5 lessons my Grandpa taught me

My Grandpa died last week at the age of 94. It simply won't be the same without him. Helping to fill the void, however, are the many life lessons he passed on to me and everyone he met. Here are just five of my favourites:

1) Have a signature dance move

  

There are a number of reasons why it’s a good idea to have a specific dance move you can call your own. Firstly, it helps eliminate any dance floor anxiety. You already know what you’re going to do - you’re prepared. Secondly, it reduces the chance of you unknowingly falling into step with the folks around you. There’s nothing worse than dancing in a group and then realizing you’re copying the moves of the person next to you. That’s exactly the opposite of being cool. A third reason is that you might - if you’re lucky - have that dance move named after you.

My Grandpa’s soft-shoe shuffle is known amongst the cousins as ‘the Grandpa dance’. I don’t plan to ever call it anything else. It will be passed down through the generations as ‘the Grandpa dance’ - and what a fun legacy to leave behind.

2) Eat a healthy breakfast

The concept of breakfast has been lost on my generation. Sipping a latte and scarfing a banana on the way to work - we should be ashamed. Something I admired about my Grandpa (and my Grandma too) was his commitment to breakfast. Real breakfast. Eggs and toast, or sometimes oatmeal. Pair that with some OJ, a coffee and the newspaper of your choice, and you can’t get a better start to the day.

Living to the age of 94 was most likely due to a combination of good genes and an incredible attitude, but if I had to pinpoint a specific secret to his long, happy life, I would say it was breakfast.

3) Be able to recite something from memory

Memorize something. Anything! Just pick some interesting words and commit them to memory - a poem, a historic speech, a passage from a book, a scene from a movie - it doesn’t really matter. It’s just a good idea to have a lovely kernel of spoken word entertainment for those nights when the power goes out, or if you find yourself around a campfire.

When the moment called for it, my Grandpa had a particularly brilliant poem at the ready. It was about a man name Archibald, and it was funny. His delivery was spot-on too. It can be difficult to transform a crowd of gabbing Paddens into a captive audience, but he never struggled to hold our attention. Ironically, I can’t remember anything else about the poem - just that it was about a guy named Archibald, and it was funny.

These are the things you wish you could ask him about just one more time. What was that poem? When did he memorize it? Why did he memorize it?

4) Talk to cashiers and waiters

And don’t back off when they seem: 1) embarrassed, 2) annoyed, 3) non-English-speaking 4) preoccupied 5) goth.

Anywhere we went - Safeway, Starbucks, a fancy Maui restaurant - he never failed to strike up a conversation (or at least attempt it) with the awkward teenager working there.

This isn’t just a heartwarming characteristic of a bygone era. As a former Ultimate Bagel employee, I know that senior citizens are just as capable of ignoring the girl behind the cash register as anyone else. This was a quality specific to him.

I never accompanied him across a toll bridge, but I have no doubt he would have attempted a conversation with the tollbooth attendant. No matter how many cars lined up behind him. Let them honk!

5) Work hard, enjoy yourself and be happy

Perhaps the best and most obvious trait of my Grandpa was happiness. He was genuinely happy. When my friends met him for the first time, this was always what they mentioned to me afterward.

And there was something very special about his happiness - something that made it feel stronger and more real than the more superficial joys we’re accustomed to in daily life. I think this is because it went hand-in-hand with pride and gratitude.

I took it for granted that he never complained. But now I realize just how rare a trait this is. Sure, he could rant about politics, baseball or bogus university degrees (mine - in journalism - was one of them). He had his principles and stuck to them. But he didn’t whine. He didn’t moan about the weather, or being tired or having to work in the morning. When I made him a GardenBurger - his first ever - all he said as he washed it down with a beer was 'It's interesting.'

He worked hard and built the life he wanted. He was grateful for his life, so he didn’t waste a second of it.

When he looked around the Thanksgiving table at his children, son-in-laws, daughter-in-laws, grandchildren and great grandchildren, he beamed with pride. He, together with my Grandma, have created a wonderful, loving family. If that’s not a reason to be happy, than what is?

It’s sad that he’s no longer with us. I’ll miss him a lot. But it seems only fitting that my overwhelming emotion be gratitude. I am incredibly grateful to have known my Grandpa, and to have known him for so long.  

Thank you, Grandpa, for teaching me so much.

