Home again, home again

6.00 am saw me ready to go (having woken up about every hour, sometimes more) and I was out the door for a final ride on the tube. I made it to Paddington in time for the 7.30 Heathrow Express. You would think that American Airlines would still be on top of their customers at 8.00 am, but no such luck. My wait in the queue was akin to that of the Haunted Mansion at Disney World, only slower and far less exciting, and with no Fast Pass. After beginning a conversation with the two guys behind me the wait was much better. I got my boarding pass, whisked through security and made it to my gate just in time to begin boarding. Eight hours later I was in Chicago.

A Chilly day in London town

My last day in the UK was spent in London, a city in which my navigational skills make me proud. I woke early with Phil and Rachel – who really are the loveliest and most endearing couple - and rushed to the station. The first movement of my luggage – Oxford to Paddington – was a success. The second move—Paddington to Kensal Green via Tube—reminded me again of how provisional God is and what it means to rely on the kindness of strangers. Upon reaching my stop I noticed a terrible lack of lifts, meaning I would have had to lug both of my suitcases up the stairs and onto the street were it not for the kind lady who offered to help me. As I traveled through London I was ever aware of just how many people look out for the interests of others. I made it to Hostel 639, where I paid as much to store my luggage and spend the night in a bed with a lumpy pillow and blanket as I would have been charged to check one of my bags at Paddington. Sometimes it’s worth it to be cheap.
I spent a while checking the Internet and realizing how ridiculous it had been to get so worked up about flying home. People fly internationally and on their own all the time. I am 21, it’s about time I quite literally fly solo. On the recommendation of a few friends I hopped the tube to the Victoria and Albert museum to look at a hodge podge of art including clothing, Constable, Turner and Raphael paintings, assorted marble sculpture, antique musical instruments and what I would consider standard museum fair. When I felt I’d spent too much time in one place (for one can never truly “finish” a museum) I took the tube to Leicester to procure a ticket for an evening show and headed toward Covent Gardens. What a beautiful display of Christmas stalls, decorations, and collections of new and old goods for sale. I will miss open markets. After a bit too much time going through vintage jewelry and a brief display from some street performers I began a long attempt to find the British Museum. Having been there before I was quite disappointed at my inability to return quickly. I suppose that’s why they make maps – sigh – and I was becoming so independent too. I had about ninety minutes before the museum closed and opted for the “don’t miss” portion of the map including the Roseta Stone, samauri armour, medieval ivory chess pieces, Assyrian reliefs, mummies, marbles, remnants from the Parthenon, the tree of life, and a LOT of other very old things.
I headed out and onto the street where I bought some roasted chestnuts from a vendor. They really are delicious, I don’t know why the tradition hasn’t caught on better in America. I followed them up with a last Americano from Caffe Nero and read some LOTR. Getting to the theater shouldn’t have been much of a problem. Unfortunately, my Oyster card had been having trouble all day. I don’t know how many pounds I ended up using to “top up,” but I’m pretty sure it was more than it should have been. Regardless of tube trouble, I made it to the Tricycle theater in plenty of time for the Pulitzer prize-winning Doubt: a parable. The play was thought-provoking and very well written and wonderfully executed. With a front row seat for under 7 pounds I had nothing to complain about.
On returning to my hostel (the long way I might add) I broke down and bought the password for wireless Internet. It was 11.30 and I knew sleep wouldn’t be coming easily that night. I was right. My restlessness combined with a poor excuse for a pillow, a short bed, and an open window did not lend to pleasant dreams; not that I’m complaining. I knew what I was paying for, and I don’t think I would have slept much anyway.

Sunday

Sundays in England are immensely different from what I am used to at home. Though many people still attend morning services, most that I have met spend the mornings sleeping in, enjoying a relaxing breakfast and perhaps taking a walk in the park. Lunch isn’t eaten until 1.00 or 2.00 and is usually enjoyed with friends or family. Teatime comes between 3.30 and 5.30 and is followed by an evening church service. After the service there is often a cup tea in the parish and then supper and possibly drinks at a home or a local pub.
My last Sunday in Oxford was a little untraditional. I slept in, had breakfast, and headed into town for some final Christmas shopping, stopping by Crick and wondering through the University Parks for a last look and a few photos. Oxford was quiet that morning, as if the town knew I needed a chance to say my silent goodbyes. I had a final Americano (and free wireless) at the Caffe Nero on the High and headed to St. Andrew’s for the rest of the afternoon and evening. Choir rehearsal began at 2.30, followed by a speedy clothing change and quick cup of tea before the first service. Carols by Candlelight is a lovely tradition that I was pleased to take part in. Following each service was conversation with new friends accompanied by mulled wine and minced pies.
Night found me going through the first of what will likely be several sessions of “flipping out” about getting home. So many things could go wrong. I really hope that none of them do.

Goodbye Oxford

Sometime around 8.00 pm my train stopped in Oxford. I was met by Paul and Sam, who drove me to Phil and Rachel’s house for a stunning and unanticipated dinner party. I felt quite the adult sipping my red wine during pre-dinner conversation. We enjoyed a green bean and squash salad, pheasant, peas, parsnips, Brussels and potatoes, followed by apple and black currant crumble topped with custard and cream. During the meal we compared Paul and Sam’s top picks for white wine for their wedding reception and talked about any number of genuinely interesting things. Pudding was followed by tea and “morish” hazelnut chocolates in front of the fire. If this is adult life I think I’m ready for it.
I took a hot and high pressure! shower and curled up under a down comforter for a beautiful night’s sleep.

Stone City

I got off at Stamford and found myself in the middle of an old and rather desolate train station situated in the middle of a residential area. No welcoming ticket office or information center, and I made a full circle around the station before finding a useful map. Off I went, suitcase in toe, for the city center. At the information center – the most useful part of any city – I discovered I had come to the stone city that was transformed into Merryton for the most recent production of Pride and Prejudice. I grabbed some brochures and wheeled my way to 40 Casterton Road.
I lugged my suitcase through the gate and up the winding stairs. I rang the bell and was answered by the barking of dogs. I rang again. The dogs responded in kind. I double-checked the street signs and my travel information. Everything seemed in to be in order. I began snooping around. Through the windows I saw a sunroom, a morning breakfast nook, a Christmas tree and fireplace. The longer I looked the more I desired to be inside. After finishing my lunch on the swing outside the house I took action. It was nearly teatime and my face was getting cold. Leaving my suitcase I decided to try the neighbors: 38 Casteron was deserted, 36 was being renovated. I walked up 34 and was greeted by Jan Power, a friendly young woman who was new to Stamford herself. Defying the coolness attributed to the British, she asked me in for a cup of tea and biscuits. We talked for over an hour and eventually got a hold of Bill and Carol, who had lost my arrival information and were returning from town.
I spent the afternoon and evening in the B&B as the sole guest of my hosts. Though my room was delightful, I opted to spend my first few hours curled in front of the fireplace with a cat named Tootsie. That night I slept soundly and alone for the first time in over three months. How lovely.

The next day I woke to an enormous breakfast of cereal, coffee, scones, croissants, orange juice, bacon, eggs and toast. I finished nearly all of it and found no need to buy lunch. Having looked through some brochures the night before, I took a walk to the Elizabethan mansion of Burghley House, which was used as Lady Catharine’s house in Pride and Prejudice, and rightly so. The house is located about a mile outside of town and surrounded by a large park landscaped by Lancelot “Capability” Brown. The frosty morning, and rolling countryside dotted with sheep and islands of forest gave me my own Austen-type experience.
An hour or two later and I followed a tour map through town, stopping at an antique store, the Stamford museum, and a number of churches and lovely old buildings. Inside St. George’s I found a display of miniature Christmas trees and nativities along with a Christmas card sale. My camera was frequently pulled out. I’ve become quite the happy tourist of small English towns. A few Christmas purchases later I headed back to the B & B to prepare for a departure I wasn’t quite ready to make.

