I Run For My Dad Because I Hate Diabetes

So I'm currently watching Britain's Got Talent with my foot propped up because I attained two rather largish blisters yesterday from walking a measly 10.62 miles yesterday for a work charity event (which had been probably lying in wait during my lunch time 5k runs as well) and decided to pop and drain them myself rather than wait for them to become callouses, as I'm too impatient and would like to get moving again soon.

I'm getting antsy because I have exactly five weeks before the ASICS British London 10k run and I'm no runner - no, I'm not athletic in the slightest.  Which is slightly disheartening when I'm surrounded by ultra-fit people in my life (ahem, Udita, Lauren, and JK) and I'm blobbed out like a heffalump on my couch eating Jelly Babies like there's no tomorrow (and yes, I finished the pack).

Anyway, while I was looking up methods of blister popping (because the ones I used to get in ballet from my pointe shoes tended to just pop themselves and bleed all over my shoes - lovely, I know), I came across this fantastic blog by a Californian podiatrist named Dr. Christopher Segler who gives a great rundown of blisters and blister treatment.  However, I hit a sobering point in my impatience and annoyance when I read that blisters on the feet of diabetics, such as my dad, should be considered a medical emergency.  I had to re-read that a couple times.  Although I knew (from growing up with a father who has suffered from this disease for over 30 years) that any foot injury to a diabetic was very, very serious, it took the words "medical emergency" to really make me pause and think about the gravity and importance of the cause I'm running for.

Although both my parents (and most of my extended family) suffer from diabetes, the person I'm mainly running for is my dad.  Watching him cope with this illness has been one of the most painful things to experience in my life, so I can't imagine what it's like for him.

More than anything, I'd like to raise awareness about diabetes as a non-preventable disease; often, when people hear the word "diabetes", they instantly write it off as an obesity/diet-related issue, which is sometimes the case, but in my dad's and family's situation?  It's not.  And that's what's difficult to accept.  For now, I'm just playing a waiting game.  Others will say, "Oh, but that's easy, you can just cut out sugar or eat less carbohydrates.  And don't you just inject yourself with insulin?  Or take pills?"  It's a complete lifestyle change.  And a lot of people don't understand that.  Nothing infuriates me more than people who know my dad and the extent of his diabetes only to hand him a piece of cake at a party or a jar of jam for his birthday.  Diabetes is an illness to be taken seriously.  Imagine having to have your feet amputated because you had an infected blister from running.  Or teetering on the dangerous brink of falling into a diabetic coma because your body could not cope with the sudden change in your blood sugar level - while you were asleep.

I hate cancer.  I also hate diabetes.  If you have a spare dollar or pound and would like to contribute to a terrific clause, please sponsor me here and help me reach my goal of raising £300 for Diabetes UK.

Bargain Hunting: The Markets @ Camden Lock

I love markets, but I hate the crowds they bring (see left - that is an actual depiction of how I perceive crowds, conveniently taken by a shaky hand: blurry, chaotic and anxiety-provoking).  However, when you're with a tourist (my mom), you can't not go to a market, especially one of London's most beloved, Camden Lock.  Okay, so Camden Lock itself isn't actually a market, but I use the location to collectively refer to the several markets that fill the streets and infamous Camden Stables.

It wasn't until I with John and my mom last week that I'd realized how long it's been since I last visited.  "This is like Hong Kong's Ladies' Market!" my mom marveled as we pushed through the crowds, referencing the busy markets on Tung Choi Street and Fai Yuen Street in Kowloon where a lady selling fake Links of London bracelets once latched onto my hand and wouldn't let go because I refused to purchase her overpriced fakery (but that's another story for another time - I usually do come back with a lot of goodies from the Ladies' Market). 

I *heart* Camden Market.  Give me a £100 and a few hours there and I'd bet I'd come back with a few great finds.  It's less crafty than Spitalfields and Greenwich, less antique/worn/pretentious-driven than Portobello and perfectly in between all of the above.  It's not particularly easy to get to from where I live, but lovely on foot, along the canal. 

