roman fighting demonstrations that I'd stumbled on earlier were still happening, so I sat there for a little while, but then I decided to walk down to the Sir John Soane Museum, which sounded cool. And then I went slightly the wrong way and ended up in Covent Garden instead. Um. Whoops? I found the Apple store (and went up two flights of stairs, having missed the iPods completely on the ground floor--my iPod touch was lost on my journey here, alas, so I wanted to look at what's out there) and I found another tea store (where I did not buy anything, thank you very much, even though they had teapot-shaped tea infusers (I am holding out for the robot-shaped tea infuser I spotted once at the Wedge Co-Op in Minneapolis))... and then I checked my map and saw where I'd gone wrong and headed toward the Soane museum again.

It took a bit more wandering to actually get there, but when I did, I found that it was next to a very nice park (Lincoln's Inn Fields, I believe) in which I sat and ate one of the aforementioned cookies, which I had brought along.

Sir John Soane's idea of museum-collecting, as it turns out, is basically like Isabella Gardner's. Only he was into the Classics, and also peculiar architecture and interesting things to do with natural light, so it's this Victorian-I-think row-house-type-thing crammed with paintings and statues and vases and reliefs where all the light comes from odd skylights (one small room has a tiny glass cupola in its ceiling) and windows with various colors of glass, and gets reflected in the many mirrors and mirrored doors... Said windows usually look out into tiny courtyards filled with further monuments, of course. There's a sarcophagus for a mummy, but it's empty; and the sense of overwhelming personality and Cool Architectural Stuff at least gives something to put in the other pan against the "wow, all this stuff was robbed from graves" thing.

I've no idea what they do when it's overcast--I am not kidding when I say that all the light comes from skylights and windows--although one of my flatmates says they occasionally do a Candlelit Night where they put candles everywhere, which sounds gorgeous.

In the end, I could probably go back to either of the museums I visited today. But I'm more likely to drag people to the Soane, and also I hear there's a false wall I didn't get to see in operation (!). Going back to the British Museum, I think I would have to have a Plan: do initial research on some area/time period/etc. and then go and look at all the things in that or those room(s), so that I at least have some context.

But the British Museum did have a volunteer who let me hold a small Romano-Celtic war-god. So there's that. And really it was a very nice day, although my calves are extremely sore now, and I did not go out again and buy groceries this evening at all. (I should have. If I had made plans for tomorrow at all, not having bought groceries today would mess them right up. But I haven't made plans for tomorrow; and it was windy tonight; and my feet hurt. So there.)
aamcnamara: (Default)
So I had a birthday. I turned twenty. (Two decades, a fifth of a century, Not A Teenager Any More.) The day before, I made lemon cake with olive oil and rosemary in, and then I made blueberry sauce to put on top.

On the morning of my actual birthday, I sat down before work and wrote a letter to my ten-year-old self. In some ways I'm more like her than, say, my sixteen-year-old self was. And I want to show her this picture of me:
picture )

One of the things I know is that my ten-year-old self could not have imagined my twenty-year-old self. One of the things I hope is that, if my ten-year-old self could have met my twenty-year-old self, she would have gone, "huh. Okay. Awesome."

The picture is from my birthday (observed), which was yesterday. Long descriptions of museums )

Today I have been writing--typing, mostly, again. With everything transferred into the Queen of Spades file, there's about 7.5k done on that. I also have the larger part of an outline. Given that it'll probably be a fairly short novel, that's a good start. If I had a week free, I would probably be able to fill in most of the draft, but... well.

I also am hoping to do some work on the still-untitled short story today, as well as finishing up Ideomancer slush from last week.

...and, of course, work on my presentation for the REU program. We're presenting our research at the end of this week; I'm presenting in front of my research group on Wednesday, as a practice for the other one. So I have to figure out what I'm going to talk about, and what I'm going to do if that one set of measurements doesn't actually work out in the next couple of days, and clip down a couple of videos so I can have some examples in my presentation.

Seems incredible that there are only a couple of weeks left in my program at all. After that, it's back to Minnesota for a couple of weeks, and then I will somehow be a junior in college. I'm already twenty. I can remember, very clearly, a lot of time when twenty was unimaginably old. Not necessarily for a person to be, but for me, specifically, to be.

On the other hand, the day after my birthday I wrote a letter to my thirty-year-old self, who I cannot imagine at all. So I think maybe it just goes on like this, on and on into your life until you look backward and forward and realize that every ten years you are more like your ten-years-past self than you possibly would've imagined then, and that your ten-years-on self is unimaginable, and every day of your life is easing you along in that chain.

I kind of like the thought that my thirty-year-old self will be more like me than I can currently imagine. I hope she's nice. You'll all meet her someday, and then you can let me know what you think.

May 2017

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