Made to Order

If I were to create my own town I’m pretty sure it would look like an awful lot like a replica of Shrewsbury, Wales. Never before has one place catered to so many of my fancies. Tudor houses, Christmas lights, a Christmas market of over 50 stalls, churches, a cathedral, a castle, a library, used bookstores, gardens, and all surrounded by the splendid River Severn. I spent all of two days walking around town and am reconsidered leaving for Stamford on Friday. My bed and breakfast wasn’t exquisite, but the location was prime and the price (25 pounds, which I try to forget is $50) relatively low and it’s run by a Swedish woman named Pia who speaks with an accent and wears sandals around the house all year long. The dining room – where I enjoy a breakfast of eggs, toast, tea, bacon (in the UK it’s more like ham), beans, tomato, wheatabix and orange juice - overlooks the quaint town streets. I love Christmas. I love traveling. I love the UK. But it will be nice to lodge and eat for free in a week.

After checking in I headed to the nearby Shrewsbury Castle, home of a Regimental Museum. I truly enjoyed seeing the uniforms, colours, displays of silver, and military decorations. It was good to have a little background on the town as well. It amazes me how much history is in these little towns when I compare them with places I’ve visited in the States. I believe I saw the colours flown in the States during the Revolutionary War, and did so with a very different perspective than I once had.
Then I headed to my favorite part of any town – the Visitor Information Center. Quite a few leaflets later I was ready to explore, though not quite sure of where I was going. Such was the case for the remainder of my time in the town. I checked out some Charity shops – far superior to the American equivalent of the thrift store – and a few card shops so I could begin the writing of seasonal epistles. The spire of St. Alkmund’s caught my eye and I approached the door. As I took out my earbuds I was startled to see the minister. I stood a bit baffled. “You look like you were about to say something” he said. I made no sound. “Can I help you? Or did you just want a look around?” “I was just looking around” I responded sheepishly. I always feel a bit awkward “touring” a church. He graciously showed me the correct door and I approached a stained glass window bearing the image of a pilgrim making her journey. As I read the description of the picture tears welled up in my eyes. The thorns along the road representing the trials and pains of the journey were only too fresh in my mind. The necessity of cleaving to the cross, of grace, was exactly what I needed to hear. I sat down for a while, thinking, staring, praying, and realizing why I am so drawn to churches regardless of which town I’m in. Nowhere else is there such a feeling of peace and acceptance and quiet. Why have people forgotten how to be quiet?
At some point I returned to The Lucroft Hotel, but only for a short while and a cup of coffee – if my mother knew what I’ve been drinking here she’d shutter in disgust, instant granules aren’t exactly sumptuous. I headed out again to a city covered in twinkle lights, greenery, and Happy Christmas signs. It was a Wednesday night, which meant all of the shops were open extra late in order to accommodate Christmas shoppers. On the town square there were over 50 stalls set up for a Christmas Market, including roasted chestnuts, mulled wine, Christmas tea, handmade crafts and culinary delights. Lantern carolers sang familiar seasonal tunes and I was quite content, despite the fact that I never could locate a place with free wireless. Dinner was a sandwich at a small French bistro, followed by my own supply of raisins, tea and other instant meal options. The evening consisted of a wonderfully hot shower, some journaling and little reading. As long as I can have my Christmas music I’m pretty sure I could be on sabbatical for quite a while.

13th December
I woke to the darkness of 6.45 am. The plan was to eat breakfast at 7.30 and head to Shewsbury Abbey for morning prayer at 8.30. I guess snoozing was just a bit too appealing. I made it to breakfast, but not until 8.00. I would have to try morning prayer again on Friday. Knowing that there were a limited number of daylight hours and that many shops would close early that day, I was a little rushed to fit in everything I wanted to do – and this was supposed to be a relaxing trip.
After a breakfast of eggs, toast, bacon (which in England is more like ham), beans (have I mentioned baked beans for breakfast in Britain?), orange juice and tea I was ready to go. Though I’d missed morning prayer, the abbey, by way of the River Severn, was still my first destination. Walking along the river in the frosty morning was chilly, but beautiful. I made my way to the English Bridge, crossed, and continued through a small park, past the abbey, round a column, and back towards the city center. On the way I found some wilderness trails that wound over train tracks, across meadows and about the countryside. I met Jolly, the jumping chocolate Labrador and crossed paths with a number of other dogs and their walking companions. It didn’t take long, nor was it difficult, for me to become a bit disoriented. Such was the case for a decent portion of the day. I ended up at the Roman Catholic Cathedral, where I walked in to find toilets and warmth. I also encountered Christmas music, prayer and the peace that washes over me when I am alone in a church. It is now obvious why they are so often a stop I am happy to make. How I will miss this when I return to the States.
I left the church to snoop through some used bookstores and a few Charity shops (which are far superior to American thrift stores). By 1 pm I had made it to the Gateway Center for an afternoon Christmas Concert given by a vocal student called Gemma, and followed by sherry and minced pies. Over the past two weeks I’ve had a lot of minced pies. In my attempt to find Somerfield and pick up some groceries I found myself and a 150 pound check in a residential area near the river. I turned in the check and kept by the water until I ended up in the Quarry Park. Tucked in the middle of the park is the Dingle, a garden with a maze of British landscaping. Even in the winter months it was lovely. After finally finding Somerfield I returned to the Lucroft to relax. At 7.00 pm I was out again and off to the oddly shaped St. Chad’s for a high school (year 7-13) carol service. I thoroughly enjoyed the children and myself.

Friday morning I was up on time, fed, and ready for morning prayer by 8.30. Following the short service I met some of the lovely people of Shrewsbury Cathedral. The strangers along the way can be one of the best parts about traveling, particularly when one is alone. A few snapshots and I was ready to catch my train to Stamford. On the way there I sat across from quite an attractive young British man. It is unfortunate that we got off at different stops.

Bor Da!

On Saturday evening I arrived in Bangor, Wales – about an hour late, but still in one piece. Though I have come to love travel, particularly by rail, I loathe delays and detest missing connection, especially when it’s only by a few minutes or so. I suppose that’s just the way it goes. Cold though he was, Ross picked me up from the station and took me to the dorms where I met Renee, my most wonderful hostess. It was a little odd to be in a university dormitory again after living in a house for so long. That night we went to Weatherspoon’s for dinner. I had lamb cawl with malted bread and a pint of something, the name of which escapes me at the moment. All of it was fabulous. We walked through some of Bangor and back to the dorm. After a cup of tea it was about bedtime for me. What Ross did with the rest of the night I don’t know. Sleep was my top priority.

Sunday morning I woke up to mountains, blue sky, vast waters and the sound of seagulls, none of which I had been aware of the night before. It really is amazing how much different a town or city is by day than by night. I joined the rest of the Central program for their last field trip to Anglesey. Our first stop was at Beaumaris (“the beautiful marsh”) Castle, one of a series of Norman castles built by Edward I many moons ago for the purpose of establishing English military presence in Wales. My first “real” castle, the world-famous example of classic concentric design was a wonderful site to see. Though the castle was never finished, there was a moat, a double curtain wall, and a number of the usual castle “staples,” many of which could be seen from the top of the castle walls. Though the weather was unexpectedly nice, the castle was dripping with recent rain, giving it the dark damp effect that I had imagined a castle here would have. Two swans and three signets swam in the moat, reminding me a bit of my own family of five. We walked into the town, along the beach, and past the Castle bakery before hopping back on the bus.

At some point we stopped to snap photos of the Menai Strait Bridges – Menai Bridge, the work of Thomas Telford, and Britannia Bridge, the project of Robert Stephenson – both of which are great feats of engineering and quite important in the history of travel to Holyhead.

We drove through what I considered some beautiful Welsh landscape, and onto climb the 115 steps of Marquess of Anglesey’s Column. The view was, like the rest of my Welsh experience, breathtaking, but strong breezes and a touch of rain soon sent us down the tower. Our next stop was at Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantisiliogogogoch (translated “St. Mary’s church in the hollow of the white hazel near to the rapid whirlpool and the church of St. Tysilio of the red cave”), which has the longest name of any town in the UK, where we grabbed lunch and snooped around for a bit. I may never be able to pronounce it, but I am content saying I visited “the town with the longest name.”