There is stall after stall of scarf dealers selling "pashminas" (yeah, I put that in quotes as I highly doubt their authenticity) and other decorative neck warmers, such as this lovely fuschia piece I picked up on the right for £10, guaranteed to brighten up my typically bland, boring, "I-liked-the-Gap-mannequin-so-I-bought-the-whole-damn-outfit" ensembles (I reached for the navy, but my mom shouted, "Don't you dare!" and swotted at my hand before I could plunge myself any further into wardrobe boredom purgatory).   My mom chose a similar one, albeit in a more sophisticated silver (to tone down her typically colorful ensembles ... two words: apple green *shudder*) and minus the little knitted balls.  To be honest, I could have spent a lot longer lingering at that particular scarf stall, but John looked like he could keel over at any minute due to man-accompanying-women-shopping syndrome, a condition which I am sympathetic towards.

But I guess that's one of the reasons why I haven't been back in such a long while - I have no reason to go and it's not exactly fun for my usual partner in crime, since almost all the stalls cater to the whimsical needs of women (yeah, I said that, and no, it doesn't make me any less of a feminist), minus the stables, where one could purchase some vintage cowboy boots, leather jackets or men's Levi's.  But I don't think he's particularly interested.

I suppose one thing that would interest both sexes, however, is the blessing of an overabundance of food stalls at Camden markets.  My mom and John opted for some West African goat curry served in little tinfoil containers with a fork stuck in (I love the sight of those containers - they make everything look unbelievably delicious for some reason) while I stuck to the safer option of a falafel-filled pita from Falafel Queen, which is a delicious option, btw, for all you vegetarians and vegans out there (though the filling could have had a bit more sauce in it, tbh).  From where this photo was taken, I spied a stand selling ice cold pina coladas served in a pineapple shell.  I didn't make it down there that day, but will sure do on my next adventure into Camden.

So yeah, if you're looking for a nice day out and don't suffer from agoraphobia, then you should definitely head over to Camden Lock.  Then, why not stay for an evening performance at The Roundhouse?  Or take a canal boat trip back the other way?  Both things I'd like to do.

Pour Me A Drink: Iced Tea

Until a co-worker walked by my desk today and pointed out how quintessentially "American" my jug of peach iced tea was (courtesy of Crystal Light packets my mom had brought over during her visit), I forgot how frequently we chug this delicious summer beverage back in my home country.  My mom used to make "sun tea" - her version of iced tea on our deck at home in the summer in a giant jar equipped with a spout at the bottom so you could fill your glass straight from the source.  She put a lot of lemons, sugar and tea bags in to whip up a refreshing cold drink for those hot Washington summers (when it wasn't raining - so basically, like it is in London). 

I miss having the different varieties of iced tea there, which are as ubiquitous as lemonade (not Sprite, which Brits refer to as "lemonade" but you know, the good ol' tart stuff) in restaurants during the warm summer months.  In particular, I miss Honest Tea, which bring back great memories of grabbing lunch from Blanchard at MHC and even the mainstream bottled teas, like Snapple and Arizona.  And I'm sure that now that I've been out of the US for a few years, there are some even better tasting cold teas out there waiting for me to sample during my next visit.

For now, the packets of Crystal Light stored in my desk drawer will have to suffice.

Photo source

Alexei Lubimov @ The Royal Festival Hall

As my pianist mother has been the driving force behind my musical endeavours and primary musical influence, I've felt most homesick when attending classical music concerts in London.  It's with no offense to my friends that I often wish, silently, when they're in the seat beside me, that it was my mother there instead.  It's not that I'm ungrateful to have their company, but growing up in Edgewood, Washington, doesn't exactly offer many opportunities to hear world class musicians perform your favorite pieces and making it up to Seattle for such occasions were, in short, a big deal - so my mom and I would often attend concerts and masterclasses at the local colleges and universities or head to a performance by the Tacoma Symphony. 

I was delighted to be able to book at least two concerts for my mom and I to attend during her visit to London, one at Cadogan Hall and the other at The Royal Festival Hall last Friday.  I booked the second concert out of desperation, really, as my plans to take her to a show had amounted to nothing, nearly 2 days before her arrival.  So in haste, I bought balcony tickets to a full Rachmaninov performance by the London Philharmonic Orchestra, featuring pianist Alexei Lubimov (whom I was not familiar with) playing the Rachmaninov Piano Concerto #4.

