Friday, September 30, 2011

Househunters International Part Two

Wow, what a cliffhanger, eh? I went from "We'll be right back after this commercial break" to waiting as long as in between "Sopranos" seasons. Well, maybe not that long. Previously, on The Househunting Adventures of Brigid and David, we were down to two flats of interest. The first was a bright, sunny 2-bedroom, about two miles from the University and on the top floor. The second was a much-less-nice 1-bedroom right on the Royal Mile, steps from the park, but with a horrid kitchen. Which did we choose?

We tried to get the crappy Royal Mile flat, thinking we would just be here a year and why not be crazy and live in the noisy Times Square of Scotland? Then the landlord didn't answer her phone, and in the time it took for her to eventually call us back, we changed our minds and took Flat #1.

We haven't regretted it for a minute, even when we descend 60 stairs each time we leave and when David can't just pop home for lunch during the schoolweek. The area is lovely, and if we don't go broke from daily trips to the cheesemonger, we will be quite happy here. But really, I'd be happy anywhere as long as David is here (with his Texas flag) ... awwww....

Thursday, September 29, 2011

The Truth About Scotland.

American friends, I have made a shocking discovery. I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to tell you this, but ... the weather is not actually horrid in Scotland. It's like that old tidbit we were told in elementary school -- that Greenland is Icey and Iceland is Greeney (which also isn't true, by the way. I've been to Iceland, and there was plenty of ice.) People have perpetrated such myths to keep out tourists.

My sample size isn't huge, but only once on my various trips to Scotland has the weather been semi-miserable. That was on the Isle of Skye this past ( Castle Day!). If you ask me, the horizontal rain and 100mph winds made for even more perfect photographs and adventure while exploring the Jurassic Island that day, so I thought nothing of it.

There are signs that it has rained in Edinburgh (see rainbow, below), but mostly it's been blue skies and perfect fall weather. It's been gorgeous all week, and I'll leave you with photographic evidence. Unfortunately, I am writing you, not from the Water of Leith Walkway (which I explored yesterday), but from bed. I'm not feeling well today, and have decided (at 4:00pm I've just noticed) to take the rest of the day off of work. Instead, I'm happy to watch the very-few clouds roll past my window leaving the very-blue sky behind, and let you know you should not be afraid of the weather.

Although, my superpower has always been good weather for trips, so maybe you should only come while I'm here.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Clothes cost how much??!

It's not even been a month, but David and I are both now officially sick of every article of clothing we brought with us to Scotland.

Edinburgh wasn't particularly difficult to pack for because there are really only two seasons here: spring and fall. I know my Scottish friends are shaking their heads and warning me to wait until winter arrives, but I'm not afraid. It rarely drops below freezing here, and I'm used to awful, snow-filled, ice-storm Kentucky winters, hovering around 0*F. (That's -17.7C. See? I'm assimilating.)

Anyway, the point is that we packed a few t-shirts and sundresses (well, I did, anyway), but mostly pants, sweaters, and boots. Since I hadn't worn sweaters and boots since February, I was almost excited for that first taste of jacket-weather. Now I'm just bored with everything. I'm also afraid to acquire anything new because I really dislike moving.

A few days ago, I went shopping. Or rather, I wandered in and out of a few shops on George Street for about forty minutes, which is about the amount of attention I have for shopping. Pretty much everything I wear is a hand-me-down or a thrift store purchase, so I had a pretty severe case of sticker shock when I saw the prices. I mean, even if they had been in dollars, not pounds, I wouldn't have believed anyone pays that much for a sweater.

I did have a strange sensation, though ... a longing for some nice, new clothes. Who am I? I'm going to blame it on my single-suitcase limited wardrobe.

Oh yeah, and I really wanted this hat:

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

You keep your eggs where???

Everything here is charmingly quirky and deserving of commentary, but today I'm going to focus on eggs.

It was Neil in Cirencester who first taught me that eggs belong in the cupboard, not the refrigerator. I accepted that knowledge with a cocked head, but without actual argument. I even ate eggs that had been stored in his cupboard for days and days, and seemingly survived without damage.

Upon returning to the States, I thought I'd make this little lifestyle change, but it proved impossible. There would be a few hours of leaving them on the counter, considering a new storage place, but eventually I always turned to the icebox.