Our next stop was to be a short pilgrimage to Bryn Celli Ddu, a burial chamber and henge considered the best passage grave in Wales. Unfortunately the mile-long walkway to the grave was flooded. This stopped all but three (Brady included) from finding a way to the mound. The rest of us watched as they jumped fences and sloshed through water-drenched fields and back.

Our last stop was on a beach near Newborough Warren that provided a nice view of the “magical” Llanddwyn Island, which is not quite an island and remains attached to the mainland at all but the highest tides. Llanddwyn menas “the church of St. Dwynwen, the Welsh patoron saint of lovers. Dwynwen was the daughter of a prince and fell in love with a young man named Maelon who, fool that he was, rejected her. She prayed to be released from the unhappy love and dreamed she was given a potion to do so. The potion, however, turned Maelon to ice. Dwynwen prayed that he be revived, that all true lovers find happiness and that she would never again wish to be married. She retreated to the solitude of Llanddwyn Island and became a hermit. Her story makes me wonder if perhaps that is the best way to be happy ;)
The timing of our arrival at the beach couldn’t have been better. The sun was just setting over the water and the clouds parted allowing the light to reflect off the water and play across the sky. We traipsed over sandbars and algae-covered rocks in order to reach the edge of the shore, where I spent some time in reflection as I stared at the mountains behind me and the glassy expanse before. Then it was back to Bangor for a nap. That night Ross and I went to mass at the Catholic church and then had a delicious dinner at the noodle bar and drinks to the tune of live jazz at the Greek Tavern. I wasn’t up too much later and eventually found some sleep on my air mattress.

Monday was the first of three days I spent unsuccessfully trying to get to Snowdonia to ride a horse, climb a mountain or even just take a hike. I have been told of the beauty of Snowdon and its surrounding peaks, so I remain a little disappointed that things just “didn’t work out” (translation – Ross and I are apparently incapable of correctly reading bus schedules).

After we missed the 7.35 bus, we waited for the 8.00, which never showed. We ended up catching a train to Conwy, where we climbed the city walls and walked around the town. The view of the mountains and the pier and the ocean were once again spectacular. I wonder if Welshmen every tire of the scenery that daily surrounds them. It is enough to make this finicky female want to throw on a pair of boots and trek across the cliffs.
Walking the walls led us to the castle, where I had quite a good time taking photos, climbing passages, and imagining what life there was like so very long ago. It was helpful to have Ross as my free tour guide. When we finished with the castle we walked into town for a little souvenir browsing and some lunch. Over three months in England and I had yet to try fish and chips. Slathered with a good amount of salt and vinegar it was pretty tasty stuff.

Home for some time on the Internet and a much-needed shower, then I was off to a program class to learn a little something about Welshness and snap a group photo. Following class we headed to the Yellow Pub for drinks courtesy of Tecwyn, the amazing Welshman who had led the class, the field trip, and the lives of the students in the program. I stayed at the pub and hung out with the girls until it was time to hit Time for some dancing and drinks. After freezing outside for a bit we got in, only to discover that it was not pound night at this particular club. After finishing the first ground of drinks we were off to The Octagon (aka Ocki) where 1P entry and pound drinks were the order of the evening. I got back to the dorm around 2.00 am and headed to bed.

Tuesday we sufficiently slept in until 10 am. About an hour later we made a grocery run to Morrisons and then prepared lunch in Ross’s kitchen: sandwiches that were too good to be a quick meal, then again a glass of wine improves almost any meal. We didn’t have a lot of time to hit the mountains this time either, so I settled for a short tour around Bangor. We walked along the beach and hit the pier before going back up the hill once more. That night I attempted to make it to Evensong, but apparently it wasn’t taking place as the Cathedral doors were shut. Back to the Internet until it was time for dinner. Green beans, stuffed tortellini and garlic bread were most satisfying. After dinner Ross and I joined some kids at Weatherspoon’s for drinks – I cashed in on a pint of Welsh Pride that Brady had promised once upon a skype conversation. That night I turned in at a semi-decent hour, hoping for Snowdon once again.

Wednesday I woke up and rushed my oatmeal and tea, burning my tongue in the process. Ross met me and we trekked down to the bus stop only to realize the 8.00 bus hadn’t been running since the end of October. No horses. No mountains. But we did climb to one of the highest spots in Bangor to watch the sun finish rising and take in the beautiful scenery. We got back early and I was able to pack and be on my train for Shrewsbury by 10.15.

Final Moments

In the past few years I’ve become accustomed to hearing people make excuses when the time comes to part ways: “I’m no good at goodbyes,” “I hate this kind of thing,” “Saying goodbye is so awkward,” and so on and so forth. I’ve come to the conclusion that saying goodbye for an indefinite period of time is simply unnatural. It doesn’t seem right to think you may never see someone again. In fact, the most natural time to say goodbye may be just before or even after death.

I have just been through a great many indefinite goodbyes. Coming into these relationships I new they would be temporary. For 14 weeks I lived with these people. I cooked for them, cleaned with them, drank tea, took walks, studied heavily and experienced life with them. We traveled to exciting places, had new and amazing experiences and all of this shared time is now coming to a close.

At 8.00 this morning I watched my roommates stuff their suitcases and themselves into a taxi and drive away to the bus station. We have had our fairy tale experience. We have played our respective roles. Our stories are drawing to a close. I have but one chapter to write in mine before returning “home.” This afternoon I had a chapter to finish.

8 Crick Road is no longer my home. The dirty blue carpet, narrow staircase, overstuffed overused furniture, double spigot sinks, sweat-inducing duvees, silver kettle, special mugs, stinky fridge and low-pressure shower are no longer mine to use. I’ve become surprisingly attached to this way of life, and yet the time came to leave. The cupboards were emptied, beds stripped, suitcases packed, trash disposed of and keys turned in. 8 Crick Road is in a shambles and in need of deep cleaning and a 3-week rest period before it is overtaken by new inhabitants.

I openly admit there are things I am more than happy to leave behind, but there are others that have really grown on me. The blue tea cozy, the desire to cook with garlic, milk and sugar in my tea, twiglets, chocolate, a blue door, cooking with over a dozen other housemembers and staying up late into the night writing essays – all of these will keep Crick in my memory. The people that lived there will keep it in my heart. Marisa, Bethany, Alicia, Kreigh, Mikey, Pearson, Katharine (Kaf-win), Andrea, Megan, Laura, Carri, Matt (Melema), Matt Nye, Josh (Sooter), Kelsey, Elle, Benoit, Ben, Andrew, Crescent, Elise, Bethany Joy and Jonathan, especially Jonathan. How will I ever have a decent cup of tea again without him to make it for me? Who will take photos of my most memorable experiences? Who will I go to for advice on visiting new places? Who will walk me to church and follow it up with duck soup? Where will I go when I want to know anything about anything? Even a month ago I didn’t think I’d grow so attached to our junior dean, but I am told that difficulty in saying goodbye is just a sign of a truly invested friendship.

Walking down the Crick Road, backpack in place and suitcase in toe, I thought the rainy weather appropriate. Today was not one for clear skies or a sunny demeanor. Nor was it one for darkness and chilled breezes. The story is not a sad one, but few endings are truly happy.

Freedom…for what?

At noon the papers were turned in. By 1.00 pm students were wondering what to do with themselves. No more books to read or essays to write. No more lectures to attend or tutorials to prepare for. No more grocery shopping or dinner cooking, just unscheduled time to be. I didn’t even have packing (or the procrastination of it) to keep me occupied as I’d done it the previous day.

