A Slice of the Action

Polo: at times almost as boring as golf. It helps to have Rachel around to imitate American accents. Good show, chaps!

Snaps for Spring in St Andrews

Jamie and I spent last night ironing out our signature move at the Andrew Melville ball (see above) at the St Andrews aquarium. The theme was "Through the Looking Glass" and the dress -- black tie with a twist -- meant that Jamie had an excuse to dye her hair pink while I got to rock her mom's hot dress. Laurie and Rob rounded out our super group of winners and big fun was had by all.



We finished up our big Ya weekend today with an afternoon of Pimms and polo at the Barclays Wealth polo tournament. I'd never seen polo up close; it really is a beautiful game, and we had the best time picnicking on the sidelines:

Anna and Julia represent the Swedes. I represent..puffy vests.

My girls! We are so full of bread and cheese, you have no idea.

Furniture connoisseurs and future London flatmates!

We were seriously close to the action. Check out those haunches.

There are three Asheville School graduates at St Andrews this semester. What are the odds of that? I'll tell you: 3 out of 200. Watch Erik, Nancy, and me be super and take over the world.

My last week of class starts tomorrow. Oh, I am sad already!

Being Awesome (aka check out my sweet robe)

What do you do when someone flies 4,000 miles and travels for 30 hours to see you? Sing crappy songs a capella, of course! I include this video on my blog for archival purposes, but also so that the world can see my kickin' bathrobe. It's made of fleece and is the warmest bathrobe of them all. I stole it from my mom. Yep, just shoved it in my suitcase and flew to Scotland. Sorry mom.

Today is kind of a mixed bag. I'm not working today because I'm going in tomorrow to play cheerful tour guide for The Scottish Vernacular Furniture and Tea-Cozy Society (or something along those lines), and I don't have the faintest idea of what to do with my time off. I took a melon over to Bridget and she in return gave me a bicycle, so that was cool, and now I'm off to open a Scottish bank account and keep spreading my brand of American joy all over town.

I am one week of class and two exams away from being dunzo.
The end.

What Do the Wild Waves Say?

Here are photos from the last few days as promised. In case you haven't heard, I got a surprise haircut in Holland of the Scandinavian variety and I don't want to talk about it.

Seriously, the bangs are FIERCE. Also: Scott has come and gone! We had a big ol' time. He was here for ten days, but it flew right by. It was so good to see him.

We had razor clams for dinner. I wore pearls. Scott wore corduroy. Jamie wore pretty.

We met up with the South Castle Street ladies for drinks and good chat at Aikman's.

I am excited because Julia is moving to London in September as well. We will be able to continue taking awesome pictures like this one.

Jamie and Beez are returning to the States. I will miss them more than I can talk about without tearing up.

Jamie, Scott, and I went to Edinburgh for the day. The orange sunglasses made the trip as well.

We drank tea, learned about cabinetmakers, antiqued, and got the yellow taken out of our hair. It was a pretty full day.

Don't let his hardened Navy exterior fool you; Scott loves Clarinda's tea room and ESPECIALLY loves Clarinda's tea roses.

On Sunday we went on a 15 mile walk through the Falklands with my furniture professor and knower-of-all-things-Fife-related, David Jones. Here is the estate house from afar.

Have you ever noticed that the grass is ridiculously green in Scotland? Well, that's because it rains a lot. The sheep don't seem to mind.

We scaled the summit of West Lomond. Scott braved the gale-force winds to cut a pretty figure across the ridge.

Scott and David are probably in love.

I fancy myself something of a Richard Long.

The long and winding road to East Lomond.

My favorite photo from the trip: my three intrepid companions.

I would rather not say what the yellow flowers are called, but gosh aren't they pretty?

This photo amuses me on so many levels. We stopped for a rest in the heather. It is squashy and sweet-smelling. Jamie likes it.

Americanisms

Saying "have a good day" to an elderly Scottish gentleman is not the way forward. This morning after finishing a rather lengthy, slightly confusing conversation with one of the museum's elderly volunteers I attempted to beg off with an enthusiastic "have a good day!" only to be met with a quizzical stare and stamp of his cane. After some time he snorted and said "well, of course, why should I not?"