I bought some eggs at the Market last week, but I cannot succumb to this egg-storage Euro-trend. I tried. Again, I kept them out overnight, but when morning came, it was into the fridge they go. I want to assimilate, but I just can't do it.

Monday, September 26, 2011

Twiddling my thumbs + an Excellent new album + free download.

I'm going a bit mad here without a guitar. I left one with a friend back when I was on tour here last spring, but that friend is currently on tour on the Continent. My little accordion is keeping me company, but I don't have the urge to write while playing the accordion. Let's not even discuss the horrors of not having a piano. Instead, let's discuss happier things.

Peter Searcy has a new album out, and you should probably go buy a copy. It's called "Fire Escape Promise," and it's full of orchestrated pop-rock numbers that are still stuck in my head even though I only heard a few of the songs many months ago. It's not available on iTunes yet, so why don't you mosey down to your local record store and read the liner notes?

What else is going on musically? Not as much as should be. I'm thinking about attempting to record an album from abroad. Like through the magic of the internet, I could record my parts here and teleport them to my band back home. Maybe?

Also: just for fun, here's a free download of "Sunday Afternoon," my favorite song off of "West 28th Street." If you already own it, thank you thank you thank you. There is no bigger support of an indie-artist than buying her CD. Now if I could only get a new one out before you lose interest... but feel free to poke around my Bandcamp site for other free downloads and pay-what-you-wish pricing:)

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Free Olde Stuff, Beaches, and Bus Rides.

It was Doors Open Weekend in Edinburgh, which means that a lot of buildings that aren't normally open to the public are, well, open to the public. And free! Free is heavenly to those of us on a student budget. We do things we would never dream of doing (remember ballet?) when they are free.

Because we have bus passes and were a bit fed up with the University area of the city, David and I opted to head to Duddingston and Portobello for the day. After a quick stop at the Royal Commission on the Ancient and Historical Monuments of Scotland (is that a mighty name or what?), we walked across Holyrood Park to Duddingston, an adorable village my friend Nick first showed me a few years ago.

We wandered around the graveyard of Duddingston Kirk before a perfect old Scottish man gave us a guided tour of the church that dates to the 12th century. Half of this building -- still an active church -- opened in 1124, which brings me back to timeless question: why does my house creak?

Next we caught a bus to Portobello Beach and explored a Victorian Bathhouse, featuring Turkish baths and an active swim team. We ran away from some North Sea waves, tossed a few sea shells, and watched the happiest dogs in the world retrieve tennis balls from the sea. I'm also pretty sure we saw a Viking paddling towards land, which was our sign to catch the bus back to Stockbridge.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Starting Over in the Kitchen ... and need recipes!

Most newlyweds have matching china and complete silverware settings, not to mention stand mixers and food processors. David and I are so lacking in this department -- our stand mixer currently living in storage -- that we are worshiping the old electric tea kettle that came with the flat. Our place is furnished, as are most apartments in Edinburgh, but furnished to an American foodie is different. I can deal without the appliances (we have a toaster and some mismatched forks), having gotten a reminder from the Oyster Evangelist that I can still make homemade pasta without a pasta roller (although, I need to buy a rolling pin, now that I think about it). What's driving me mad, though, is having to start completely over in the kitchen -- with a student budget.

Something I have always admired about European lifestyle is the lack of supermarket. Folks here tend to buy groceries for a day or two, rather than a week or two. You eat better ingredients that way, and you don't get stuck eating Ramen and/or peanut butter. Still, the same thing is equally frustrating: I basically go to the grocer's every day. Dinner serves us, and then doubles for lunch the next day. But then we're back to tea with jam and bread (do-re-mi!). Or toast, if I'm feeling fancy.

Part of the reason is that we are starting from scratch in the pantry. We had to buy salt, pepper, and olive oil, and then with every new recipe comes some new need: coriander or turmeric or ginger, etc. With a well-stocked kitchen, cooking at home is certainly cheaper than dining out. But when you have to spend £4-5 on spices every day, that Bangladeshi take-out place that's on the walk to the grocery is more and more appealing.

The key, I think, is soup, preferably soup with no more than four ingredients (including salt & pepper). Yesterday I made a carrot & coriander soup (coriander = cilantro, my American friends). Today I'll probably make French Onion soup because all that's left in the pantry is onions and butter. And toast, of course.