A rainy route of Christmas caroling commenced at 7.30 pm, but I had a ceilidh to attend. Similar to the barn dance on Friday, the ceilidh consisted of Scottish folk dances done in pairs and involving sets, turns, spins weaving and an assortment of other enjoyable movements. Having tried a few of the same dances the week before, I caught on quickly and had an amazing time. The oversized smile on my face was completely genuine. Few things are as delightful as “stripping the willow.” Even better to be doing it all dressed up with two of my closest SCIO friends – Marisa and Bethany. We walked in and were served salmon sandwich appetizers and elderflower cordial. The tables were clothed, balloons and twinkle lights hung, and we were impressed. Aside from the awkward period of standing in the corner hoping for a partner prior to each song, it was the perfect way to end a great semester of Discuss. Marisa’s partner even drove us home in his little read sports car. I couldn’t help but smirk when she tried to get in on the driver’s side, forgetting that it was a European auto.

It was another night of way too much food, as students began baking with leftover ingredients and trying to get rid of all that was accumulated over the term. My self-restraint was not very high. I’m pretty sure my suitcase isn’t the only thing that has gained weight in the past week ;)

Friday I sent off my massively overweight bag with the couple who are hosting me next weekend. I am so grateful for them and their car! One of the food groups made breakfast, so the kitchen smelled amazing. That morning we walked over to the Vines for SCIO debriefing. The weather was absolutely stellar. Cool, but not actually cold, and clear with very little breeze and a bright sun visibly in the sky. The walk that Jonathan led us on through the parks and Mesopotamia was even more beautiful than the one home, during which we fed the ducks, watched the sun set and took many pictures. How I will miss this place and its beauty.

That night the awkward goodbyes began as people packed, ate, baked, ate, e-mailed, and got ready to travel home and abroad. I went to the Rose and Crown with a group early on and out for something like jello shots with Alicia later. We came home to facemasks, the first round of farewells, and our last tea, which Jonathan served to 12 rather somber Crickers. The end was near.

Ninth Week

Not many Oxford students experience ninth week, but we in SCIO are dedicated. Over the course of the term all good little SCIOers are to have been working on research for "the long essay," which functions as an introduction to a grad school thesis paper. Most of us have spent the past several days diving into the primary and secondary sources we should have cracked open over a month ago, and frantically typing up those 4000 words. And at long last...it is finished.

Lest you think too highly of my scholastic endeavors, I will share all of the "other" things I've been doing this past week.

When last I reported I had returned from the King's Arms following the Oxford University Choir's performance of Handel's Messiah. Friday saw me doing some research and heading off to St. Andrew's Centenary Barn Dance (which took place in the sanctuary). In order to procure a discounted ticket (and a substantial amount of elderflower cordial) I served behind the bar for a good poriton of the evening. It was a lot of fun and I enjoyed making basic drinks and serving wines and beer and a LOT of orange juice and lemonade. I also enjoyed watching and taking part in the dancing. The patterns were akin to American folk dancing, but the music had more of a scottish nature. Several men were wearing kilts and David, a member of my Bible study, spent some time on the bagpipe. It was really a great night, sort of key moment in my time at St. Andrew's. I saw many of the people I've worked with and for, as well as a number of Discuss members. It's both timely and a bit sad that I'm beginning to feel I am really a part of this church family. Sunday evening I felt much the same as I attended my last Sunday evening service at my English church. Walking through the sanctuary at the close of the service and seeing so many familiar faces was quite a different experience from my first week at St. Andrew's. What a difference a term and a little involvement can make.

Saturday was more paper writing and a shopping trip to find a gift for junior dean Jonathan from his loving household. A fun time. Unfortunately, when Marisa and I went to pay for the St. John's cufflinks I noticed the absence of the two 10 pound notes I had stuffed in my pocket. Apparently they had been washed away by the rain. Oh sad sad day when $40 just disappears. I think God is still trying to teach me to let go of liking money. A difficult lesson in a material world and consumerist society.

Sunday morning consisted of a run through City Centre in all of it's Christmas decor (twinkling snowflakes and the Baliol Christmas tree) and my first Advent service at Mary Mag's. That night we had a combination Christmas and Birthday party among the 24 members of Crick. There was much fun and food to be had including Marisa's amazing homemade salsa, some decadent cakes, mince pies, pomegranate delight (ie. fluff) and chocolate. We also cut snowflakes and made and baked dough ornaments for the Crickmas tree. I am proud of a job well done. The tree has succeeded in easing all the stress brought on by essays.



Monday night I joined Jonathan and his food group for dinner. What fun to be a part of this "family" and their dinner together. All it required was my washing the dishes. Not a problem when it meant free food. The night was made complete with watching It's a Wonderful Life.

Tuesday Bethany and I finally made a long intended pilgrimmage to the Kilns, former home of C. S. Lewis. We enjoyed tea, the tour and a walk through the nature reserve and nearby Shotover Hill, thought to be the inspiration for the Narnia series. We continued on to Holy Trinity where I showed Beth the grave and peeped at the Narnia window in the church. Then we had lunch at The Six Bells Pub. The tinsel-decked tree inside reminded me of a nursing home or a bar that had it's hey day in the '70s. Charming, but quite corny. That night I went to my first church choir rehearsal. All that I have ever heard about makeshift church choirs proved correct. It was delightful. I really look forward to the service on the 16th. How fortunate that my last day in Oxford is the Sunday of the carol service. I got home just in time to go out for hot chocolate with a dozen other Crickers. I think we used up every fancy latte glass in the establishment.



Wednesday saw me finishing my Austen essay, going to a Latin mass at the Oratory and making spaghetti carbonera with Jonathan. Delicioso! Today the essays were turned in and celebrated with Simon's last tea. Also quite tasty. Following tea was a walk through Magdalen, a bit of Christmas shopping and coffee with my Roma bellas! What fabulous freedom to be done with all reading and writing of the term. And yet I now find myself a bit anxious as I prepare to travel, head home and readjust to so many things.

When in Rome

My tutorials have come to a close, which means I have at long last finished the first draft of my Recounting of Rome. Though not in its "final" form, the tale will be posted back in the October portion of this blog. Enjoy the long-awaited revealing of this fabulous work of literature. Here's a link if needed: http://amandakuehn.blogspot.com/2007/12/recounting-rome.html

And then there was 8th week

I am now in the midst of 8th Week - the final week in an Oxford term. This is actually the 14th week I've been here, but that's superfluous. I wrote my last essay, attended my last "How to Write a Poem" lecture and had my final C. S. Lewis tutorial. I have a little less than a week to research, outline and compose a 4000 word essay on the influence of Jane Austen's family on her early writings. Can we say lack of motivation? Oh yes, we can, though I do like the topic I chose and will probably find much joy in carrying out the essay so to speak. 8th week has more than its fair share of "lasts." It was my last week cooking for my food group (chicken and wild rice soup, amazing). It was the last week of SCIO lectures and tea. It will be my last week attending OICU's free Friday lunch (and theological talk), last run through the parks, the last week of Discuss, the last week of volunteering at St. Andrew's and watching the door as I do each Tuesday morning. Perhaps even my last trip to Primark to envy the clothing I wish I could justify purchasing.

As it is the "last week" I've justified quite a few excursions. Monday I attended a performance of Mozart's requiem that my roomate Bethany took part in. Afterwards she, Alicia and I had a final roomie night at the White Horse. Mulled wine is good, but drinks are just way too expensive. Still, I agreed to go out and get shots of Absinthe on Tuesday night. The stuff is strong, but the flavor was pretty nasty in my opinion. After paying 4.20 I was pretty disappointed that there wasn't even a buzz to follow. Wednesday was amazingly relaxing. I had a tutorial, grocery shopped, went to a lecture and made dinner. Jonathan brought home our Crickmas tree, which is decked with lights and sitting in the common room, awaiting the joys to come Sunday night. I've begun playing Christmas music and take great delight in all the decor that is being put up around town. Hurray for Christmas. Tonight I went to a performance of Handel's Messiah at the beautiful chapel of University College. We headed to the King's Arms afterwards for some light-hearted chit chat.

