Tastes Like Home

Ah, spring break. That glorious time where students forget that they have work due soon and pretend that they are carefree. I'm going to take a couple of days and pretend I'm carefree!

Part of that carefree needs to grab some motivation to go to the grocery store because I am quickly running out of food. In an attempt to once again put it off, it left me scrambling to figure out what I had to eat in this place. Which then I remembered... I'd been sent grits in a care package. I could make breakfast.



For those who are not from nor have visited the southern US, grits are basically coarsely ground corn that when combined with boiling water forms a thick porridge. And it is amazing.

So I had grits and toast and it was like I was tasting home at that moment. All I'd need is some country ham and if I closed my eyes, I'd think I was home!

But it was surprising to me that food made such a difference when dealing with a little homesickness. It's amazing what grits, or American lemonade, or a Reese's cup will do. I needed that little taste of home more than realized, and the smile that ended up on my face from that little bowl of grits? Well, the Tesco can wait one more day.

Goodbye

Goodbye comfortable full sized bed.

Goodbye complete wardrobe, and shoes... oh, the shoe collection.

Goodbye car.

Goodbye Target and Wal-Mart and American-sized grocery stores.

Goodbye Mexican food, Old Bay, and grits.

Goodbye live American television (White Collar, Glee, Big Bang Theory, various embarrassing addictions like Teen Mom 2 and RuPaul's Drag Race...)

Goodbye friends and family stateside.

It's time to head back to Scotland.

A Very British Thanksgiving

As my flatmates are all non-American, none of them had had the experience of the best of American holidays before -- Thanksgiving. A day where you celebrate food. (Regardless of original reasons behind the creation, nowadays we celebrate food. Gluttony, really, but let's just go with food)

So as a good American, I made Thanksgiving dinner for us. Which was a wonderful chance to one, bring out my inner Martha Stewart, and two, to have a nice meal, with all of us together, and let me enjoy a little bit of home here across the pond.

I tend to go with simple veggies and a rotisserie chicken (it was on sale -- turkey wasn't). Although it was funny wandering around St Andrews watching the Americans in town clamor through the Tesco looking for very American ingredients or trying to come up with a UK equivalent. At that point? Just realize you're not going to make it EXACTLY like it was at home. But that's part of the fun of it!

Anyway, I was a good day. Good food, good friends, and a touch of home. I hope everyone else had as good of a day!

Icy to Dull the Pain, Hot to Relax It Away

Newest addition to the 'Things Rebecca Never Realized Didn't Exist Outside of the US' list: IcyHot.

My weekend hiking was wonderful, scenic, hilarious, and exhausting.

And it tore. up. my. thighs.

High steps up and down a mountain are tiring when you're actually in shape, and killer when you're in 'shape'. I keep thinking to myself 'oh, I'm totally in shape, I'm doing well' until I do something like this past weekend in Gairloch and realize that holy crap my shape is not actually shape.

It was a good thing that I didn't have anything planned for today because the thighs were not having it. So while out loud I'm going to blame my lazy day on the fact that I opened my blinds and found rain and clouds and wind and general dreariness, let's not fool ourselves and give credit to muscle aches where credit is due.

The solution to muscle aches when I was at home was the glory that is IcyHot. Why decide whether you want hot or cold when the miracle of modern chemistry allows you to have both? Apparently they haven't gotten on this train here in the UK because the 30 minutes today where I was outside of my flat consisted of me in the Boots staring at the aisle, looking back and forth between the hot and cold gels near the ibuprofen wondering 'but where's the IcyHot' or at least the UK equivalent of both in one tube. It doesn't exist. The girl at the till just shook her head as I'm coming up and setting down my goods and looking despondent. How was I supposed to choose between hot or cold when I'm used to having it all?



Cold won out. If I had to choose between yelping at the cold gel or the prickly red skin that comes with warming creams, I'll just yelp and get it done with.

Of course, this also means that I look absolutely ridiculous as I wander around my flat with a sweatshirt, thick wool socks... and shorts so that the gel can dry on my thighs without getting all over pants. Yes, I realize that I have one odd area exposed and that normal people in a cold flat in cold Scotland would have on proper trousers, but it's either be warm or be less sore. The sore is winning out at the moment.

Note to self: Next time someone asks what they can put in a care package... IcyHot.