Time flies. Eight years ago I lived briefly in London. Navigating the cobblestone streets on Jack The Ripper walks, trying to understand cockney cashiers in bodegas, and attending The Royal Court Theatre’s Young Writers Programme inspiring my American pastiche with some international flair.
I lived in a Norwegian hostel called simply “The K House” where I resided alongside inspiring Norwegian natives and re-connected with my grandfathers roots. I made amazing lasting friendships: Marie, pictured above in appropriate gingham and I imagine I am side eyeing Ana not seen. For a time we shared Room 1, where we posted political cartoons on the door(very much against the rules)-drank cheap wine out of coffee cups, and discussed the meaning of life. We went to clubs with egg shaped toilets and saw The Lord of The Rings: The Musical. When I got international stitches in my hand-Ana unhooked my bra because my throbbing hand couldn’t make it to my back. They were interning at CNN and would come back with a plethora of international stories/metaphorical battle scars and we would trade these memories on bunk beds.
Since this time, I have been to Oslo and they have been to NYC. We go years without seeing each other in the flesh but when we do it’s as if I saw them yesterday. So today, when my time hop reminded me that eight years ago today on a blissful day in an English park we broke bread at a picnic with mostly digestives, cheeses, and grapes while throwing around a ball. It was simple, beautiful, and perfect.
The next time we come together maybe we can upgrade to a full scale croquet set.