As the semester draws to a close I find myself struggling with trying to live here and knowing I need to head back to the States. My inbox, like my head, is a jumble of messages about next semester and wrap up notices for the term concluding. I've kept most of my life in the States a good distance from life here and the two are meshing once more. I spent a day or two wondering what this time here has meant, how I've changed, if I've changed, what I've learned, if I've learned and so on and so forth. I came to Oxford with few expectations, other than expecting that the experience itself would change me in some way. My one fear is that this one expectation will not be realized. But the more I think about it, the less I live in the present and that is what I need to be doing, what I want to be doing. And with that I am off to live in the present.

Bulls and pheasant and turkey...oh my!

As though I were writing my own theme for English B "This is how I spent my Thanksgiving holiday" :
Friday I woke up feeling as though the conjestion in my nose had somehow trapped in my head any hot air that had made it into my lungs the preceding night. A bit achy I rolled myself out of bed and prepared for a day in Burford. No unforeseen illness was going to keep me from a trip to a deserted medeival viallage. In preparation for SCIO Thanksgiving I made some of my mom's pumpkin bars and way too much cream cheese frosting (with about two times the amount of butter needed - oops). I then joined SImon, Jonathan and about 5 other students for a day of hiking through the muddy English countryside. We walked through the remarkably quaint, stone town of Burford and into its century-ecclectic church. Jonathan took up his typical position of snapping photos. Hopefully I'll snag a few to post later.

We entered a deep green valley through a pasture that was the home of several very wooly bulls, a calf and a few cows. It was an adventure. Farther on we came upon a small band of pheasant-hunters. They were every bit gentlemen, all decked out in hunting gear, carrying rifles and accompanied by some very exuberant bird dogs. Watching them shoot as we waited in the valley was enjoyable but a bit nippy. The chilly weather pushed us onward toward the oldest church I will perhaps ever see, once the center of a 12th century village. As the sun set I continued through my picture-book landscape. Much of the time I was reminded of the 500 piece puzzles I used to do in my living room. Only this time I was living them.

We got back to town and I was elated to stop in a tea house for a cup of Assam. The Christmas decor on the hearth was just enough to tickle my fancy. Then home again, home again for Beauty and the Beast and a not so restful night's sleep.

To check out Burford (and Simon and Jonathan) try the following link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sO-w9XgEKQw

Saturday I finished Mere Christianity and was off to the Vines for Thanksgiving. We had loads of food - all the traditional stuff - and lots of people. I really felt like I was at a college function again for the first time in a long while, and yet there was also this definite feel of family atmosphere. Some of the faculty and family (ie. 3 adorable British boys on strings) provided musical entertainment and we sang Christmas carols, including my favorite "Baby It's Cold Outside." On the way home I stopped at a pub with a few friends.

Sunday I attended Mary Mag's for another very high traditional Anglican service. There are many things I've come to appreciate about traditional Anglicanism. I stayed for a cup of tea and biscuit and spent some time on essay-writing. Afternoon tea was followed by church at St. Andrew's and wood duck soup courtesy of Jonathan. Mmmm free food. At some point I went to bed. And that is how I spent my Thanksgiving.

According to my iCal...

So it's been ten days since last I documented my many adventures in England. Thanks to the plea of Samantha and the fact that I don't feel like getting out of bed just yet I've decided to remedy the matter. Lucky for me my iCalendar provides me with a record of anything "important" that has ocurred in my life. Highlights are as follows:

18th November (Mentioned in the last blog entry and expanded here) I woke early, all cliffs and other things considered, to go to St. Andrew's. I then tromped through quite the shower of rain in order to meet Kirsten Lillie at Costa Coffee in Summertown (the Northwestern portion of Oxford). Kirsten is a fellow Discuss attender, originally from Edinburgh, who has helped me book some tickets to London and has been most friendly. We had a wonderful chat about where she grew up and went to school. She's a biochem graduate and warden at a girls' boarding school. It was great fun to listen to her speak about England and the UK in general. We also talked about Wales and the mountain-climbing and hiking she's done, and that I look forward to.
While I was in the queue waiting for my 2 pound cinnamon latte I meant to most charming man called David. He was quite chatty and went on about how the English have lost their friendliness and become far too reserved. He introduced me to his "beautiful red-headed" wife Megan, who sat at the table and good-naturedly rolled her eyes. While David was speaking up a storm about how he was in Oxford working on another D. Phil. because he was bored the barista was making his lattes. "Which is the skinny?" David asked. "One of them was skim?" replied the barista having already made the drinks with whole milk. "Oh it's ok, I'll just tell her it is," the elder man responded. David sends his best wishes to my family, should they be reading this tale.

Afternoon tea came as usual. I always enjoy Sunday teas. For the past month or so my job has been to cut the tea cakes, wash the grapes, open the twiglets, unwrap the Digestives and put everything on a lovely platter, as you can see in the previous entry. Sunday 25 of November tea time came around again and I was found pulling out delicate deliciousness from the kitchen cabinets. Tea time will be sorely missed.



19th November - Happy Birthday to Brady. I'm sure he was in good spirits, perhaps a bit too good ;) I returned to the Radcliffe Camera to do some research for an essay on Lewis's space trilogy. I had forgotten how beautiful the camera is, like the library in the Beauty and the Beast, which I had watched just two nights earlier. I spent some of my time reading, but the rest of it I just started at all of the books and the architecture. I wathced the sun set around 4.00 which was lovely and disconcerting at the same time. No wonder the days feel so short here.


20th November - I went to my last Creative Writing tutorial. I now realize I've not shared details on the eccentricities of this man that I chat with every fortnight, but the are many raninging for the cat food on the floor, the woman in black who opens the door, the way people pop in and out of rooms at random, the feel of entering a blazing inferno when I get in the room, the need to keep my feet still at all costs, and so on and so forth. I think I could probably create a pretty decent piece about the tutorial itself. I've been working on a recounting of Rome. I think I'll put it up on this site before leaving Oxford 8th of December, so you may read it if you are so inclined. Tuesday night my roomates and I were supposed to journey to the Kilns (where Lewis lived most of his adult life), but they didn't know where they were going and we were unable to make it there in time, so we bought groceries and headed home. Unfortunate in one sense, but good for my essay-writing.

21st November - Phone a family day. I called home for the first time in quite a while. They lucked out and I bought a phone card so that I could book bed and breakfasts in Shrewsbury and Stamford post-term. it was good to hear from them, but connecting with people back in the States tends to disconect me from my life here in Oxford. With only a week or two left I think I'd rather be engaged here than preoccupied with going home. It's a strange combination of needing to assimilate and prepare to head back while still wanting to do, see, and experience as much as I can while I'm here.

22nd November - Turkey day saw me returning to London for about the 6th time I think. Following some volunteering at St. Andrew's (which I do for an hour 2-3 times a week), i packed a lunch and Beth and I took a train through the lovely Oxfordshire country and into the city. We picked up tickets to Phantom of the Opera, which she had never seen before. The seats weren't bad, but they were quite expensive. Forty pounds, due to the fact that the show is so popular. The performance was decent, though nothing will compare to the first time I saw it in NYC. After picking up tickets we headed to the Tate Britain to look at some pre-Raphilite paintings, which were absolutely amazing. I fell in love with some new (to me) artists and paintings, including the acclaimed Lady of Shallott by Waterhouse. I'm looking forward to some more museum time on my last day in London. Beth and I walked through the Westminster area, past the Thames River, the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, all beautifully lit up at night. We caught the last few minutes of evensong at Westminster Abbey. I might return there in December as well. Then we took the tube back to Picadilly and went to the Blue Lagoon, a small privately-owned thai restaurant, for some delicious pad thai. Dessert was a quickly ordered and more quickly eaten piece of banoffee pie from (believe it or not) Pizza Hut. Following the show, which was playing in an amazingly decorous theater, we got to Paddington station and killed some time waiting for our train. Not wanting to get too cold we just kept walking around, talking, and eating the unneeded sweets purchased at the nearby Sainsbury's. The train ride home found me "not getting sick." I spent the next four days in denial of the fact that all was not as it should be where my health is concerned. I still refuse to give in.