Now, as a sidenote, I'd like to mention that for some reason, my mom has notorious bad luck when it comes to seat partners in concert halls.  At Cadogan Hall, she had the unfortunate privilege of sitting next to a man who breathed so heavily through his nose (it must have been distracting for the musicians on stage) that I was tempted to hand him two Sudafed tablets and possibly perform sinus surgery on him myself - it was that bad. 

Minutes before the lights dimmed at the Royal Festival Hall two days later, a woman rushed into the empty seat in front of my mom, kissing her husband/partner/special friend on the cheek and exclaiming, "Sorry I'm late, at least I made it, though!"  One minor problem.  She had a beehive.  Like, a properly combed back, 4-inch 60's beehive.  And what did this Beehive do throughout the performance?  Only lean forward in her seat and bob her head along to the music - AND NOT EVEN IN TIME TO THE MUSIC.  Thank God we found new seats after intermission.

With that explained, let's move on to the main course.  I hadn't heard any of the pieces on the program before, but the way I see it, you can't really go wrong with Rachmaninov.  His compositions are technically challenging for the performer(s) and one symphonic movement can go through more mood swings than me when I've got PMS:  triumphant to tragic to vengeful to romantic to mournful ... you get the idea.  And although I hadn't previously heard the Corelli variations he arranged (all I can think of when I hear the variations is my brother struggling through 'La Folia' at the age of 7 ... if that means nothing to you, then perhaps Suzuki Violin Book 3 does ... if not, then consider yourself lucky), I was pleasantly surprised by the Rachmaninov-like twists he included and made a mental note to find the piece on Spotify as soon as I got home. 

Alexei Lubimov's interpretation of the Rachmaninov Fourth Piano Concerto was stunning.  His movements, graceful and relaxed (not to mention, not OTT, which a lot of younger musicians tend to do), gave the impression that the technically challenging passages were effortless (though the audience knew otherwise).  Because of the perfect balance he struck between passion and reservation, the audience could thoroughly enjoy the piece without the usual distractions of flying hands or sweating brow. 

However, I wasn't as impressed with the LPO ... I do prefer the London Symphony Orchestra. Maybe I've got bad luck, but every time I see the LPO something disastrous happens ... intonation issues, missed cues, etc. This time, there was a noticeable problem with ensemble, particularly in the first violins (yes, for the first time, the second violins were not at fault! I know, I'm shocked too, as a second violin myself). I don't know if they were seated too far apart from each other or perhaps it was the Concertmaster's leadership style that was in question, but they were so not together. Winds, brass and percussion were exceptionally strong and the second violins truly pulled their weight, probably partly due to an enthusiastic section principal (and yes, I will continue to call section leaders "principals" rather than the British shudder-inducing term, "leaders").

After intermission, I settled myself in for what I thought would be a boring four movements, but was again, very pleasantly surprised by the emotion and intensity drawn out of Rachmaninov's First Symphony.  The orchestra seemed more confident here; the ensemble was nearly seamless and the raw energy required of this piece was present.  Conductor Neeme Järvi, full of gravitas (and possibly grump, though I couldn't really tell) deserved accolades for his work - he's the first conductor I've witness reign in and finesse this rather unruly symphony orchestra.

Sorry for the harsh words, but at the end of the day, it's my opinion

Crackin' Cracklin' Pork Belly Roast

If you haven't noticed, I was a bit MIA this past week from my usual blogging duties, as my parents were visiting from the grand ol' U S of A and I had to give them my full, undivided attention (read: my mom stole my Mac to check the state of her stocks and the stock market every 2 seconds, thus rendering me unable to blog).  Now that they're gone (sob), I'm able to resume my daily, self-indulgent ramblings about absolutely nothing. 

With that said, after a tiring day traipsing around a windy and overcast Greenwich Market (one of my favorites in London) and searching for 0'0 longitude AKA the home of Greenwich Mean Time (which we found, btw), it was expressed (bizarrely, by my mother) that we should have roast pork to reward our efforts.

While this could have been remedied by a quick trip down the road to The Elgin, John and I decided it would be more fun to cook and dine at home.  We raced to Waitrose Bayswater before closing time and clocked the above ingredients (plus a recipe for the apple compote above, which I'm actually still not that sure about - it probably would have helped had I read the directions stating that the balsamic vinegar was to go ON the pork, rather than IN the apple mixture.  Oops, my bad).  John prepared the meat and potatoes, I did the girly bits (the buttered leeks and apple sauce).

