Having a Julliard-trained brother-in-law exercising his training in the production of the upcoming HBO series "Game of Thrones" means that Mrs. Olsen and The Mister of the House received a tour of the set that you have tried to sneak onto via fake job interviews, ninja methods, or pure open nerdiness that makes you feel like a legitimate consultant for the series.
Mandy & Bryan practicing as UK Tour Guides in Edinburgh
Since we were able to take no pictures of the set, we'll just say In your face nerds, we saw the Iron Throne! And also, the fact that I'm gloating on the blog about seeing the Iron Throne (as well as Winterfell sets, Cersei's chambers, and The Red Keep) just might mean I could be on the other side of cool as well.
Our gracious glimpse into: *an amazing storyline *the sheer magnitude of talent required to actually produce sets and TV series *beholding from afar the beauty of whatever actor plays Jaime Lannister
The evening of Thanksgiving, just after dinner, turkey nap, and a movie night with the whole family...my husband left on a 12 day trip to Asia. This with school and schedules just around the corner, and bitter below-zero temperatures, winter storm warnings and a little farm...and me. Alone. In charge.
Gone is my morning person, who wakes up and gets Rainbow Girl to practice the piano before school, who takes fresh water to the chickens and goats, and fills the chicken feeder, refreshes the hay, shovels the walk, and is off to work by 7:30 am.
I told myself to not get to the end of the rope before the end of the day, because no back-up was coming! My thoughts went to my sister-in-law Kristen, who sent her husband to Iraq just as they were starting their little family.
I think I would not make the best army wife.
Lugging the 4-gallon jug of water every morning and in my head I feel picked on. Boo hoo! I love the farm thing we've got going on, but this thing would not be happening if I was flying solo.
I think of my friend who just filed papers for a divorce after waiting for a year for him to stop dating another woman (he didn't. jerk.). I think of my neighbor who just lost her husband while her youngest is still in high school. Like me, we have all been left to shovel the 2 stupid-freaking-feet of snow that fell on our sidewalks and driveways last week by ourselves.
I think of them and wonder how I could manage this as a permanent fix.
I can't.
So for now, with technology and a thriving heart, I haul the water in the mornings, shovel the snow, help with homework, get babysitters for errands...and instead of sending a prayer or a curse: "did you notice all the extra work you left for me when you decided to take off?"...I send an email. Or a skype.
Mrs. O: How's the 80 degrees punk! The stupid snowblower isn't working!
Mister: Did you put gas from the yellow gas can?
Mrs. O: *Huff*
Mister: I miss you.
----or-----
Mrs. O: Can't talk. I just got pooped on my head in the chicken coop! Disgusting!
Mister: Sorry! Love and miss you.
-----or-----
Mister: Hey Rainbow Girl, I tried some Pringles that were shrimp flavor and they were pink!
Rainbow Girl: Ewwww...sick!
-----and------
Mrs. O: We're about to kneel down for family prayer, want to kneel down with us?
Mister: Okay
Mrs. O: (later): In the prayer Rainbow Girl said "Thank you that we could have some sort of contact with dad"
Mister: Some sort, that is cute.
Mrs. O: I know, right?
So for now Thailand and Hong Kong, you left me wanting but secured me some much needed sympathy, some well-wishes, and even i-miss-you's and i-love-you's. You smell like heaven, I think. Please send back The Mister of the House with exotic cheap goods and a newfound appreciation for my awesomeness (or just some sympathy would be nice).
Ten-Four.
Signed,
Cold and Lonely
p.s. The real heaven appears to notice my predicament because some neighbors have come and cleared my driveway...twice! That's always good to tame a wife's wrath. Thank you real heaven.
Good eye Jenna. I did not in fact prove my greens for my Derry Day, but I definitely did eat, and it definitely was amazing. Thanks for noticing, now here's my proof.