I'd love to hear from you with vegetarian recipes that involve very few ingredients and no specialty appliances.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Dancing? I should stick with piano.

Today, I took a ballet class. More on that in a minute. First, understand WHY I took a ballet class.

I've always lived on a musician budget, but I haven't lived on a student budget in over ten years. Do. Not. Like. Musician budgets are bad, but if you're a decent businesswoman, you can budget things like restaurants and the occasional massage into your lifestyle. (Don't knock the massage budget. It's cheaper than a co-pay and a masseuse spends WAY more time on you than a doctor.)

Anyway, in an effort to not pull out my teeth before I my guitar gets to my flat, I needed an activity that didn't hurt my brain (writing currently hurts my brain) and was also ... free. Through the magic of Twitter, I learned that today is free-class day the dance studio. Unfortunately, the only class that fit my schedule was "Barefoot Ballet -- Level 2/3."

Upon arrival, the receptionist tried to frighten away my friend and me with shakes of her head and worry of injury. We were not so easily deterred, thinking that I still remembered my positions one through five (there are five, right?) despite the twenty-five years since my last ballet class. The teacher was more optimistic than the receptionist, but she did warn us she would not slow down or repeat combinations just for our sakes.

Truthfully, if it hadn't been for the floor-to-ceiling mirror, I would have told you that I did quite well in class today. As it were, however, I can say I managed the footwork well enough for the most part, but I looked pretty much like Grimace in tights. It was fun though, especially the waltz across the room at the end, when I just decided to flail my arms and bounce around with a grin. It's more fun that way.

And no -- there are no photos. Sorry. Tonight is a free Riverdance class (okay, so they call it Irish Step, but I prefer "Riverdance"), but my legs are still sore from doing all those French words.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Waiting, Americans, the Internet, and health care.

This morning I shall wait patiently for the internet people to appear in my flat. I'm not sure if they travel via floo powder or broomstick, but I'm taking bets as to whether or not they arrive during the promised 8a-12noon window. Really, they weren't supposed to come until Saturday. David called and begged them to just drop off whatever piece of equipment we need as soon as possible, so his wife can actually get some work done (and stop spending so much time at Starbucks).

I'm trying to adjust to this slower pace of life. It's strange to be in an obviously bustling city -- much more so than Louisville -- but with people who pay such close attention to things like 5:00pm. When it's 5:00, there is nothing more to talk about. Really, when it's 4:35, it's over.

Looking for a flat was bizarre because we couldn't find an estate agent who would show us anything on a weekend. "Saturday? Sorry, that's the weekend."

My American upbringing tells me this is nonsense and since when to realtors get weekends off? The lifestyle I'm trying to connect with tells me that, yes, people should absolutely get weekends off. And they should not be bothered by pushy Americans who want it done NOW.

I'm going to use this next year as a lesson in patience. Besides, despite every nightmare I heard about the National Health Services and their lines and bureaucracy, it took less than five minutes to register with a doctor last week. But I'm still waiting for internet...

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

My Little Cabin Home ... in Edinburgh?

I've played Edinburgh to packed rooms at least three times (and to less-than-packed rooms at least twice), but suddenly I'm a new local, which is totally different than being an international touring artist. I was too young and dumb to remember the intimidation-factor of being new on the Louisville music scene. Now back home I'm spoiled by invitations to sing at galas and great gigs. Edinburgh is different, and it's a lot like starting over.

Last night I pulled myself up by my wellie-bootstraps and ventured out to a local jam. Before you start picturing deedle-ee-dee tunes, know that this was a bluegrass jam. Yes, bluegrass. I guess it's not totally out-of-place considering most bluegrass songs are just versions of celtic tunes transposed to G and with a banjo. Still, it was bizarre to hear a brogue followed by a Stanley Brothers tune.
Also, just in case I haven't bragged about my friend Steve Cooley enough, know that folks here in Edinburgh were VERY impressed to know that I play with Steve. Steve, did you know that I'm namedropping you over here? Thanks.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Sundays in Stockbridge

I am a sucker for any kind of farmers' market, but there's something magical about the markets in Europe. This morning -- or I should say afternoon because we slept until 11 -- we sauntered hand-in-hand through the Stockbridge Market down the street from our flat, pausing to taste olives, fresh eggs from wee hens, cheeses, garlic, and apples. We bought gorgeously unpasteurized brie, a fresh baguette, a garlic & olive mixture, coffee, and some Isle of Mull cheddar. So if you're looking to casually run into us on a Sunday, you know where to find us. Now off to nurse my cheese belly with a gin & tonic. Life is good here.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Mobiles, the 1980s, and ships in the night.