Cricket 1, Round Brush 0

There's something weird about the human brain that allows you to forget the impracticability of a round brush approximately every six years. You spend the majority of your life knowing that blow-drying your hair and using a round brush simultaneously is pretty much impossible. But then, out of nowhere, you'll convince yourself that it just might work.

It never does.

Why? Because our arms are attached to our shoulders and we only have two of them. Curling the back of your hair under with a round brush is physically impossible. I feel like I've accepted this for the final time - yet six years from now, the frustration of my most recent round brush attempt will be a distant memory. I'm sure I'll get sucked into the round brush propaganda once again.

In the meantime, maybe I should just invest in a Topsy Tail. 

Let's move on. Edinburgh got its first snowfall yesterday. Just a handful of miniscule flakes, but snow nonetheless! It was beautiful. Weather gods of Scotland, if you're reading this, we want MORE!!!!

As it gets colder outside, it just gets cosier and cosier in our flat. I have the Yankee Candles firing on all cylinders, every finished cup of tea gets immediately replaced with another, and we fall asleep listening to the calm, wise voices of old British men doing cricket commentary on the radio.

Yankee Candles. I'm obsessed. It's me at my most 'middle-aged suburban mom'.

Yep, cricket. The sport, nae the animal. Just like watching 'Home Alone', eating tree-shaped cookies and listening to a certain Mariah Carey song (you know the one), cricket is part of the Christmas tradition over here.

'The Ashes', a biennial tournament between England and Australia, is on for most of December. Since they're playing Down Under, the live commentary doesn't start until about 11:30pm our time. It's been lulling us to sleep the past few nights.

The thing about cricket is, it's a truly fantastic game. I completely understand the skepticism - it's not the easiest of pastimes to get into late in life, but I would urge everyone to give it a go. The sport evokes the same feelings you get watching baseball on a warm, relaxing summer afternoon. Yet, compared to baseball, the tension takes much more time to build and the payoff is potentially much greater.

In a game of cricket, there are always two stories happening at once. There's the immediate action (what's happen on the pitch right now), but also the story of the bigger picture (what's the broader meaning of what's happening on the pitch - what does it all add up to). It's only as the game goes on that the latter gets clearer.

However, I'll admit that it wasn't too long ago that I thought cricket went something like this:



 That's all for now - have a groovy weekend!

Love,
Margaret

P.S. Don't forget to fire this bad boy up at your next holiday party! 'Tis the season for DJ Polite.

Vintage Margaret & Andy's Glasgow Birthday Surprise

Lately I've had the craving to write something meaningful. Unfortunately, I am struggling for topics. What's become of my former self? Where did that passionate, spirited gal who could fiercely defend the merits of celery or argue that presents are the best part of Christmas go?

It's a bit of a shame how we tend to be more reasonable and less reactive when we get older. When I was 11, I locked four of my friends in my bedroom and argued with them about the evils of abortion for hours. I distinctly remember not letting the conversation drop until they had all agreed that, yes, I was right and admitted that 'pro-life' was the correct thing to be. HA! HAAAAAA!

While I've since drastically shifted my stance on that hot-button issue, I do admire the tenacity I displayed back then. Would I have the audacity to harangue my friends on such a 'sensitive' subject today? Probably not. And actually, that's a good thing. People who spout political, religious or moral beliefs over dinner/drinks with friends are horrendous. Post-graduate life is filled with people like that. It's dreadful.

So, I suppose my goal should be to channel the chutzpa of 11-year-old Mog, but hold close the wisdom I've gained in the 16 years since. I should stick to what I do best - analyzing the Real Housewives and podcasting about Amanda Bynes. But the moment something of significance pops into my brain, I shall take to my Macbook and blog, blog, BLOGGGG! I'm just waiting for that meaningful topic to arrive.

In the meantime, here's a tale I'll call 'Andy's Birthday':

We went to Glasgow! It was a surprise! I told him we were just going to breakfast! Then we got on a train! I told him we were only going for the day! But we stayed the night! The hotel, CitizenM, was cool!

Our room at CitizenM Glasgow. Great view!

Andy + Beer + Surfing 'the net' + Glasgow = Happy Birthday

Very hard to do a double-selfie with a digital SLR. First world problems, HAHAHAHHAHAHA. sigh.