I'm funny right? When we got back to Belfast, we followed the "locals recommendation" for fish and chips and this was the honking plate that was placed before me. They didn't ask if I wanted ketchup. They didn't ask if I wanted tartar sauce. There was only 2 condiments on the table: vinegar and salt. I wanted to be an authentic Irish Lass, so I didn't ask for anything else.
We compared the breading on the fish to a flaky but slightly sweet donut breading. And because I'm a fan of salt and vinegar chips, it all worked out quite deliciously.
Later that night we ate at a restaurant called The Barking Dog. It was there I really did eat my salad for the day. It was wonderfully named a "Rocket Salad" and was simple and delicious. Three ingredients: Greens, Parmesan shavings, Balsamic Vinegar.
But seriously, could any salad undo those fish and chips I had earlier in the day? I don't think so.
The last full touring day of our trip we headed to....hmmm, what should I call it? Legally known as Londonderry, historically known as Derry, and from what I can tell, you can remain somewhat neutral as long as you simply refer to it as "The City of Derry". This is the place where Bloody Sunday occurred decades ago, and has been a porting city and immigration stepping stone for centuries. Such history!
Derry has the blessed curse of being a perfect porting city in the midst of ancient fighting monarchs. Thus, it is the only walled city in all of Ireland. This ended up being an extension of my political history tour that occurred throughout this trip.
From my city walking tour, this was the bottom line: Gaelic natives live on water. English businessmen drool over porting abilities. Move in as neighbors, but soon try to keep the natives out. Fighting Irish kick butt. English leave. Later, London merchants return (this is the 1600's by the way) and this time invest in a big fat wall to protect their investment, and start to make bank on global ports coming into their hands. With the backing of the royal monarch, and to show the investment coming from across the water, the city name is changed from Derry to "Londonderry".
I have to add as a sidenote, this port was essential in keeping supplies to U.S. soldiers and allies during World War II.
So all this background evolves into centuries of Us vs. Them; Protestant vs. Catholic; Monarch vs. Republic.
Here's some photos walking along the wall. For decades British Soldiers patrolled these walls. You can see plants growing into the wall, and a quaint church just within the boundaries. It's also the elevated view that said soldiers killed 14 unarmed protesters in 1972. It was just this past June (2010) that Prime Minister Cameron apologized and admitted the soldiers killed innocent victims. That would be almost four decades after the fact. Our tour guide, a man in his 60's, practically cried when he spoke of the relief the people felt knowing the truth had finally been declared.
Here you can see a collage of Derry. * The closer you get to "Londonderry" you see the "London" part crossed off the road-signs. * Throughout Norther Ireland, most of the stained glass has been blown out. Here is some stained-glass windows in the civic building that were re-built in the 1900's. The city of Belfast has original stained-glass only because they took them out and hid them in a farmer's field for years. * This famous statue is in a roundabout. It depicts a Protestant and Catholic reaching towards each other, but their hands are not touching. * You can see this Loyalist community with curbs painted red, white, and blue-with the bold declaration that they are still Under Siege! * This quaint courtyard begged for me to be an Irish Lass living in an apartment with a yellow door. So cute!
For me personally, I marveled at this centuries old religious and cultural history. I don't know that I feel educated or swayed to take one side or the other, though it is clear that one group was severely marginalized economically and socially. And yet the marginalized group later held a reputation for being violent and deadly in their retribution, and so some of the empathy becomes tempered.
I marveled. I wondered about my own religious identity and culture. I am Mormon. Although young in history (mid-1800's), the Mormons endured severe backlash for their beliefs. They built communities, then fled them as mobsters turned them out. They were burned out of their homes, their women were raped, their leaders were murdered in cold-blood. The Governor of Missouri even issued a legal decree stating it was necessary to kill and "exterminate" the Mormons. They left the boundaries of the United States, and settled the barren west. They sought redress from the U.S. President who stated "Your cause is just, but there is nothing I can do".