Week-end

Yesterday I fell down the White Cliffs of Dover. Lest my parents become too concerned I am perfectly fine, aside from a bruise on my bum. I didn't actually fall down the "dangerous" part of the cliffs at all. I'll try to start at the beginning...

Yeserday (Saturday) I decided to use my "extra" travel day on my Britrail pass. After asking my new friend Jacki (who's actually studying in Wales with Ross) for a recommendation I chose Dover. I do not regret my choice. I was up till 2 am or so on MSN (curse the Internet despite my love for it) and so I didn't make the 6.30 train. I did, however, get to the station in time for the 7.30 to Dover. I arrived around 10.45 and headed to the Information center. I learned how to get to the beach and off I headed, ready to conquer the cliffs. I stopped by the Church of St. Mary the Virgin. Across the street the parish center was offering tea for 40 P. Knowing I would never again find such a deal I dropped in and met Joan, who was very welcoming and picked up on my American accent right away. We had a lovely conversation prior to my departure for the beach.
I spent the next 2 hours climbing up and down the white cliffs. When in doubt I chose the road less traveled and thorougly enjoyed myself. I found wild burrows, hills, rocks, cliffs, waves, shoreline, and took a ton of amazing pictures. It was on my way down that I ran into a bit of trouble. I decided to go "inland" and explore some hillside trails, hedged in by some lovely trees. It was on one of these "developed" paths that I slipped on a wooden step and landed before I knew what was happening. So much for playing it safe.
I continued on and, after being asked to go get a drink with four lovely British gentlemen walked to the Prince of Wales Pier where I ate my lunch (thank you Marmee for teaching me the art of making wraps) whilst looking at France on the other side of the ocean.

Then I made my way back to the station in time to catch (or miss rather) the train for Canterbury. Knowing I wouldn't make it there in time for evensong, and realizing that the sun would set by 4.30 (cursed longituded and latitude of the UK) I headed back to the Dover Museum. It was quite the hodge podge experience. The history of Dover combined with period rooms and the Bronze age boat exhibit. I returned to the train station just in time to miss yet another train for Canterbury. From about 4.30 I spent the next 5 hours getting home. I made some wrong changes and had a few delays. I was happy to walk into my humble abode at 9.45.

Today was a splended, albeit rainy, Sunday. An unexpected breakfast of cornbread and tea, followed by church and a 2-hour coffee date with a new friend from Discuss. The rest of the afternoon I read and then helped prepare for (and participated in) afternoon tea, as is tradition at Crick on Sundays. Then it was off to a candlelight Evensong at Wadham College. To my great fortune Wadham offered a free dinner following the service. Oh how I love free wine. After my fair share I traipsed home, only to spend the night online. Not a bad way to invest one's Sabbath :)

Deer Addison

Those of you who have regularly kept up with me and have found this "new" post that was written on the 29th and dated the 14th I commend you! I only wish I'd blogged it when my memories weren't two weeks old.


Following my C. S. Lewis tutorial on Wednesday I thought it was high time I get myself out to Magdalen (pronounced Maud-lin) College to see where the man lived while he was teaching in Oxford. Definitely one of my better decisions. Magdalen is absolutely beautiful. I was literally awestruck by the architecture, the grandeur of the grounds and the buildings and everything. I can't fathom how much time and money went into building these colleges. I am also floored by the fact that students still live in and attend them. Many students of the richer Oxford colleges have their own bedroom and study, sometimes even a sitting room. The dining halls are akin to those in the Harry Potter movies (filmed at Christ Church College in Oxford), and the whole place is just amazingly archaic.

My favorite part of Magdalen, though, was the deer park. Back in the day the park was filled with deer that the young men of Magdalen could hunt on occasion. Today the deer are more "decorative," and fill their designated area. I walked over several bridges, past my new favorite (weeping willow) tree, and happened upon the famous Addison's Walk - the footpath surrounding Magdalen and shouldering the Thames. This is also the place where Lewis walked with Tolkien and Williams the night/morning he converted to Christianity. The trees were still in full splendour and the sun played through them beautifully. I was listening to some classical music on my iPod, but turned it off to listen to the birds and the falling of the leaves. Second only to the sound of geese landing on the pond, I love the sound of leaves falling. I explored Addison's Walk for a good hour or so, wishing I could justify spending more time there. I also walked through the Fellow's Garden, which I'm sure is lovely in the spring, and over the Magdalen Bridge, which is lovely in any season. My red nose and chilled fingers were happy for the cup of tea I had before SCIO lectures that afternoon. Winter is coming.

Stones, Salisbury and Stapels or Curiosities, a Cathedral and Clive

After the brown spots of the last post I think it important that I recount some of the more positive points of the weekend. Yesterday I decided to hop a train (several trains actually - we had a lot of changes) for Salisbury. From there I made the somewhat overrated pilgrimmage to Stonehenge. The 7.50 pound bus ride and 4.70 pound admission was a bit steep, but I did get a free audio tour. I ought to have counted the number of times that I heard the phrases "we're not sure" and "we don't know" in reference to this mystical place. The fact that so many hundreds of thousands of people have come to Stonehenge, not knowing what it is, not knowing why they come, but just coming, is rather remarkable. The site itself is situated in the middle of vast rolling hills and countryside. It was windy and a bit chilly, adding to the queer feeling that the monoliths bring about. There was an uncanny ceremony involved in my circling the site. My favorite story (couresty of my audiotour) is suggests that the stones came from Ireland, where they were once the property of giants. Following the conquering of the Anglo-Saxons Uther Pendragon was told by the wizard Merlin to have 15,000 men go to Ireland and bring the stones of the giants back to England. Apparently the men didn't move quickly enough for the wizard's taste, so he used his magic to transport the stones to their present location. It is here that the body of Uther is buried. I'll buy it. Makes my visit that much better.

I headed back to Salisbury to see the cathedral, which boasts the longest spire of any cathedral in the UK and the largest cloister in England. Unfortunately it also boasts a remarkably large admission fee of over 4 pounds. I opted to see the cloister, spire, gift shop and exterior of the building, all of which were remarkable and free. Salisbury was enchanting, as most small English towns are in my opinion. I look forward to further discovery.
Today was "Remembrance Sunday" (akin to Veteran's Day) in the Anglican church. Red poppies have graced many a coat and lapel the past few weeks. They covered quite a few altars today as well. I spent the morning taking a three mile jog up Headington Hell (anyone who has tried the same will agree). Eventually I made my way to Holy Trinity Church and the grave of C. S. Lewis. Hidden under a tree, weather-worn and inconspicuous I think he would approve. It struck me as profoundly obvious that this was a man - a sinful, grace-covered man, who lived, breathed and died, just as all those buried along with him. I look forward to finishing a few biographies and writing an essay on the matter in the next two days. I wonder if anyone will someday read the story of my life. Whatever would there be to hold their interest?

Brown Spots

I've been thinking about what I would write in my next post for some time. More so I've been thinking about what I would leave out. Though a writer must always use his or her own judgement, in order for this account to be "honest" I don't think it should be a record of all the great and wonderful things that I get to experience. My purpose is to convey what is happening in my life, not a rose-colored version of what I want to say happened during my time in England. And so I give you the following:

The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence (or ocean in this case). Though the actual grass here truly is greener (we get a lot of rain), I have seen my share of brown spots. I've been hard-pressed, tried, pushed to my limit. I've made mistakes. A lot of mistakes. Expensive mistakes. I've seen my own inadequacies. I've bodged up papers. I've lost things - lots of things - including my favorite black beret, a new pair of earrings from Rome, and the cleanliness of my chino trousers. I've been terribly jealous. I've longed for my own room, kitchen, house. Some days I want to go home. Some days I want to live in London. Some days I want a cabin in the mountains. For the sake of documentation, explanation and sympathy I'll explain a few of my "humbler" moments.

Last week I had company. Last week I housed company. Housing company is against the rules. When I break rules I incur guilt. Guilt leads to confession of illegal activity. Illegal activity results in punishment. I have been punished. I am now broke (not really, but I'm significantly less wealthy). The other thing that happens when you break rules is that it often makes other people uncomfortable and brings about all kinds of tension, especially when any number of the parties involed fail to speak up and express how they feel. Needless to say I regret some poor choices.