We visited the Kelvingrove Museum and the Hunterian Museum in Glasgow University. The University building is very Hogwarts-esque. It's surrounded by leafy trees and made me feel very happy. Unfortunately for y'all, we left the camera at the hotel and were forced to just enjoy the moment rather than document our visit photographically.

On the off chance that I don't write another post before the 31st - Happy Halloween everyone! I don't know what I am going to be yet. Any suggestions?

Love,
Margaret

A Tale of Two Ailments

Ailment One: Losing My Mind 

We didn't have any food in the flat this morning. I kept meaning to 'nip down to the shop' (American English translation: 'pop out to the store'),  but I got caught up in work and the thought of putting shoes on seemed like an enormous effort.

So, I kept working, staying as still as possible to conserve my energy and ignoring the deafening growls of my stomach. It wasn't until 1pm that I finally made the ten minute walk up to Sainsbury's.

I giddily grabbed an almond croissant from the bakery. STILL WARM. Couldn't believe my luck. Thinking ahead, I grabbed lunch stuff and dinner stuff - what a savvy shopper I am.

Satisfied, I hit up the self-scanner (human interaction? Nein, danke.) and successfully made it to the payment step without a single 'unexpected item in bagging area' taunt. 

Image by Jay Goody via Flickr

'Finish and Pay' - yep!
'Pay with Card' - yep!
'Insert card into the card reader' - you got it!

'Insert your pin number' - um, hmmm.

Huh.

Let me see.

Nope. Don't know it. I know the numbers, but only three of them and I forget the order. How can this be? I've had the pin for four years and I use the card nearly every day.

I had a go at guessing the pin, until the machine told me it'd had enough of my foolery. Tail between my legs, I went over to the human cashier and spilled the beans. I explained that my mind had gone blank and asked if I could put my groceries behind the till while I ran home to get my other card. The man gave me a nice 'it happens more than you think, kiddo' look and said 'of course.'

What's the moral of this story? No, I am asking you. I really don't know what to think! Am I losing my mind? Was this a bizarre result of my malnourished morning? I'm still not quite sure of my pin. I think I know it now, but the events of earlier today really knocked my confidence. 

Aliment Two: Beard Eye

In addition to my mental illness, I am suffering from a bad case of beard eye. What's beard eye? It's when your boyfriend's beard scratches the surface of your eye. Not the lid! The actual eyeball.

Little has been said about the dangers of 'dancing cheek to cheek' with a tall, whisker-faced man. Yet this morning my right eye got a beardfull, and it's still stinging now - 10 hours later!

Five o'clock shadow? More like five o'clock shad - OW!

Best,
Margie

Confessions of a Forearm Flexer

It's Sunday evening, I'm watching Return of the Jedi and flexing my forearms like a mad woman.

I managed to keep my obsessive forearm flexing to myself for many years. It's an urge that can be satisfied quickly and discretely. A simple fling back and forth of the wrist is all it takes. Or, for an extra deep stretch, I'll just extend my arm out straight and curl my fist inward for a firm three seconds.

No one has ever really noticed it - until now.

Yep, Andy is on to me. He pointed out my forearm flexing a while back and gets enormous pleasure from impersonating me. When he notices me doing it, he immediately starts flapping his wrists and moving his face muscles up and down like crazy (apparently I sometimes do an eye-roll/face stretch at the same time as flexing my forearms).

In the spirit of confessing, here are a few other things I'm willing to admit to on this 21st July 2013. As Usher would croon, these are my confessions:

1. Return of the Jedi is mostly terrible and I HATE the ewoks.
2. 50% of the time I prefer powdered Parmesan cheese to the freshly grated variety.
3. I'm off diet coke (if I announce it here publicly, it will keep me strong).
4. I like golf.
5. The only thing better than a night out with friends is a night spent alone with a reality TV show and some pretzels.

In other news, Seattle is only about a month away! Let the countdown begin!

Not only will it be wonderful to watch Max/Natalie and Jody/Anton get married (reminds me, gotta send back the RSVP cards), but it will also be wonderful to sit outside on the deck and eat fudgesicles in the K-town sunshine. Not to mention salted almonds, giant Nash's carrots and gut brot.

Until next time,

Margaret

P.S. To all the Brits in the audience wondering 'what is a fudgesicle?' - my heart aches for you.