It seemed to me, with such a violent past, that my own religious heritage could have incubated an intense anti-government, Us vs. Them culture. I don't mean to compare the oppression that occurred for centuries in Ireland/England with the relatively young history of the Mormons, but it left me wondering.
What was the difference? Why did I come upon this violent Irish history and feel like a compassionate outsider unable to relate? Why did I wish they could feel safe, patriotic, and community-linked as I do in my city, neighborhood, and country?
Then I realized why this violent and unjust heritage didn't linger in the modern Mormon culture.
Quite simply: We have a prophet.
And because of Priesthood and Prophets, preaching patience and perseverance, forgiveness and hard work Mormons became famous for good citizenship in countries throughout the globe, even countries that cast them out and treated them like an infestation of bugs.
This isn't a neener neener Ireland post, just do this and all your problems will be solved, but I think it just might have something, or everything, to do with the difference. I feel relief for the relative peace occurring in Ireland, the breath of fresh air for people excited to move on.
But mostly I feel gratitude for my membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. After all, there is nothing quite so tough....as gentleness.
My salad for Thursday, September 16th was a cute little guy from an Italian Cafe inside the London-Stansted Airport. By the way, if you ever fly into London and you see 3 airports available, just be aware that Stansted is an hour and half bus ride away from the actual London. By the time I was eating this salad, we had had a very uneventful day "tourist-wise", but I had already experienced a dangerous sway of emotions. The Mister too.
Morning after our late-night play and we head back into London(from the suburbs) with hopes of actually entering the sites that closed down at 5:00 p.m. We hopped onto the double-decker bus, then sputtered around until we were at Picadilly Square when we looked at our clocks and realized our only chance of making the bus back to the airport was to get off the bus immediately and brisky walk back to the station. This is how life goes when you are spontaneous by nature. You miss stuff! (thanks for letting me sleep in Mister).
So we hit the sidewalks. Our bus leaves in 45 minutes and we are a brisk 35 minute walk away. No time for dilly-dallying. Game on! I decide to speed-walk by jetting past the hoity toity couples dressed in wool and hats, I weave between window-shoppers and big-eyed tourists. I pass The Mister and start a mean pace.
Five minutes later I decide to look back and check on The Mister. I'm right to the point where I'm not sure what street to turn on, and want to make sure we're still together.
We are not!
I backtrack a block to see if he had to step into a store.
He did not!
I head back again and pause to look around.
No husband!
And while I like to think of myself as a strong and independent woman, capable of traveling alone and harnessing a spirit of adventure, I totally panic.
My mind races It's too busy for him to have been taken out by the London Mafia. Is there even a London Mafia? Oh crap, I have the tickets, he has the passports. We are going to miss our bus! If we miss our bus we will miss our flight! How did I lose him! If he's gone what do I do? I could call Andy & Erin (who we stayed with) and they could help me start a search. I will be on the news as the stupid American who lost her husband. I don't want to be on the news. There is people all around but I am alone. Is he okay? What happened?
Drama right? At this point, I am choking back the tears. I decide on a plan! Hurry back to the station-that's all there is time for anyway. He will be there and we will figure out what happened. right? {sniff}
So I enter a shop and ask a clerk which way I need to go. My voice is cracking and choking because of the stupid places I am going in my head.
I head back onto the sidewalk and get ready to cross the street. At this point it was been a solid ten minutes since I lost him. I look back and see The Mister of the House! He is heading straight for me and doesn't make a sound. I practically fall into his arms and I'm pretty sure I made some weird sound.
Which brings me to this: I am crinkle-faced, voice-cracking, making weird mourning sounds. The Mister is terrified he lost me as well! I mean really, what is his life without me? Here's how he looked in his total moment of panic:
You can see how the dark deep red fear totally takes over his face.
And yet his panic looked vaguely familiar.
This is why you want to be with The Mister of the House when The Titanic goes down.