Mmm, mmm good.

I Like, I Want: The Royal Festival Hall Gift Shop

It's no secret that I'm a fan of gift shops.  Take me to any museum and it's the gift shop you'll have trouble tearing me away from - not the exhibit.

In London, there are two that I particularly enjoy browsing:  the shops at the V&A (Victoria and Albert Museum) and the Royal Festival Hall.  Problem is, I don't usually have a browsing buddy to help me make decisions (or the money, for that matter).  If I'm at a loss for Christmas or birthday gifts, I head to either of the two and am guaranteed to leave with a bag on my arm.  Although a lot of the products are often overpriced, the majority of them are unique and therefore, sure to make the person receiving the gift very happy (I know I would be).  From note cards, chic tote-bags bearing colorful designs to gorgeous jewellery, these shops will never leave you disappointed.

Luckily, my mom was on hand last week when we dashed into the Royal Festival Hall's gift shop minutes before (literally, minutes before - the cashier was still wrapping our purchases when the 5-minute announcement was made) a concert by the London Philharmonic Orchestra.  While she quickly decided on two, chunky and sophisticated necklaces, I selected the ring above, which, at £4 was an absolute bargain.  And as they come in a variety of colors, I may be back for more.  Who knows?

Julian Lloyd Webber (and others) @ Cadogan Hall

When I went home for Christmas last year, I was rudely awakened from a jet-lagged nap by my mom furiously pounding away at the piano.  This was not unusual - if it wasn't her incompetent talented young students butchering finessing a recital piece, then she was rehearsing the accompaniment to some difficult flute or cello solo for another teacher's year-end recital.  It was truly, never-ending.
On this particular occasion, I was drawn to the beautiful melody in the accompaniment.  Still half asleep, I asked her what it was and she replied with some frustration, "This stupid Faure Elegy for cello!"  (okay, some frustration was an understatement - I think she hated the piece).  With an accompaniment that pretty, who needs to hear the solo?  So I Googled the Elegy and found a YouTube video of Julian Lloyd Webber playing it back in the day.  Oh. My. God.  Not only was it the most beautiful piece I've heard in a long time, but JLW was insanely attractive back then.

Imagine my excitement, then, when my neighbor Gordon kindly slipped the Cadogan Hall season catalogue under my door and I happened upon a listing for JLW performing at the Two Moors Festival's 10th Anniversary Concert.  Be still my heart.  After recovering from the initial shock, I realized that my mom's favorite, Schubert's Trout Quintet, was also being performed that evening.  Needless to say, I booked in a hurry.

I'd never been to Cadogan Hall before and was quite happy to find it easily situated within 2 minutes walking distance from Sloane Square tube (my mom and I killed some time at Peter Jones before, which I was sure she'd like since it's every senior citizen's dream department store come true and best for retail snobs).  The hall itself is lovely and perfect for smaller, more intimate performances - a perfect contrast to the massive space of the Royal Festival Hall, which we'd be visiting later in the week for a performance of the Rachmaninov Piano Concerto #4.

Pianist Leon McCawley began the program performing two pieces by Schubert (the famous 'Papillons' and 'Fruhlingsnacht'), then returned to the stage to accompany JLW (yes, I'm just going to call him that from now on), who introduced each piece and spoke a little bit about its history.  I loved this casual characteristic of the performance, which I think put the audience at ease and isn't typically found in performances by musicians of JLW's caliber.  That he didn't feel too "above" his listeners to speak from the stage spoke volumes of his character and preserved the "festival" aspect of the concert.  Although we had fabulous third row seats, I would have preferred (had I doled out the extra ££) to be in the middle of the hall, as we were seated a bit lower than the performers, thus affecting the sound we received from the instruments.  Schubert's Trout Quintet was also performed with fantastic aplomb (though I had to concentrate on not letting my eyes fall on the over-eager violist, lest I dissolve into fits of giggles, which had already happened once) and I was pleased to catch my mom smiling during a sneaked sideways glance.

And now, for your own enjoyment, the famed YouTube clip which led me to JLW and the Faure Elegy - tell me you don't fall in love with him and the piece after watching this: