Today after work, I drove up to the farm. Right now I’m staying with my family, ignoring the fact that I have an apartment in town close to work. It is Potato Harvest right now, and something in me feels the need to be near, even if I’m not working in it this year.
It is one of those odd days that can’t make up its mind. Half of the sky is brilliantly blue and sunny, and half of it is indigo and promising a gorgeous rain storm. For the sake of our harvest I know I should pray for the sun to stay out, but it is one of those autumn days when a bit of rain and hot cocoa seems like a good idea.
Adjusting back to life here in the U.S has been a little bit more difficult than I imagined it would be. First of all, I was only in England for three weeks, so I hadn’t expected to have adjusted to life there as much as I did. I’ll be completely honest and tell you that jet lag one the war for almost a week. A week! But I’m finally back on schedule. And of the many, many things I miss, scones are Number 1.
I found a recipe and have made myself British scones several times since coming home, which is truly the only thing that is helping me past the withdrawals. But even though they taste the same and technically are the same, they aren’t the same. They have this appearance of a scone, the taste of a scone, but no matter what they aren’t what I wish they were: the delicious scones I had in Grasmere, Salisbury, or even Ireland. To all my British friends I say this: count your blessings. Go to the nearest tea room and order a scone. Just do it. For me. Please?
Have you ever had a conversation that ended up being a little cryptic? And after having this conversation, you feel very un-Sherlockian. It may begin as a normal conversation, and quickly evolve into a not so normal conversation while also keeping the appearance of a normal conversation. Now I feel as though I’m in the middle of a very big code. It was enlightening while at the same time more confusing. And of course I’ve been overthinking it. Please, please tell me I’m not alone in having had this experience. Even if you have to lie. Just tell me that.
On top of all these things pretending to be things they’re not, I need an evening gown. In a week and a half I’m going on a girls trip with two of my very best friends, and we’ll be doing a night with a fancy dinner. I need an evening gown. I thought I had one, but it turns out it is nowhere to be found. So now I have 10 days to find something. Wish me luck.
And here I sit. Missing England like crazy, wanting real scones, feeling very un-Sherlockian, and evening gown-less.
And that’s it.