What happened? I didn't lose The Mister. He lost me! He was walking ahead of me, but stopped 5 minutes after me and started doing the back-tracking crap that I was doing. He was also crying inside like a baby.
p.s. I had a death-grip on his hand the rest of the day.
Wednesday, September 15th marked our only full day in London. Could we tackle it all in one day? Would we feel like we had a handle on the sights, the history, or even the food? So in order to digest it all, we paid for an open-bus-tour. There were several routes throughout the city that we could hop on or off with our ticket, so it was a good way to digest the city in a day.
There's was so much I had heard of London, but without any true frame of reference. Things like Picadilly Circus, The Tower of London, and Big Ben. So I decided to sort it all out on the bus. You'll have to forgive my obvious ignorance. Here's what I learned in a glance.
Some dude built this for Queen Victoria's Castle. She did not like it. She purposely had a carriage built too wide to pass through, so it stands near some park instead. Sheesh!
like I had previously surmised.
Just after we digested the sights, we decided where we wanted to visit. Too bad the city and the busses stop running around 5:30. Hello? So like everything else, St. Paul's just got our drive-by and it's famous whispering hall will have to wait until I return to London as a senior citizen. Same goes for Shakespeare's Globe, Tower of London, and everything else. Boo!
The Rosetta Stone! When we found it in our 30 minutes inside The British Museum, The Mister of the House exclaimed This made our entire trip to London worth it!
I thought The Rosetta Stone was cool too, but the real thing that topped off the day like a maraschino cherry was a little play we got to see together- with real singers and real dancers and real chocolate covered raisins.
On Tuesday, September 14th, we caught a flight from Ireland to London for a 2-night stay (thank you Andy & Erin!). The salad for this day was eaten standing up, in-a-hurry to get out the door from Mandy's apartment.
After our flight, and a long bus ride, we arrived in the heart of London in the early evening. It was here, in the train station, that I had to actually pay to use a toilet for the first time ever in my life.
This entire trip, I have felt like a territorial puppy leaving its mark (i.e. using the bathroom) every couple of hours. The Mister of the House suggested I should have taken a picture of every bathroom I have used on this trip and posted it on the blog. Now wouldn't that have been delightful? I'm sure I could have easily posted a collage of twa-leys numbering around 100. Go me. Or maybe I meant to say Poor Me.
So we headed out into London and eventually came across Buckingham Palace, where The Queen lives. Royalty that doesn't actually rule the country is still a weird concept that I don't quite understand. I wanted to see the guards with the big fluffy hats, but they had the day off and some smaller-hatted guards stood in their place.
Less formal and apparently moved by instinct or threat, was the main guard that sauntered between the front gates. He had a HUGE gun, and it wasn't casually slung by his side. He had both hands on it, the back elbow slightly bent, as if he was ready to aim and shoot at the least provocation. It seriously freaked me out a little. I wanted to zoom and take a picture of him but I thought he might start a fight with me.
Eventually we made our way to Picadilly Square, the entertainment district. So the saying goes you can't stand there longer than 37 minutes without seeing somebody famous. Much to our surprise, there was a huge opening premiere for the film The Other Guys and Eva Mendes and Will Ferrel were strutting their stuff.
At this point in our trip, my main thought was: I wonder if I got an autograph how much money I could sell it for on eBay. Such is the life of a cheap Mormon on vacation in Europe. What I really wished was that Mr. Ferrell would approach me and ask me if there was anything he could do for me, to which I would reply Could I please take a picture of your furry-as-a-sweater chest? Now that would have totally fetched a sum on eBay to be sure.
During our walk back we found London's version of Chinatown.
The wet pavement was a foretelling of the downpour we were to receive walking back to the station. Despite our umbrella that Mandy the Mom packed for us, I truly got soaked to the bone. It was after this night I was chilled for the remainder of my European vacation. I laughed wondering why I thought I could travel to the UK in the autumn without packing an actual raincoat. Idiot.
On Monday we hit the coast and headed to the Giant's Causeway. On the way, we went across a rope bridge across to a lush, soft, green, coast rock thingie. Looking down from the bridge was....um....exciting.
Mandy the Mom, our hostess with the mostest, tapped the locals to find an eating place fitting for the coast. After winding down a road, we came to this beautiful shack, where I had a wee salad.
Eventually, we made it to the geographic wonder that is the Giant's Causeway. Rock-cooling perfection. You couldn't pay landscaper to attain such perfection.
And of course we are in castle country, this one was impressive. Called Dunluce Castle.
Over the weekend, we took a ferry from Ireland to Scotland and headed to the capital of Edinburgh. Just about the entire weekend we practiced our pronunciation: which is to say {Eh-din-burr-eh} (try to roll those r's just a bit) instead of Edinberrr-g. I have to admit, Edinburgh could be my favorite stop so far. There really is only one word to describe the town, towering with high rise stone buildings, lining the royal mile leading up to the castle, with parliament buildings, churches, and banks so grand each building could easily be a highlight if placed in a regular town. Okay so the one word to describe it before I began my run-on sentence is this: majestic.
When we first came to town square, we were immediately seized upon by a parade of sorts. Armies of Scots in kilts were walking through the streets, playing bagpipes, and hitting drums.
It wasn't until later that we found out that this was a "Protestant March". It seemed the natural extension of our black cab tour and the U.K.'s Protestant vs. Catholic history. Later in the day we learned that the pope is coming to Edinburgh next week, so perhaps fervor was brewing for the visit? Who knows.
If you see in the picture above of the high rise stone buildings, you get a sense of the presence of "The Royal Mile". It's a cobblestone street with buildings that old and that tall lining both sides of the street. It was on The Royal Mile that I tracked down my salad of the day.
A few things I'm starting to figure out about food over here. A) Big Salads are rarely a menu item. Usually it's a side with something else. B) Apparently my U.S. palette is sodium heavy, because I keep ordering all this delicious food but end up cranking the salt shakers all over it.
So I was excited to eat this salad because it had sweet potatoes, but the greens were bitter and the potatoes bland. My yellow split pea soup however, was divine.
We toured the castle, imagined life as royalty, and later in the day did a tour called "The Real Mary King's Close". That was a fascinating look into the everyday lives of people living here centuries ago, particularly the poor. With such huge buildings, the basement levels were generally fallout shelters, just one big dark enclosed room. They explained that usually 2-3 families shared this space, slept on floors, and the only light was from a wick burning the cheapest oil available: fish oil (gag me now). And in the corner was a bucket where everyone went to the bathroom and which could only be thrown into the alleyway twice a day, draining down the roads and into the lake below.
We also took a bagillion flights of stairs up the Sir Walter Scott Monument. Here we are about one-fourth of the way up.
Next we stayed in Glasgow, but didn't really hit the city scene at all. We strolled through a HUGE park with a museum showcasing the private collection of John Burroughs. Lots of Degas, Rodain, and this sculpture, which I disturbingly related to the most:
This park was huge rolling countryside hills. Apparently, Scottish cattle had nearly been lost in farming practices until a recent resurgence to bring back heritage breeds. Very cool. Check out this particular herd at the park. They are owned by the city council, and they have enough pasture to remain clean and eat a healthy grass-fed diet. So cool! My little farmer husband got up close to pet one.
Other things in this park was a community garden, horse riding stalls, the miles and miles of soft green grass and forest. It seemed to me what every park should try to be. So lovely.
At the park we hit some old house where the former "servants kitchen" was turned into a restaurant. It was there I had my salad for September 12th. Perfect with a little quiche on the side.
Today I caught a more gritty perspective of Ireland. The idyllic rolling hills, leprechauns, and pots of gold took a backseat on my black cab tour through Belfast. Evidently, this town in Northern Ireland was not, should we say, "tourist friendly" ten years ago. We are here after a concerted effort at peace and new beginnings. It has worked to the point that we walked a couple miles to the farmer's market, safe as a baby in a carriage, and bought some goods for dinner. So to start, here's my salad for this day, Friday September 10th, 2010.