There are students in my house that have what my Mom calls a "golden thread." Good things just happen to them. They find five pound notes on the street. British boys from expensive colleges invite them to four course meals. They plan trips to Prague for 30 pounds. They go to Ireland for the weekend. Their boyfriends send them flowers. They get discounts on their coffee because they're cute. Guys offer to buy their drinks. They get 10 pounds (that's $20) an hour for baby-sitting. The watch they want is magically on sale. And so on and so forth. Can I make a case for jealousy? Please?

I feel less and less cultured and more and more like I'm missing out on life the longer I'm here. Isn't that a bit backwards? I haven't gone to Paris, I won't make it to Scotland, I can't finish all the works of Jane Austen and C. S. Lewis and Tolkien and so on and so forth. I don't even know if I can finish my college courses in four years, much less handle grad school. My doors of opportunity close before I ever knew they were there. Sometimes life is just depressing.

Finally, I like attention. Probably too much. When I don't feel I'm connecting with anyone I start make desparate attempts to communicate. I send dozens of e-mails (sorry Ross), facebook messages (sorry again) and wallposts (Laura Beth). I seek out Skype and MSN victims alike (Brady). Usually this subsides pretty quickly, revealing my all too self-centered tendencies.

But fear not, these are only spots of brown. England has yet to be covered in plagues and despair (at least in this century). I still feed the ducks, walk through the meadows, run through the parks, pass by the spires and study in the largest library known to English-speakers everywhere. I may spend hours in a pathetic state, but I'm being pathetic in Oxford. Things could certainly be worse.

Remember remember...

the fifth of November is not a day to be missed in England. For all of you who haven't yet experienced V for Vendetta, let me shine some light on why there have been fireworks going off in Oxford for the past week, particularly last night and this evening. There's a poem recalled this time of year that goes something like this:
Remember, Remember, the Fifth of November
Gunpowder, Treason and plot
I see no Reason why Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.

Jonathan Kirkpatrick (my junior dean) offers the following explanation:
Bonfires are blazing all across the country this weekend, and the English have been purifying themselves as they face the bitter cold of November, symbolically destroying the dross of the year and expelling the evil within in the form of the burning man - a scapegoat, and a trace of the ancient tradition of human sacrifice that lurks within the depths of the nation’s Celtic soul: a liminal moment when winter is embraced, celebrated by this usually reserved people in a frenzy of explosions, acrid smoke, and expensive burgers of dubious composition.

Of course, anthropology aside, we are also celebrating one of the great non-events of English history, the failure of Guy Fawkes to blow up king and parliament in 1605. He was apprehended on the night of 4th November as he watched over nearly a ton of gunpowder stashed in subterranean Westminster, and now we English regularly and ritually rejoice to burn the man in effigy, year in, year out. Most passionate in this respect is the staid town of Lewes in southern England; here torch-lit processions escort the effigies of not only Guy Fawkes but also Pope Paul V to a fiery doom, along with optional extra effigies of anybody the good townspeople of Lewes feel is particularly deserving that year.

We celebrated the occassion with "gunpowder tea" (yes, that is actually the name of a particular type of tea) and I'm sure some of our students used it as an excuse for hitting up the pub. I may find my way over to the Ashmolean Museum, where the lantern Fawkes was holding when arrested in his cellar full of gunpowder under the House of Lords dwells. It was given to Oxford in 1641 by the son of a Justice of the Peace who had been present at the arrest, and it is apparently in remarkably good condition.

Gunpowder was traded for chili powder used in the fajitas I made this evening. So good. I can't even describe how great our family dinners are. Tomorrow Graden and Kelsey are up and then Pearson and Mikey again. Maybe we'll get some Rarebits again, or bangers and mash. Mmmmmmm.

visitors visiting...vigorously?

The past week has been busy busy busy for me and yet I have done not a lick of academic work. I suppose that's what I ought to be doing presently, but William Blake just isn't that appealing at the moment. I really ought to get on that essay, and my creative writing, not to mention my long essay on Jane Austen. Oh well. Recollection takes precedence (and if it didn't the Office would).

October 29-November 3rd I had the rare priviledge of entertaining guests! What fun to reconnect with NWC friends on the other side of the Atlantic! Our days were full, so I will be somewhat brief in my descriptions of all we did. You may be able to find additional details (and at least a variation in perspective) on Sam's blogspot in the not so distant future.

Monday Sam arrived sometime after 4 pm. Unfortunately I wasn't expecting her until 7.30, so when I arrived at 7.40 I received a mixed reaction of frustrated and bewildered relief. That evening we chilled at Crick and the following morning I was off to St. Andrew's to spend an hour as the doorman. Our vicar pities me, but I love my job. It's a great way to meet people and I feel as though I really am a welcoming member of this church I've only attended for 8 weeks. I spent the next few hours reading Surprised by Joy on a bench under a large tree glazed in sunlight and then headed to Blackwell's (England's biggest bookshop) to wait for Sam in the Caffe Nero on the 2nd floor. She showed up with her friend Kelsey and we walked around Oxford, making our way to Frewin Court for afternoon tea, complete with chocolates, cakes, cookies, Banoffee (you've gotta try it) and cheesecake. We walked through the parks where Sam and the ducks shared "a moment" together. Then it was on to Christ Church for evensong and home for dinner. That night we dolled up and headed out to The Bridge - one of Oxford's most popular hot spots. It was just about everything I associate with the term "Euroclub," including a cover charge, cheap drinks, short skirts, sweaty people, loud music, flashing lights and a good time. Still, I don't think it will become habit.

Wednesday I had lectures. Sam and I partook of cream tea at Queens Lane Coffee House and went our separate ways for the afternoon. That evening I made what I consider a tasty (and improvised) pasta dish and we headed to the theater for the English National Ballet's performance of Snow Queen, which I thoroughly enjoyed.

Thursday we grabbed sandwiches and it was off to London to find Sam's hostel, the British Museum and Ross Hunter. Though not in the most timely fashion, all were successfully located. We picked up 5th row tickets for Spamalot (only 30 pounds for 55 pound seats) and got some Tandoori before the show. Following a wonderfully entertaining performance we hunted down some ice cream and dropped Sam off at the hostel. Getting to Victoria's tube station was no problem. Finding the bus Ross and I were supposed to take home was another story. I had been so proud of my navigational skills (which are significantly better as far as London is concerned) up to that point. Luckily Ross was patient and the man on the corner helpful. We made it with time to spare. An hour and a half later, though, two twenty-something students were wondering Oxford in search of a hostel - location unknown.

Apparently things worked out for Ross, as he did show up at Blackwell's Friday around noon. We did a little sightseeing - the Bodleain library (which houses over 3 million books and owns over 8 million), Radcliffe Camera (my favorite library), city walls, High Street (which is entirely too long I've decided), and Sainsbury's (my local grocery). Following a baguette lunch we walked through the parks for a while. I was delighted to remember the leftover bread in my purse, which was soon divided amongst the waterfowl. It's remarkable how friendly birds are when you have food for them. A little down time and trip to Tolkien's house and we were off for cream tea at The Rose. Apparently we weren't the only two with the desire for tea at 5 pm. The Rose was hopping, after tasting their delicious scones, clotted cream, jam and tea I can see why. So good. By 6 pm we were wondering around the now dark streets of Oxford and passed by Christ Church. The Eucharist service had just started so we walked in and took a seat off to the side. I really ought to make it over there more often. My worship in Christ Church Cathedral is so different, so reverent and yet full of grace. Later that night I had Ross experience street side Kebab vendors. I think we were both pleased with the decision, and with the trip to the Eagle and Child that followed.