Status Update

Oh man, I have been la-zy when it comes to blogging. Lay to the zee. But it's only because I've been 'working' so much! Andy and I somehow got ourselves a job building a website for an Indian restaurant. It's finished now, but the process probably took about 3 years off my life.

Things with the bowl cut are going well, thanks for asking. I was hoping to only get one more trim before I go to Seattle in August, but two days ago I woke up with a mullet. It's not the actual mullet that I'm worried about - it's the fact that people might think I've intentionally grown it to be a hipster. That, I couldn't cope with. I've booked an appointment for another 40 POUND haircut next week.

But enough about me - here's an update on Andy. He's been working on an exciting project.  It's a spin-off of his tutoring business. I won't reveal what it is yet, but stay tuned. Also, here's a photo I took after making him pose like a Real Housewife (except with a cricket ball instead of fruit):

 

Have you noticed that Facebook now asks you if you'd like to tag people in photos that you have nothing to do with? Well, I've been doing it!!! The other day my sister Anna posted a photo (a 'mobile upload') of her at our friend Jody's bachelorette weekend. Even though I am thousands of miles away, Facebook encouraged me to tag them in the photo. And tag I did. 

Since, unlike Anna and Jody, most people on my Facebook are people I have only met a couple times but have long since forgotten, I find this new feature incredibly upsetting. I really have trouble resisting the urge to tag people I barely know. As I scroll through my newsfeed, Facebook's screaming at me 'Would you like to tag her?', 'Would you like to tag him?' - and I feel compelled to do it! But will Facebook then tell the person that I, Margaret Kay, was the tagger? 

I am fairly confident that those last two paragraphs made no sense. But holla if you feel me. 

Love,

Margaret

Hair's to ya!

It's not often that a grown woman walks into a hair salon and asks for a bowl cut, but this morning, that's what happened.

Call it boredom or a quarter life crisis, but for some reason I had the urge to cut my hair SHORT. I was inspired by this photo of my mom and my sister Anna, as well as the haircut I had when I was a kid.

Mutti Nadinksi and Anna

Me balancing a basketball on my head. Age 6?

Anyway, I won't make you wait any longer! Hair it is:

Remember when you see me with the new cut for the first time, don't react like this (fast forward to 6:40):



 HA. "It Takes Two" starring MaryKate and Ashely. Classic.

Cheerio,

Smadge

GOOD Things About Mondays

Howdy!

Who would have thought that becoming a full-time freelance writer would mean I blog less?

I can't figure out why, now that I have all the time in the world, I still can't drag my lethargic body over to the Macbook for a bit of occasional, recreational blogging. I've been doing yoga AND training for a half marathon, so weird parts of my body hurt. Today, it's my elbow. Maybe typing is simply too strenuous.

Well, in an attempt to dig myself out of this rut, I'm going to cheer you up with some reasons why Mondays are great. That's misleading. Mondays are generally terrible. Still, I am going to cheer you up with a list of some good things about Mondays. Here it is:

1. You can rest assured knowing that the week will get increasingly less productive from this day forward

2. If you live in the UK, Monday is Mad Men day

3. Assuming you did your grocery shopping over the weekend, you should have multiple options for what to eat for dinner. By Friday, it's usually just some cereal or a cheese sandwich made with the heal

4. You get to tell people what you did over the weekend - giving them a glimpse at your true, non-work self

5. You don't even bother with the "I really shouldn't go to Starbucks - it's too expensive - I should really just cut back on the caffeine" charade.


So, what else is new? Well, my new schedule allows me to spend a lot more time with Char and Freddie. Here I am giving the wee guy a bite of my apple:

Isn't he just adorable? Andy has given him the nickname 'The Ginger Fred Man'.

I've also been assisting Francie with her blog, watching The Mindy Project (needed a new show now that Project Runway and Drag Race are over) and making a lot of lattes on our espresso machine (Andy got it two Christmases ago but I'm only now really getting into it).

Tell me about your life!

Cheers,
Smadge

Questions I Don't Want to Know the Answer To

Here are some questions I've asked myself recently. I quickly realised I actually don't want to know the answers to them. 

How often should you buy a new bra?

Is streaming a TV show better/less illegal than downloading it?

How many calories are in a Chicago Town pizza?

What does my hair look like in the back when I wear it down? (I just gave myself another home cut)

How often should you wash a bra?

Where are these little fruit flies in my flat coming from?