That's it, David needs a mobile phone. I've had a pay-as-you-go UK mobile for years now because of my tours, but we've had to wait to get David one until we sorted out the internet situation (the Queen has finally given her approval, now we must wait for her minions to flip the switch ... a week from tomorrow). After last night's leave-a-note-at-the-flat-on-your-whereabouts debacle, where David and I missed each other several times over and walked miles chasing each other's shadows, I've decided I never want to be mobile-less again.

How frustrating it must have been fifteen years ago when we were forced to think ahead, make plans, tell each other where we were going, and stick to those plans! I remember calling my voicemail in college to change my outgoing message to, "Hi you've reached Brigid, I've gone to the library until 10, then to Veselka for pancakes until 11, then I'll be back. If this is Garrett, meet me for pancakes, and if this is Mom, call me after noon. The rest of you, please leave a message." I can't even remember what life the 1980s was like.

I know camping and nature and blue skies and mountains are glorious and all, but, truthfully, so is my mobile phone. Even if it's a horridly out-of-date pink Razr.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Floatariums and Chocolate Massages.

I've been thinking a lot about my unhealthy/romantic (choose your description) obsession with characters in novels. It's not a new thing. I'm pretty sure Meredith and I were convinced that Troy from that one V.C. Andrews series was both a real and perfect man, but that could have been our 7th-grade hormones at work. The point is that these Edinburgh novel-characters are infiltrating not just my thoughts, but my everyday conversation. I'm pretty sure David is finding it hard to tell the difference between my real and actual friend Fiona and the precocious, albeit fictional, six-year-old down the street.

Speaking of that fictional six-year-old, I'm writing this now from the Starbucks (I know, I know, but it's free Wifi) directly across from The Floatarium. What, pray tell, is The Floatarium? It's a place I'd only read about until I stumbled upon it a few days ago. A horrible character in these novels goes to in for a float every so often. From what I gather, you make an appointment to lie in a warm salt water chamber in a dark room and float in silence and darkness for an hour or so. It's supposed to be the equivalency of a good six hours of rest.

I am curious about the whole thing, either because I like bizarre things or because it seems like a good way to delve deeper in these novels. David is doubtful. But I think that's because the same spa that features The Floatarium is also currently offering a "Chocolate Heaven" massage & facial combo for £80 that features a "chocolate masque" for your face and back. Questionable, but a ridiculous splurge, don't you think?

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Must remember: Novel characters are not my neighbors.

With the wedding and the international move (no big deal), I realized that I haven't finished a book in months. I'm 4% behind in my GoodReads Challenge, which means I've got some serious catching-up to do. Fortunately, I'm now deeply infatuated with a series by Alexander McCall Smith called 44 Scotland Street, and when I start a series, I become deeply absorbed.

The trouble with these books is that I love the characters. I love them so much that I want to call on them, but apparently, they are not real people. It's especially frustrating when I read that they live nearby, and they frequent pubs I walk past daily. Just this morning, I found myself hunting for Stuart's red Volvo and wondering where Bruce's wine shop is.

And don't even get me started on the Isabel Dalhousie books. I would very much like to befriend Isabel, as I know we'd get on splendidly, discussing music and morals. I'd entertain her with some piano or musical saw concerts in the afternoons, and we'd solve mysteries by night. Apparently, she, too, is a character in a novel and not a potential friend.

Perhaps I should just post a Friends: Wanted ad on Gumtree. Or perhaps Mr. Alexander McCall Smith, himself, is in need of a musical saw player some afternoon? Or maybe the Really Terrible Orchestra needs a saw player/accordionista/pianist/yodeler?

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

A brief rant followed by a piece of good news.

Just a quickie blog today. It's been one frustration after another it seems, and it's finally starting to get to me.

Aside from David's bag still being MIA, the latest frustration is a circular problem I was warned about before arriving, but didn't think it would really be as bad as people said. We couldn't request broadband until we'd signed the lease, couldn't get a bank account without an address, and now I'm told that we STILL can't get broadband without a bank account, and can't get a bank account without David's student ID, which for some reason the University has decided not to give him yet, even though they've graciously taken our money.

