Category Archives: Life reflections

The Differences Come Home

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OK, sorry about that blog post lapse. In two words: jet lag. It takes me longer to get over it. Yesterday was my first 9-6 sleep since returning. Slowly back to US time.

But maybe not back to some other US norms. One of the things you can’t help but notice, staying with friends in Ireland and Scotland, is the lack of plastic. Even my friend who lives life in the fast lane doesn’t have an overrun of plastic bags and containers in her kitchen. She merely saves her ice cream tubs for occasional leftovers.

There are fewer leftovers, because Brits invented portion control. Everything is sized to eat once. Brits don’t make nine-day stews, vats of crock pot suppers, or spaghetti for 60 and freeze it. It’s a day-by-day cooking plan. Part of the mindfulness that permeates the culture, perhaps? Why would you need so much all at once?

The kitchen is the first place you’re going to see how differently Brits and Americans live: you don’t need plastic leftover containers because you’re controlling your servings. You don’t need a huge fridge because, same. You don’t need a vast array of kitchen gadgets, because you’re doing a one-time prep of servings for four, so it’s not hard to chop, grind, dice, or juice. And you tend to have pleasant conversations with friends and family while you’re doing it. Meal prep isn’t “get this done so we can get to the next thing.” It IS the thing.

This is pleasant. Even on stressed days, when the chores are divided, it’s a nice thing to sit with someone in the kitchen, pulverizing what you plan to eat while sipping a glass of wine and talking stress factors. It works.

Not that they don’t have shortcut foods, simple shortcuts, etc. Bisto in every meat and veggie flavor is a staple of the well-stocked Scottish kitchen, certainly. It’s a little like bullion. I brought some home with me.

So I’m back in the States, sipping tea in my kitchen, marinating beef in Bisto, and eyeing things I’m getting rid of in order to simplify. This may have crept past the kitchen, because there’s a bunch of Scottish paraphernalia from other spaces that we won’t bother carrying back to the home country. If you want to see what’s on offer, check Jack’s Facebook offerings online. We put them on a bunch of local yardsale websites, although not marketplace. I don’t think any of it is plastic. I put that in the recycling.

Two New Things

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Well, if yesterday was two lovely things, today is two new ones. I flew back from Cushendall in NI to Edinburgh in prep for heading back to the States tomorrow, and had two new experiences. Apparently they travel in pairs these days.

As the plane took off, I felt water drip on me. The man next to me put up his hand and wiped away a drip above him. We looked at each other.

“Bottle of something musta come out of someone’s bag,” he said in a thick Irish accent.

I took the laminated safety cards out of our respective seat pockets and we used them as shields during takeoff. The instant the plane leveled, I pressed the call button.

The flight attendants appeared a couple of minutes later (when the sleeve of my sweater was soaked) bearing paper towels. They explained it was condensation, not a spilled bottle, and it wasn’t hurting any luggage. They stuffed the towels into the crevices and gave me some to clean up with.

My companion in the next seat decided we had bonded. “Had yersel’ a nice Irish holiday?” he asked.

One of my resolutions for this winter is to be more outgoing, talk to strangers, etc. I sighed and shut my book.

He was, in a word, inebriated, and eager to explain the details of his fascinating life. These mostly involved women in pretty dresses at dances, and the fact that he was having a 60th birthday party on Sunday coming with a couple hundred of his closest friends and family. He told me about living in Italy, where he was doing contract work, visiting family in Belfast, where he was born, and traveling to Kirkcaldy (in Fife, Scotland) where he lived when he wasn’t away.

He also told me about traveling north with his ex-girlfriend for a few days before the party, getting some nice hotel rooms. He said ex-girlfriend several times, but always in conjunction with a hotel. Then he moved on to the dance he’d been at the night before we found ourselves getting dripped on aboard this plane.

“Great dance in Belfast, lotsa old friends there, including a friend from Poland I used to go out with, just got married, pregnant out to here, but we got in a dance.” His hands indicated her size. “I made her promise not to do any twirls, like.” He hauled out his phone.

“And my other good friend was there, too. I don’t date her anymore, but she looked lovely in that dress.” Evidence was proffered by photo and yes, she did. It was a hot pink draped number, elegant yet sexy.

Switching gears abruptly, he started talking about a visit to Germany. Apparently the connection was he’d made it with the “other good friend” in the pink number.

“Saw a motorcycle by the side of this lake, and went to take a look, and there were some clothes, and then the rushes shook and out the two came, buck naked. They look at me without shame and say ‘morgen.’ I say ‘morgen’ back. That kinda thing happens there all the time.”

It was only a thirty-minute flight, I told myself. And indeed the plane landed mid-story of his next trip, with an old flame, someplace around Orkney.

But then the pilot came on: our spot was taken by a malfunctioning plane. Only 30 minutes to fly between cities, but it took 45 to deplane. Never mind, my new best friend had more stories…..

At the end of his story, he asked me if I needed a ride anyplace, he was picking up a car.

And that’s all you’ll be picking up, buddy, I did not say aloud, and assured him I was all set. He had the grace to look vaguely disappointed.

So now I’ve sat next to a drunk man on a plane, and honestly, if it must happen, the wee hopper between Belfast and Edinburgh was the right time. And I’ve been condesensationed by a plane – which is not quite the same thing as being condescended to, so that’s all right, isn’t it?

What silly adventures the world holds, eh? Sorry, no photos because, you know, who takes photos of drunk men on planes?