Should I be taking Vitamin D supplements?

In other news, I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of my business cards. Of course I just used an online, build-your-own business card website - so who knows how they'll turn out. Hopefully they'll look something like the image on the Wikipedia page for 'Business card'.

Image via Wikimedia Commons

I actually bet you there's a hipster out there whose business card looks identical to this.

Anyhoo, life as a freelancer = a delight. You might as well call me the Beyonce of content marketing, because my solo career is taking off!!! HAHAHHAHAHAHHA. Still got it.

But really, it's going as good, if not a wee bit better, than I could have expected. Although I now understand why Andy, who also works from home, despises bagpipes with a fiery passion. It's amazing how it only takes about 7 consecutive plays of 'Amazing Grace' before the guilt of ever having enjoyed the croaking instrument starts to set in.

Landsakes! I am ravenous! Time to cook up that most delicious and convenient of dinners, PASTA! 

Love, 

Margaret

P.S. I have another niece! Little Corina joined our giant family on Saturday. Congrats to Francie, Bobby and Keeley on the new arrival. For pics, check out my sister Anna's blog. 

P.P.S. For most of my life, including well into adulthood, I referred to all pasta dishes (apart from lasagna) as 'spaghetti.' I did not know that spaghetti only refers to a particular noodle. Oh yeah, I also will say 'noodles' when discussing any/all types of spaghetti pasta. I now know that 'noodles' are more specific, Asian-style things. Apparently. Though I am still a bit confused.

My Oh Miley

Firstly, let's just enjoy this photo from my shaved-head-grow-out phase:
 

OK, now to the meat of this post: Here's to having an open mind!

Raise your glass. It's truly something to cheer about!

Thanks to an open mind, and a late night YouTube exploration, I landed on Miley Cyrus' channel and discovered her 'Backyard Sessions.'

Yes, Miley is annoying and yes, as my friend Kaley pointed out, she talks like she has the world's largest permanent retainer stuck to the roof of her mouth, but these videos are great.

Also, I watched an interview with her on Ryan Seacrest's radio show (it's funny that they film radio shows now) and (again) she was annoying, but relatively self-confident - which is not true of many former child stars.

I liked this song the most:



So there you have it. I am a 26-year-old woman and a Miley Cyrus fan.

In the spirit of open mindedness, let me know what your not-so-guilty pleasures are in the comments.

More blog posts to come in the near future. I have been working on my work website, so apologies for the lack of Madgespace action!

Cheers,
Smadge

Whining works!

WOW. I can't believe it's taken me this long to blog about this - but guess what?

I got some running shoes!

FOR FREE!

On Monday I had a phone call at work, from Andy. I knew it had to be something important, or else he wouldn't have called me at work. He said that a box of running shoes had arrived for me.  I had him unwrap the packaging to make sure it wasn't a mistake or a prank or a just an empty shoe box. But no, they were real shoes. Good ones too! Asics in my size, 8.5 US. See for yourself:

And no, they weren't from Nike, despite my woeful tweets.

@nikeuk Want to send me a pair to review on my blog? Pleeeeeease? I just quit my job, I love running, my feet hurt. Thanks!
— Margaret Kay (@grassyllama) March 10, 2013

They were from my sister Anna, the dear, sweet angel who decided to indulge my whining (see previous blog post and above tweet) with a random act of INCREDIBLE KINDNESS.

A-neigh, you're the best - thank you SO much. I will not forget this moment when Podadoodledoo hits number one on iTunes and I am raking in the benjamins.

If you want to get to know the woman a bit better yourself, read her fantastic blog and buy some stuff through her Amazon banner. C'mon, you know it's about time you stocked up on Mod Podge or finally got around to reading the Hunger Games on your kindle. DO IT.

Countdown to Aberdeen-chocolate-chip-cookie-hot-tub-extravaganza-one-day,

Smadge

Change is A Foot

If you've listened to my latest podcast, then you know that change is afoot in my life.

Speaking of feet - mine hurt! Every time I run my arches are in agony. And, as showcased during the opening sequence of Kenmore Jam, my feet already need all the help they can get. With the Edinburgh Half Marathon quickly approaching, I'm in the market for some new running shoes.

However, because of the aforementioned changes in my life, I can't afford to buy any! Still, do any of you have recommendations on what shoe I should get?

Cheers,
Margaret