And even if I had bank account info today, it would be TWO WEEKS before they can set it up, despite the fact that the previous tenants had the exact same kind of internet I'm requesting. Grrrrr ... don't these people know that I need to work? I had to buy overly-expensive and stupidly-slow wifi from Starbucks just to be able to sign in and request broadband.

Okay, sorry. Complaint blogs are really dull, I know.

In happier news, I gave up on waiting in the internet store after not getting any answers, and instead, walked around the corner to the Scotch Malt Whisky Society. I gave them my money instead because I can't join the Masons.

At least I got something accomplished today.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

On memory.

I know that I'm an adult now for many reasons. David and I have managed to get married, rent our house, obtain visas, manage bank accounts, and make an international move, all in the past six weeks. It's not something that a seventeen-year-old could manage, so I'm guessing we've aged a bit.

I'm now old enough to remember something that happened twenty years ago with decent memory -- the release of Nirvana's "Nevermind" -- yes, TWENTY years ago, folks! I also remember ten years ago with exceptional memory, though I suspect that even a ten-year-old would remember September 11.

I don't have much to say on the subject, but I don't want to sound flippant either. My first memory of that morning is being on the train between terminals at Newark airport, bleary-eyed after having gotten up at 5am to catch a flight to NYC from Louisville, when my dad said, "Look, I think the World Trade Center is on fire or something." I turned around and looked at the skyline -- a place that a few weeks prior had been my home -- and said, "Yeah, that's weird."

We were supposed to leave Louisville the night of September 10 and connect in Newark for a flight to London. Our flight that Monday night was canceled because the airport had a small fire, which nobody remembers now, of course.

Clearly, we did not make our connection on Tuesday, September 11, either, but we sat at Gate 1, directly across the bay from Battery Park, and watched both towers fall, while the TVs gave us news of Fashion Week. Nobody knew what was going on, as no one's cell phones worked, and airports do NOT tune in their TVs to plane crash reports. Then the alarm went off and we were all instructed to leave immediately, despite there being no cars, no baggage claim, and no hotels.

Outside, as my parents and I walked on Highway 1 until we were picked up by a crowded Holiday Inn shuttle, there were military jets in the sky and the plume of smoke we would see for days after was beginning to form. It was beyond bizarre. And so, so sad. We hitchhiked to some hooker hotel and caught the first Amtrak train out of town the next morning, ending up in Baltimore for a few days, followed by a 2-day Greyhound trip home.

No complaints, though. Our canceled European vacation wasn't exactly world-ending for us. I do know that I never want to see a Greyhound bus again as long as I live.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Househunters International starring ... us!

Today we starred in our own private episode of Househunters International. It's not quite as fun being the star of this show as you might think. We kept having to remind ourselves that we were flat-shopping in SCOTLAND, and how cool is that?? The level of stress involved was absurd, especially when we remember that we actually have to LIVE in our choice -- not just make good TV.

We'd narrowed it down to two flats, both with private landlords who seemed eager to rent to us -- a welcome relief from the horrible agencies who stood us up or didn't return phone calls.

Choice #1: The slightly-above-our-original-budget, but gorgeous, 2-bedroom flat in a lovely, charming neighborhood just outside the city centre. Bright, spacious, well-equipped, with lots of room. Kind private landlord who returns calls and seems to care about his property. 3rd floor flat, which means 4th-floor-walkup in American terms. David would have to take a bus to school, but the neighborhood is great. Recommended as the superior place to live by several friends who are long-time Edinburgh residents.


The smaller, but still spacious, one-bedroom, not-so-nice apartment located ... on the Royal Mile. Only half a mile from the University, in the Old Town, and a nice private landlord. A bit less expensive, despite its central location, and David would not have to take the bus to school. Also more enticing, it's a 1st floor-flat (that's 2nd-floor-walkup-American), but still it's in the busiest and noisiest, most tourist, part of town. Right in the heart of everything, but then ... it's right in the heart of everything. Uneven floors, icky kitchen with electric stove (I'm a gas-stove snob), and half-painted walls. A medieval building, so that's neato, but then currently covered by scaffolding. And dangerously close to the Baked Potato Shop.