Oh me.

I have my first Trust meeting this evening where I have to give a presentation on my work for the last five days. Going over what I've done is mildly rewarding; it seems I've accomplished a lot more than I thought, especially in the way of IT. I got some surprise words of praise from our chairman Marion the morning, so I'm feeling a lot better about the meeting. I have to travel to Kirkcaldy tomorrow morning for the annual meeting of Fife curators. I am looking forward to the train journey and the opportunity to meet other curators in the area, especially those from the National Galleries and the Scottish Fisheries Museum. There is talk of a joint exhibit on transportation!

I feel like I should change the name of my blog to 'Lauren Does the FFM' -- so much do I rattle on about the museum -- but I can assure you I've been up to the usual pub-crawling and hill-walking (not necessarily in that order). I've got some great photos from the last few days which I will post tonight.

Back to work -- HAVE A GOOD DAY!

La Musee de Fife Folk

It's a reasonably distinguished old place. I don't have any pictures of the annex, which is where my office and a rather large assortment of broken hand tools resides, so try and imagine another building made of stone and you've just about got it. Tra la la, another day at work!

I Love My Job

Seriously. I love it. This morning I am researching Scottish East Coast Potteries and this afternoon I get to do a little write-up of the Tay Bridge Disaster of 1879. I'm also working with a fabulous local artist named Marianna on a custom FFM tea towel for the museum shop. Hilarious. You can check her out at http://www.openstudiosfife.co.uk.

I am moving house in a month. I will be living on the third floor of my art history professor's house on the old high street in Cupar. My address will be:

9 Kirk Wynd
Cupar
Fife
KY15 5AW

The two local newspapers are coming to photograph me this afternoon. Turns out the new American curator is news-worthy. I have no idea what I'm going to say to them, but it will no doubt be something embarassing that I will regret later. ("Come on down to the museum, y'all! It's, like, real awesome!")

The Fruits Of My Labo[u]r

Check out my new digs by clicking here.
I did this today at work, among other things.
Check for Americanisms and get back to me.

VA Tech Shootings: Thoughts From Across An Ocean

What happened yesterday was the worst mass shooting in American history, the most deadly, the most senseless. The bullets claimed dozens of people at the outset of their lives, the most promising of Virginia, now lying in hospital rooms and morgues. All that vast promise will remain - can only remain - that and nothing more. The sadness of that will be with us for an age.

It is at times like this when I feel the most removed, the most homesick. Virginia can never be the same, but in St Andrews the streets are bustling with students and visitors are wandering idly through the Museum outside my office door. The only mention of the shooting came earlier this morning from one of the Museum volunteers who asked me simply "why the bloody hell the Americans are allowed to have guns?" I didn't have an answer for him. It is frustrating when people here expect me to answer for American policy; I didn't create it, I certainly didn't vote for the current president, and there's not much I can do from Scotland to change it.

I am all questions this morning, but I am also filled with sadness for my culture that is so poisoned. I am frustrated with a government who can only express "horror" after such an event instead of offering solutions; I am in awe of the professors who stayed behind in their classrooms-- presumably to keep the gunman from shooting their escaping students-- who were so senselessly killed; but mostly I am thinking of all my extraordinary friends who live near that beautiful campus under the trees back in North Carolina and wishing more than ever that I could have just one more day with them.

No one here understands.

It is Impossibly Warm in Scotland

Eerily warm. I've been wearing flip flops every day for the last week. Spring fever has hit the Kingdom of Fife, AND HOW. You give Scottish people a little sun and what do they do? They whip off their clothing and sprint towards the North Sea. The student body has taken to the beach in droves for bbq's, rugby, and polo. We had a bonfire this weekend on the castle sands (the beach right under the cliff that the castle is built on) and managed not to burn anything down. Rob, who is English, had graham crackers and hershey bars sent to him from the States for reasons I cannot fathom (besides the obvious: they are so tasty) and we all ate proper s'mores and felt much improved.




