july bakes

My sister turned a year older last week--so in celebration, I whipped up a batch of cupcakes. (I kind of owed her these: they were a long time coming).

Earl Grey Cupcakes w/ Lemon Buttercream Frosting.

My life doesn't revolve around cake, really... (I'm working on it).

it's so soon!

A couple of weekends ago, I got myself down to London to celebrate with friends. As per usual, we drank a lot of tea; ate a lot of cake; and (especially, oh, especially in my case) obsessed a lot over vintage china. (The Soho Secret Tearooms really is further inspiration for that one-day bakery dream. There will be more on that later--there will always be more on that later).

This trip wasn't just about tea, though. It was more about celebrating the impending marriage of a very good friend. (This week: the wedding's this week! And I couldn't be more excited).

It sure was a beautiful day!

summer--or not.

I'm not ashamed to admit that in these last few days, I've had my first real cravings for autumn.

It's been a little cooler here (winter hat weather, I tell you--or so I saw today) and things that I associate with those first, few September days have fallen, slyly, into view. (You know, like early mornings* and enrolment confirmation and grabbing wholesome snacks when I can. These are the things that pinpoint the start of academia--and with them the browning, weighty curl of leaves).

But--I say--with scenes like this, how can I resist that pull?

(Photo credit).

*I got a job! In a café! In an animal sanctuary! And I have a love/hate relationship with it already...But I am ever so grateful for friendly connections.

a little update on some things (the ongoing)

There's a certain path I must take to my Monday morning meetings: a concrete walkway suspended over a fading campus. And for the past seven weeks, I have noticed its symbolism: its hinted allusions to the way I see this process. It is the glimpse of the fear of falling--the risk and height and chance--the careful steps I need just in case I trip. Surrounding one side of this pathway is a (similarly) concrete wall. The bricks are thick and heavy, weighted by a greying shroud of cement. But within this very stiff enclosure--like this rigid, clouded judgement I have set myself--there are gaps and patches and tracts of light. It is only in this seven weeks that I have seen them--seen them and the beautiful view they allow of the lake and fields and geese below. Of the serenity and stillness and lushness of another, new perspective. Thus I think of my mind--of the way it is piecing together new associations, now. Of the little gaps in what has been perpetuating tension. I relish that. The new greens that come into view as summer progresses, just as I relish the new things I am doing, the new experiences I surround myself with. (And trust me, they sometimes feel so tiny but so minuscule all at the same time). Because with them there are these glorious, glorious branches of sunshine--of contentment--which rest a little easier on my stomach--and my head--and, oh!, my heart.

if at first you do succeed...

...don't try again so confidently.

My sister and I made macarons a couple of weeks ago--successfully, too, for a first time effort and with a notoriously difficult recipe (I think all macaron recipes are: they have such a delicate, tricky structure).

Yet yesterday, when I attempted them again, I only ended up with six. (And it took five hours and I used nearly a dozen eggs).

Rose Macarons.

I think I'll use a different recipe next time--or not intend to gift them. You know, just in case.

seaside searches

I always relish the fact that I live pretty close to the sea. Arnold, though? He works right beside it.

Since he got that job, I have started spending more time there. For little lunch-dates, petting local dogs and a whole lot of shore-line reading. (The ebb and flow of tidal movement is, by far, one of the sweetest songs I know).

Starting next week, though, I'll be doing more than just that. I'll be volunteering for a museum there and working on a research project that I couldn't, really, be any more excited about. (The subject matter is so precisely my thing--loosely based on British seaside holidays around the 1920s-'50s!)

You see, the last few weeks have been marked by an inability to get a summer job. (I lost my old one back in April--so now, really, it's more necessity than a simple change of scenery). I've been kind of sad about this--and, well, more than a little frustrated.

Whilst this project will not bring in any finances--a fact I have been reminded of over and over again--I will, at least, be doing something worthwhile. And enjoyable. And creative. And those, to me, are the things to count.

cambridge

I took a train to Cambridge on Friday.

It isn't all that far from me--so nor is it new.

But even now, when I walk its streets, I like to imagine I live and study there. That those vaulted dorms that overlook the Cam are mine--that I can cross the jaunts of that mathematical bridge into Queen's--that I can peruse its envied library stacks. I like to imagine that I can brush shoulders with the academic elite and be so, so enveloped in culture.

It's silly, really. This pretend. Because I know if I had it, I'd soon find its faults. I'd succumb to its vast oppression or its arrogance--the immediate tensions and the creeping flaws I sense each time I visit.

But that isn't to say I don't get a kick out of it--that it doesn't do anything for me. It does: it truly, truly compounds a will to work harder--to study--to involve myself in an academic or artistic passion. But I soon realise that that passion is the important thing. It is the peak and the crescendo and the most sought-after thing. It is not tied to a building, a street, a desk. It is something you can--and do--take anywhere.

I suppose I like Cambridge for that. It sure has a power to provoke my thought. (And gladly, happily, blissfully so).