Kotopitta me feta

Two days after the fact. Sometimes I'm just not in the mood for a party. Y's lab and the visiting speaker. Fortunately it was nice, so we sat on the deck for awhile. The pitta was good, I think, I never had any.

The creme fraiche - well that was so good that there isn't a photo of it. It disappeared. I was a bit hesitant to serve it (with strawberries and brown sugar) as I couldnt guarantee all my guests wouldnt get sick.

I tried to talk ecology, but unfortunately all I could ask were questions about the usefulness of our work, i.e. what's the point of it all ? Not a really fire burner of a conversation in a room full of ecologists.

Met with the director of research at Food Tech Centre - a Cyrpriot who is fiercly loyal - to his roots (ethnically Greek of course) and alma matter (he and Y shared a supervisor). He was good to talk to and encouraged my line of thinking - I think there may well be a wide open playing field. And so I am now attempting to set up a collaboration with the cheese guy on campus - I can always switch to wine in the Okanagan.

And yet all of these are vapours - what Im left with is the reality of the quotidien. Go to work. Re-edit that paper. Make supper. Go to bed. Will it ever really coallesce? Is change possible without drugs? Are we destined to plod ahead in the same path, despite our highest hopes and best intentions? When I was 11, Theresa imparted the axiom "the more things change the more they stay the same." Is that true?

I hope not. We were on a walk down Cambridge street - actually the street perpendicular to Cambrigde -the one closest to the hill, going down town. I was fretting about some impending change: was it dad leaving? Melissa going? Move to Dundee? I don't remember.

But here I am, still fretting about change.