London Love

A couple of weeks ago, just like millions of other people all around the world, I tuned into the Royal Wedding. Yes, I thought the dress was very pretty, yes I absolutely adored the hats - even the ridiculous WTF? hats, yes I had a forty minute conversation with Panda about how awful, just plain awful, Chelsy Davy looked and Harry should clearly drop her and find me. Stat.
But the real reason I watched it? It was in London. Because watching the panoramic views of all of the London landmarks transported me back to the happiest six months of my life. The memories came flooding back, and I just let them take over. I sat back and relived it all, and couldn't keep the happiness from gushing out of me.
I closed my eyes and saw...
Panda and I getting completely lost and turned around and late meeting DT at Westminster Abbey. Completely smitten with Miss Mary and her bedazzled reading glasses. The way DT looked at her, his darling wife, his "English Rose," which curiously mirrored the expression he had when explaining Anne Boleyn, and pointing out Queen Elizabeth's tomb.
Penn and I deciding to see every sight in London without taking the tube until I finally broke down and cried about my poor little feet just in front of the Gherkin. And yet we still continued to walk over the bridge and to the Tower of London where I glared at him and proclaimed "Off with your head!"
Taking three hours to walk through Portobello Road Market, driving the boys crazy and finally sending them off to find food while we stopped at every booth, sifted through clothes, antiques, handmade items, and bought dresses, scarves, and earrings.
Walking with Professor Jackson through back streets. He made us notice the graffiti, appreciate the graffiti, causing me to not be able to look at graffiti ever again without thinking of him.
Professors announcing we will be spending the last forty minutes of class in the pub discussing "deep topics"
Chasing buses in stilettos at 3 am because we couldn't find where the N9 stopped.
Sitting in the back of a cab with Sie, Panda, and Stien rocking out to Sie's ipod as she took videos while we giggled and sang in our tequila voices.
Coming back from Spain, Wales, Paris, Ireland, and stepping out of the Gloucester Road tube station and getting the overwhelming sense of "I'm home."
Following DT to East London and down some streets to a small cafe that served jellied eel. Trying the jellied eel and trying not to gag as the woman behind the counter gently suggests we try it with pepper.
Exploring St James' park on St Patrick's day, half fuddled and overly giggly as DT explained torch bearers and brought us down a quaint mews.
Heading to the outskirts of London, far down along the Thames, to DT's favorite pub. We drank pints and played trivia and danced all the way home. Panda taking DT's phone to talk to Mary, telling her how much we all loved him, to which she replied, "Oh no, he got you all drunk."
Running around Picadilly Circus, seeing Les Miserables, visiting every market, every museum, castles, and palaces. Always having something to do, something to see. Staying out past midnight every night yet still able to wake up at seven am to jog in Hyde Park and attend every class. Finding "our pub" "our restaurant." Settling in to a routine yet still adding new and exciting things.
And finally, laying in the middle of Regeant's Park, beaming up at Penn, Sie, and Panda, gushing, "This can't be real life!"

If I could, I'd return in an instant. But then again, would London be the same as my London? The London of 2010. Because yes, the experiences were wonderful, but it was the people who really made it. I didn't know a single person when I headed to London, but quickly I made some of the greatest friendships of my life. Without them, London just wouldn't be my London. I'd need to scoop up Sie and Panda and take them with me. Until then, I'll just look at pictures, and take advantage of the national news when it decides to go Britain-crazy.

What I wore Wednesday - ish.

Some of the blogs I read have "What I Wore Wednesdays" which always make me swoon with jealousy, and then make me laugh at myself because, man I do not wear cute things. They also do "What I Wore To Work" and I think of them when I head off to work, because what I wear to work is ridiculous. 
I've thought of taking a picture of myself before I head off to the twins because I get ready for bed before I leave my house. So I wear flannel pajama bottoms, a long sleeve thermal shirt, throw on my giant jacket and rain or snow boots, depending on the whether. Really, I look dashing. 
You may think I look a bit cuter when I go to work at the hotel. But sadly my uniform has morphed into corduroys, a sweater, and clogs. Clogs. Yesterday, because the hotel is shut down for the month of April, I wore old jeans, a sweatshirt, a fleece jacket, and my sister's Bogs. A perfect image of a Vermont farm girl. 
So what did I wear Wednesday? Unfortunately I've been terribly sick since I returned home from my vacation so today I decided to not move from my bed and maybe I will magically recover. So I am wearing my UNH hospitality shirt (shout out to Christine!) and sweat pants. Pretty, eh?


When I was in Copenhagen I went out and did some errands with my brother, when he stepped into the bank I told him I'd wait outside. We were on the busiest street in Denmark - the busiest street for bikes that is - so it was people watching central. So many beautiful people in perfect outfits rode by on their cute, vintage looking bikes. I was in awe, a little jealous, and remembering fondly how I used to look on my adorable bike with its wicker basket, and my perfect outfits. 
When I moved back to Vermont after living in Europe for over a year, I tried to maintain my style. But it was difficult. It was cold, the icy roads and parking lots made it impossible to wear heels. Dresses became out of the question after only a few weeks. Now that the snow has finally melted the mud prevents me from wearing anything but rubber boots. So I've fallen into the easy, "I don't care how I look" life of a northern Vermonter. In the beginning it kind of felt good, knowing I could wear anything and wouldn't be looked at with an unkind eye. I wore jeans I would never be seen in in Copenhagen. I wore hideous wool sweaters just because I knew it would keep more warm. I stopped caring.
But now I miss it. I miss my cute outfits. I have a pile of heels that go untouched. I yearn for last year when I was flitting around London in dresses and stilettos. But if I wore anything like that here, people would think I'm crazy. "Are you dressing up for the cows?" Sigh. 
Just a month to go before I move back to a city! 
Until then, old jeans and rubber boots.