Basically, it's do we want to live in the middle of the tourist/castle/Old Town in a less-nice place? Or do we want to blend in as Edinburgh residents for a year, avoid tourists, live a bit more comfortably and pay a bit more for a much nicer, bigger place? Do we want to live as students or as grownups? Torture!

What did we decide? And will it even work out? Stay tuned after this commercial break...

In the mean time, enjoy this photo of a Baked Potato with vegetarian chili and cheddar cheese.

Friday, September 9, 2011

Flats and Hills.

Today was a much better day. We saw one gorgeous flat and one hideous flat. But even the hideous flat had a gorgeous view, so that improved our moods a lot. Also, the gorgeous flat was in a delightful neighborhood with a really nice landlord. Things are grand, as always, but we are really looking forward to getting settled.

I can't wait to get my own Wifi, so I can get back to blogging regularly, as well as teaching piano lessons to you patient folks. Thanks for waiting ... I promise lots of pictures and not to teach you too many deedly-dee tunes.

Tonight, David has a very important mandatory Post-Grad Pub Crawl to attend. In the MBA, it's all about networking, you know.

Here's David lying in the backyard of the awful flat. They have this massive park -- which actually belongs to the Queen, our benevolent ruler, who allows us to frolic through her private park -- right in the middle of the city. These huge hills and perfectly manicured greenery are right next to the bustling city streets. Life doesn't suck here in Edinburgh:

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Homes, friends, and black currant jam.

I'm going a bit mad, I think. I'm also amazed by how many wonderful friends we have accumulated over the years and how they have all come together to take care of us during our time of, um, homelessness?

Obviously, we are not in dire straits or anything, but the feeling of homelessness is more than a bit strange. The welcoming arms of friends have bee a great comfort, but we are anxiously awaiting the time when we are not guests. We don't want to be a burden or an imposition, and it's hard to imagine we are neither, despite the protests of those who have offered their beds and roofs.

We spent all day in this beautiful city and managed to have nothing to show for it except a bus pass. Tomorrow, expect that bus pass to get some good use. Tonight, expect my eyeshades and my Kindle to get some good use.

In the mean time, enjoy a photo of some black currant jam, homemade by Catriona.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Adventures in Scotland

I probably should have been blogging these adventures all along, eh? Suffice it to say, we have arrived in Edinburgh. After another morning at the Manchester airport hoping to see our luggage on the carousel, we opted to just forget about our final missing box, and move on to Scotland. We'll catch up with it eventually.

- seeing a wonderful friend in Manchester, who cooked us delightfully delicious and healthful homecooked, organic meals.
- going to bed early for a couple of days
- spending lots of time with my best friend (awwwwww, ewwwwwww, get a room!)

Also, at least we have the Texas flag to keep us warm.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Travel Time Warp.

We left Louisville on Thursday morning, bound for Scotland. Thanks to last week's hurricane, our travel plans have been stalled. Don't pity me, folks... I love it. Just think, if we'd tried to buy a plane ticket that granted us one night to play in Atlanta, followed by two nights off in NYC, and then (I hope tonight) a flight to the UK, it would have cost thousands. So despite having been through airport security at least four times now, all is well in the World of Brigid.

Still, this delay means we have been stuck in a bizarro time warp. Apparently it is already September 4, and I'm not even sure I remember August happening. I forgot a great friend's BIRTHDAY yesterday. I never forget a birthday, folks, even when Facebook is down. So, yes, I'm feeling a little out-of-whack.

In other news, we finally caught up on a little bit of sleep, which I don't think we'd gotten since the spring. Whose idea was it to do a Europe-music-tour, a wedding, a European honeymoon, and an international move all in one summer? Ah, first world problems.

Life is good, folks, life is really good.

Now, I'm going to see if I can talk David into getting off the couch and going to the Empire State Building.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Pretty Packing vs. Efficient Packing.

I am a good packer, but I'm not a very careful packer. Packing for a month-long tour with only a backpack and an instrument is no problem at all. What I'm not good at is making it look pretty.

Here is David's carefully folded and good-looking suitcase:

Here is mine:

I'd also like to point out that my clothes fit just as well, came in within the weight restriction, and took way less time. And for the record, I even packed matching socks, which is a pretty big step for me. (Thanks, Carrie!)