The South Coast

It's Christmastime once again and, once again, I find myself in Michigan.  This time i'm sitting in a coffee shop that once housed the memories of my youth, trading under the name Caribou Coffee.  Times change, capitalism shifts--they've been bought by another company that will be able to maximise the earning potential.  I'm sad.  The coffee's essentially the same but the symbol is lost.  

It's tricky--home always, always makes me nostalgic and usually not in the good ways.  I'm beginning to pinpoint it, but I'm trying to keep it to myself because I usually inadvertently offend someone.  I'll boil it down to a conflict of interests between Michigan's socially constructed 'normal' vs. everything else.  Boiled down further: Jen v. the midwest. 

There's an extra edge to my bitterness this year that has nothing to do with this.  16 hours before my flight home, my handbag was stolen from its resting perch next to my left foot.  I was in a cafe near my flat and my phone, credit cards and sister's Christmas gift became casualties of city living.  Rochester would seem like the reprieve yet I find myself blogging destinations without pictures to do it justice. Plus, I'm in the midst of insurance paperwork, password changes and restricted access to my bank account.

Zooming back out, I am dependent on what friends and I myself may have posted on Facebook.  We'll start with the most recent trip to the South Coast for a weekend with the Maths department, current and former, of my school.  Paul managed to get us an invite and one November Friday we zipped away in the car down to Milford upon Sea, over to the New Forest and away with the wild ponies.  

In an image:

And, thankfully, in Pratik's images: 

beautifully perfect weather 

Our weekend crew, including Pratik's shadow

Polar Bear dip

Ellie, the wild pony whisperer 

Sunday roast, the essential end to a British weekend away

That's perked me up a bit.  Not all is lost.