Scott arrived yesterday from Charleston, SC, for a week of Scottish fun. We had a little dinner last night to kick things off. I'm excited about the next few days, they should be a-rockin... especially if the weather stays freakishly warm.

The Summer From Here

I declined my Sotheby's internship this afternoon. It was a difficult decision and involved much tearing of hair and gnashing of teeth on my part, but I'm confident in my choice. I've been holding out on updating you, dear readers, on the state of things in an effort to nail down my plans and deliver The Future Of Lauren in one big, heaping dose. So here it is.

I got appointed Head Curator (or HC if ya feelin' dangerous) at the Fife Museum -- from now on I will call it FFM-- in Ceres, Scotland. It was a bit of a roller-coaster ride there for a while and I wasn't sure how it would work out, but now that the dust has settled I am happy to say that I have an office with my name on the door! Well, maybe not; but it definitely has a door. And a copy machine.

I went to my first meeting as HC on Wednesday where I met with the volunteer pool and spent some time brainstorming with the trustees. Brainstorming! I love it! Especially when I get to say things like "What about having a booth at the Ceres Highland Games? It could be oat-themed and we could contact Quaker Oats in Cupar to see if they would donate some products for a raffle!" I've got a summer concert series and an exhibit on vernacular chairs in the works as well. My enthusiasm is boundless.

I feel like I should backtrack a little: for the record, I have decided to live in Cupar, Scotland this summer and work full time at the museum until I move to London in September. I'm not sure where I will be living just yet, but my furniture professor has been kind enough to offer me the top floor apartment in his house. There is an ancient foot path from Cupar to Ceres (the even smaller village where the museum is) which I can take to work that winds across the Ceres Moor. Um, Wuthering Heights? Yes please. Here is a map of Fife so you can get an idea of the geography:

Ceres has a population of just over 1000. It is located in a small valley approximately 2 miles over the Ceres Moor from Cupar and 7 miles from St Andrews. It is one of the most historic and picturesque villages in Scotland and boasts a beautiful village green -- one of the few remaining of its kind in Scotland. You should probably read the little page on Ceres from Undiscovered Scotland by clicking here. (It tells you all kinds of fun facts and has loads of pictures.)

Now for the freaky bit: I was standing outside the museum yesterday chatting with one of the trustees while looking out over the village green and it HIT ME -- "I've been here before!" I exclaimed. When I first traveled to Scotland (and fell in love with it) in the summer of 2005, I spent a day watching the highland games and laughing with my new Australian friends in a field in the center of a small town. I had completely forgotten about it until that moment; it was like someone pulled away a veil and I saw it all: the beer tent, the men in kilts, the caber tossing. That warm day in June was one of my favorite from the trip, and I remember looking around at all the people and thinking "I'm going to live here one day." How strangely right I was... it gives the heebies just thinking about it. I looked back at my photos from that day and you can see the museum in the background in a few. Can I just say one more time that this FREAKS ME OUT?

Ok, the museum. It's amazing. Read a little about it by clicking here.

I have to get to bed, I have work in the morning -- 9 to 5! I will take pictures of the new digs and post them as soon as I am able to take pictures without anyone seeing me and thinking I'm crazy. Send me good thoughts tomorrow as I pretend to know what I'm doing...

love

Continuing With A Theme

It's another big news day: I got offered a summer internship at Sotheby's in New York. So far I've gotten everything I applied for. Happy days! I don't want to toot my own horn (hey, what else is a blog anyways besides one continuous self-five?), but I will say that the Princeton Review gives the Sotheby's internship it's highest selectivity rating. Ew, I just grossed myself out. Moving on:

The Fife Museum has offered me a salary increase and various other perks (no home theatre and personal retinue of bodyguards, but I'm working on it) to stay through the summer and set up their education program. This is funny/terrifying on a number of levels, but it's definitely something to consider.

So many decisions to make, and all I want to do is go out for Boozeday Tuesday with my terrific group of friends. Here I am at that crucial juncture where you are no longer a "fun loving student" but an "alcoholic" with a "career" to keep in mind. When did this happen?!

A Note On The Regional Dialect

I spent my last few months in the U.S. listening to BBC Scotland Radio in an effort to acclimate to the accent. Sure, I'd seen Braveheart, but once you get here you realize that Mel's accent is actually atrocious; it's not just nationalism speaking when Scots rile against him.

Mel notwithstanding, mainstream Scottish accents (found in the big cities and in the south) aren't difficult to understand at all. My friend Laurie is from Kilmarnock and has the type of accent you might want your children to have, even if they are American. Every time he speaks I just want him to read Robert Burns to me for hours while I lounge around under tartan blankets and sip hot whisky. It really is glorious, but I digress.

When I interviewed at the Fife Museum one of the first questions from the panel of trustees was whether or not I would be able to understand the more "indigenous" Scottish accents of the region. I replied that it couldn't be any more difficult to interpret than a deep Southern accent in the U.S. -- an answer which made them laugh, but SHOO was I wrong.

Case in point: I am taking a class (as previously mentioned) on Culture and Society in Modern Scotland. My professor is reasonably legible, but today we had a visiting lecturer come in to tell us about post-war Scottish poetry and he might as well have given the lecture in German for all I understood and copied down. At the bottom of the last page in my notebook are the words "I cannot understand a single thing this man is saying" followed by a couple doodles of transparent cubes and an elaborate drawing of a horse's head coming out of a box.

To give you an idea of what we are dealing with here is an excerpt from a poem by noted Scottish poet Robert Garioch, written in the Scots dialect:

As it's froggin' in the hills,
Or poors pipestapples and auld wives,
Sae Waich Water glents and scrows,
Reels and ratches and rives.

Lappin' on the shirrel,
Or breengin' doon the cleuch,
I can listen to the waters
Lang -- and no'lang -- eneuch.

... If you're thinking 'Whaaat?' then we are in the same boat. If you are nodding and pretending like you understand then you are taking the route chosen by a few of my American classmates. Stop pretending, you silly sallies, you have no idea what's going on and neither do I! Here's to hoping that there isn't a large section on post-war poetry included in the final exam.*

Give me a good ol' Cherokee County accent any day of the week and I can hum right along. This Scots dialect is a whole new bowl of beans. Bless you, Oxford Press, for including copious amounts of footnotes for the handful of us not blessed with the brogue.

* I will (of course) study and read with abandon beforehand and make sure I am not as befuddled as I am now, Mom.

For the Fam

... and anyone else who is feeling particularly voyeuristic.


Here I am looking saucy in my St Andrews gown on Easter Sunday. I call it a cape because that makes me more of a wizard and less of a drag queen. The gowns were traditionally worn to lectures, meals, and practically everything else, but these days they are worn primarily at church. Both photos were taken in the garden in front of our flat which is fondly called "the cabbage patch" because during World War II it was used to grow a victory garden. Now it is used by the neighbours as a place to walk their dogs; they are fans of leaving the droppings on the path for yours truly to step in on her way to class.

[Also: can we have a minute for the lovely weather? Let us rejoice and be glad in it!]

There was some consternation over a previous post where I called London "old hat." I will amend that and say that Marcus and I had lunch at a place called The Stockpot on Oxford Street and it was incredible. If you know me you know how I feel about food; especially food that has been simmered for long periods of time with other kinds of food in a typically down-home Southern kind of way.... so needless to say I gamed on some Stockpot food. They had one of the most comprehensive menus I have ever seen in a British restaurant: fajitas, lasagna, burgers, and even apple pie a la mode. I ate Marcus under the table and I am not ashamed.

Speaking of Marcus: he called earlier to wish me a happy easter, at which point I asked him if he got a good basket. He said "WOT?" and I said "you know, an easter basket. From the easter bunny." Turns out they don't have that tradition here. They just get eggs. I asked Jamie if she got easter baskets growing up and she said yes, absolutely... So what gives? I would also like to go on record saying today, this easter of my 21st year on earth, was the first time I have not had a visit from the benevolent bunny. When I was little my mom used to make easter bunny tracks across our front hall with baby powder. Those were the days...