While tourism is making a comeback to the point there are "black cab tours", I was fascinated by the evidence of a violent and passionate past. Here's a little slideshow of the many murals of Belfast. The murals are: * remembrances for the dead * criticisms of the "other side" (Protestants vs. Catholics) * Hope for the future * and marking of territory We were taken by Billy the Irishmen, to the "Protestant Neighborhoods" and the "Catholic Neighborhoods" where these murals inform the present and form culture. Check out the massive fence to keep folks from throwing bricks or tear-gas into the neighborhoods of the "other side".
Things I didn't know: that after Frederick Douglas escaped from slavery (with the help from some Irish), that he lived in Ireland and spoke about equal rights for all.
To my small perspective, things are changing for the better. No recent bombings or killings, and safety in the streets to the point that I could walk to the market for fresh greens.
It has been a great day of learning, and a day of gratitude for the peaceful existence that was my childhood and my current state of living. Yet, I find that tonight my prayers will have a more earnest petition for peace.
Gift One: Hostess with the Mostest. Beautiful Mandy....in a tree.
But lives in a hip post-modern apartment with a spare bedroom (wahoo!)
Gift two: A raw salad on day two of the trip!
Gift three: We visited a castle, and followed a trail to a cave on the hillside. Wouldn't you know that growing wild and free all along the trail were some blackberries. They were delicious with my cereal this morning.
This is me "posing" for a photograph, when I really wanted to capture this quintessential irishman walking through the woods. Tweed jacket, newsboy cap, and an umbrella that poses as a walking stick. I just knew that should I have passed him on the trail, he would have said "Top o' the morning to ya". Right?
Hey Offspring....love and miss you (thanks Grandma!)
Yesterday, I was "en-route" to my European Vacation for just over 24 hours. Ugh. What time is it? One of my fears on this trip has been: Will I be able to get my salad a day? Well yesterday, during our 7-hour layover in New York, I put these fears to the test. Check out my little mini New York adventure below: Upon emerging from the swarthy subway tunnels, I emerged into the cliched version of New York that is Times Square. Immediately we were dazzled by the lights, the energy, people, shops, and advertisements.
My first thought was this: I wonder if any trees can grow here. It was several blocks before I found this.
Not technically a tree, but living and green. Maybe my miniature adventure should have been to Central Park huh?
So since we went straight for the cliche New York life, my next thought was this: I want a New York Dawg.
I had images of Tina Fey, long lines of weary corporate workers, and downing some meat the farmgirl in me doesn't want to think about with onions, relish, catsup, and mustard.
We succeeded. Here's my man with our New York Dawg. I was disappointed only catsup and mustard were available, but after a 5 hour flight with a small cup of water and some nuts, I was ready to eat a roasted rat.
Not really, that would be gross. My point is, I try not to buy or eat hotdogs, but man was that dog good!
Bonus! Snapped a photo of the Times Square Naked Cowboy's competition. What is she? The Naked Cowgirl? I'm not sure, but I learned The Naked Cowboy recently sued her for...infringement? I shouldn't put things on the blog I don't know anything about, but there you have a fairly naked woman amongst the lights and action of New York.
My last and final thought before we had to jet back onto the subway was this: Where can I get a salad?
Then we found a little deli that sold raw greens, fruits, sushi, and pastas for $7.99 a pound.
The noodles make it look gross, but it was the perfect end to my mini New York adventure. For just five bucks, I snarfed fresh strawberries, kiwi, ginger dressing, and a couple sushi rolls that had no chance in heck of growing within 20 miles of the deli, but which tasted absolutely fresh and delicious.
Well that's it for now. Good night/afternoon/morning...I'm not sure which one.
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