I am halfway through roasting a chicken for tonight's joint-flat Easter dinner. The South Castle Street ladeez are coming over and no doubt bringing something tasty. I hope the chicken is good; I opted to wing it with what I had sitting around instead of going to Tesco and getting proper ingredients. As ya do.

In the next post: my summer plans and the drama that has gone down in Fife. Pretty hilarious stuff. Promise. Happy Easter!

It's Easter Time, Pretty Baby

This time last year Scott and I were in Durham, North Carolina eating my grandmother's marinated vegetables and reflecting on our recent trip to Scotland. We traveled to St Andrews in March of 2006 so I could interview and have a look around while Scott connected with his roots and took in the landscape of his people. It was a great trip; we spent three days on the Isle of Skye, swam naked in Loch Ness, and sang bandeoke (that's karaoke with a live band) at the Walkabout with the biggest and baddest group of Aussies this side of the equator.

Scott is coming to visit me in a few days, which is five kinds of exciting, but it also forces me to stop and consider how much has changed in a year. Instead of living in my little blue mill house in Carrboro I am sharing a flat with Jamie in St Andrews, washing my clothes in the kitchen and watching the sunset over the steep roofs of a quiet medieval town.

In the last year I have set off on a career path with conviction and genuine enthusiasm, proved to myself that I can rebuild a life in a foreign country, and rediscovered my innate thirst for good, hard academics. It's been a fantastic, invigorating time.

So, a year after deciding to come to Scotland I find myself once again teetering on the edge of the next big decision: where to go for graduate school. If someone in Durham had said to me "you know, in one year you'll be deciding between MA programs in England and Scotland" I probably would have said "I don't even know you, please put the gun away" -- I kid, I kid. Actually, I would have said "That's cray-cray (a bit of slang that was popular during March of '06), I'm planning on the Peace Corps."

No longer directionless (no offense to the Peace Corps), I am leaning towards making the move to London in September for the Sotheby's MA program in Fine and Decorative Art. That would shack me up in Londontown until at least November of 2008. It is the right fit for me on so many levels, and the more I think about it the more excited I become.

I am thankful for so many things this Easter Sunday: the love and support of two of the most understanding and genuinely brilliant parents in North Carolina; a family full of people who care about me, support me, and deeply invest themselves in my happiness and prosperity; an extraordinary group of friends, both here and abroad, with whom I can run wild into the stratosphere or sit quiet as a church mouse and either way we know it will be fun. You are with me always, each and every one of you, and I love you very much.

Now: I have to get ready for church! Jamie and I are headed to St Salvators' Easter service -- red capes and all. Oh happy days!

"Oh my god, if anyone loved me they would give me a peep for Easter." - Jamie Lynn Gaul

Jamie, the continent, and Me!

Here is the link to my photos from our trip:

Click here kiddos

Enjoy! Jamie took about 567 more pictures than I did, and they're mostly of me, so I'll see what I can do about getting those on here. Give the people what they want.

We Came; We Saw; We're Knackered

Jamie and I arrived back in St Andrews this afternoon from a little trip we like to call Spring Break '07: Euroballers. Jamie snapped this sweet photo outside the Louvre; if you click on it and look closely you can see that I am actually floating off the ground in anticipation. High Art!

We spent four days in Paris and four in Holland [although I kick-started the trip with three days in London-- but London is old hat]

Paris was lovely and bitterly cold, Amsterdam was appropriately seedy, and I am happy to say that the tulips were in bloom across the Dutch countryside! We spent some time in Leiden with Charlie (where he is in medical school) and he was generous enough to take us to Den Haag as well as ferry us about on bikes and basically make sure we had a good ol' Dutch time.

Once I load the pictures on to my computer I will barrage you with more album links.

I've got a pile of mail by the door and my suitcase is still in the stairwell... but the good news is I have FIVE FULL DAYS of nothing to do except clean up, work on some things, and get my life back in order. Huzzah!

I'd say spring break '07 has been pretty bangin'