Saturday it was back to London, this time to meet up with Jacki and a showing of Macbeth. I had heard a great many things about the infamous Patrick Stewart leading up to the show and expected a stellar performance. Though we did see Stewart, it was only for a moment before the show, at which time he expressed his apologies for the fact that he would not be performing that afternoon due to illness. Of all the shows! Still, the theater was beautiful and the artistry of the performance wonderful. I have nothing to complain about. What was perhaps as unexpected as Stewart's indisposal was the fact that Brady and B. Good found us after the performance. I joined the Wales cohorts for an insanely large meal at Pizza Hut followed by a pint of Guiness in London's longest pub - The Dickens. At 11 pm I had to say my goodbyes and caught a train back to Oxford with all intentions of seeing them again in five weeks.

I slept for 8 hours Saturday night and 2 more Sunday afternoon. Despite the sometimes minimal amount of physical activity involved, traveling is exhausting.

Here I am, back in Oxford for a little over a month. So much to read, write, learn and experience before I head back home. I wonder what I will remember, regret and realize by the time my journey is over.

Not all there

If nothing else, I hope that this term in Oxford I learn more of what it means to be fully present. So many times my roommate and I need to remind eachother to not dwell on the future (or the past), but to savor this time here and now, wherever that may be. I've struggeld with this quite a lot. I think part of it comes from incessant double-tasking. I've caught myself spacing off in the middle of a lecture deciding what to make for dinner and wondering which groceries I have on hand. I've watched a movie, only to start chatting with someone online. I've read pages and pages for my essay without processing a single word because I was already thinking about all future events (which consequently included rereading that book). I go to church and spend half of the sermon mentally outlining my next paper (and as I write that paper I'm probably thinking of something else entirely). You may guess the problems this can cause. C. S. Lewis says that the Present touches eternity. It is the closest we have to experiencing time as Our Father does. If we aren't thinking on Him in relation to eternity then we ought to be living and thinking presently. It is only then that we experience life as we were made to.

For a moment, though, I'll think on the past, at least the past week.

Last week was half-term for the schools (as opposed to university) here, meaning that none of the St. Andrew's groups had a regular meeting. Discuss had a "social night" consisting of dinner, games, and trivia in the form of small group competition. I got to model an outfit made of newspaper, eat a lot of cake, and plead ignorance when it came to answering questions of British pop culture (and geography). My contribution came in response to the question "Where does Spongebob live?" Thinking on my siblings and shamed by what my knowledge of this fact meant I reluctantly replied, "he lives in a pineapple under the sea." If only I'd also remembered that Percy is green, not blue like Thomas the Tankengine.

Friday I fully enjoyed the then present experience of walking 1.5 hours through Port Meadow and along the Thames with Alicia and Bethany until we reached The Trout Inn, a rather swank restaurant/pub where my roommates and I enjoyed some appetizers (which were plenty for dinner) and drinks (I think I prefer white wine to red). We fed horses, passed cows, crossed bridges, contemplated trees and had some wonderful discussion. I can see why C. S. Lewis and the Inklings got so much pleasure out of this journey when they were in Oxford. I'm going to miss the sunsets, the long walks and the stillness of being here.


Saturday a few other students and I spent a few hours delivering fall festival invitations to the houses in the St. Andrew's parish. It was a gorgeous fall day. The air was crisp and clean, leaves fell gently as i walked down the unflustered streets. Afterwards our employer took us out for coffee at a quaint French cafe. I sipped a cappuccino and shared a dessert crepe filled with coffee icecream and doused in kahlua. After a little reading I joined Alicia and two visitors at the Eagle and Child. It had begun raining by this time, so we forewent a bus tour for the Oxford Story - a sort of tourist attraction that's a bit like an amusement park ride taking you through the history of Oxford. It was actually great fun. We then climbed the 99 steps of Carfax Tower - the oldest building in Oxford - for a view of the City of Dreaming Spires. Lovely. That night my iPhotos crashed, causing me great turmoil and showing me yet again that I need to let go of wanting to control things.

Sunday I opted for a run through the city and the rain. I relocated the Oxford Canal, which brought me great joy. So did my shower and afternoon tea. That night was "life Sunday" at St. Andrew's. We listened to a member of Parliament share what had happened concerning the Abortion Act passed 40 years ago. It was a convicting wake up call to realize once more how many lives are ended each day all over the world.

Monday was spent trying to get ahead before Samantha's arrival. I finished an essay, spent an hour at St. Andrew's doing dishes and made stuffed mushrooms, baked apples, whole wheat spaghetti and spinach salad for dinner. When I went to pick up Sam I discovered her bus had come in 3 hours earlier. Though I'd mentioned where I lived she could not remember and had no way of calling me as I haven't a cell phone. Needless to say I felt a terrible hostess. Another situation not at all in my control, nor was the housing situation, which I'm sure Sam will describe on her blog. I hope the remaineder of her trip is under a more positive light.

Cleaning Up and Soaking In

I have decided that few things few quite so nice as having a clean room (I shall pause for the gasp that no doubt will leave my mother's mouth). The fact that I need to clean, organize and put things in place assures me that I have in fact made 8 Crick Road my home. This is a mixed blessing knowing that I will be leaving in less than 7 weeks. But for the remainder of my time here I think I would prefer to feel I have things (or at least my living space) under control.

My whole being feels simplified once I have vaccumed the carpet and thrown out all those lecture papers I'll never look at again (sad, but true). There is only so much room in my head, my drawers, my bags and my computer for new information. Even as there will be a very limited amount of space in my suitcase when I pack to come home. (I fear I have procured too much the way it is).

It's interesting the way we fill space. Even now I am filling the hours that remain between now and bedtime. There are a number of ways I could choose to spend those hours. I've opted to decline homework for the moment. My calendar (iCal) is becoming rather full as well - lectures, tutorials, lunch dates, Bible study, day trips, visitors and the like. My time here is really quite limited. How will I spend it? What will benefit me most? What do I wish to experience? I truly wish I could disregard the question of "how much does this cost?" and simply ask myself if the activity in question is worth the investment of my time. Unfortunately that "simple" question has no simple answer.

This coming weekend I hope to start (or perhaps continue?) spending my time wisely. I intend to take a 3 mile walk through Port Meadow to visit The Trout (an amazing waterside pub/restaurant). I hope to catch an actual bus tour of Oxford, climb Carfax tour, each fish and chips and tour the Oxford Castle. Though I enjoy my Lewis readings and am learning time and again the lesson of dying and loving selflessly, my mind can only take so much intellectual stimulation without soaking up some culture and having some fun. If only there were more time to soak it up. The next seven weeks will come and go all too quickly, all the more reason for me to make the most of the time I have.

Stratford upon a Swan

Sunday my roomie (Alicia) and I hopped a bus and went to Stratford for the afternoon. What a fabulous decision. Not only were we pleasantly surprised by a reduced bus rate, we were utterly awestruck by the beauty of Stratford in the fall. No Shakespeare plays thank you, we were there to take in the town, walk along the river, sit in the cemetary and gaze at the swans. We also snapped a good number of photographs. Afternoon luncheon was spent at Anne Hathaway's Tea Room - which was quintessentially quaint. No trip to Stratford would be complete without a little Shakespeare, however, and so we did visit the supposed birthplace, which has become a fascinating and interactive museum. My favorite part of the day, though, was finding an outward, physical expression for my internal spiritual and intellectual journey. Knowing I am on a metaphoric quest is one thing, feeling the manifestation of it through walking leaf-laden paths and discovering hidden streams is quite another. I think that perhaps all weekends should involve this kind of get away from life.

Tea at the Palace

Today was one of the most beautiful days of my young life. There could not possibly be a better way to spend an autumn afternoon than hiking through the gardens of blenheim palace and the landscaping of Capability Brown. I was accompanied by 15 students, my beloved junior dean, Jonathan, Katy and Simon, quite a few sheep, a swan, some ducks and lovely weather. We walked the countryside, climbing hills, chasing sheep, viewing the lake, walking bridges, climbing trees, throwing leaves, and viewing the palace. All of this topped off by cream tea at the close of the afternoon. A few inadequate photos attempt to capture these moments:
http://s231.photobucket.com/albums/ee265/akuehn/?mediafilter=all

This evening consisted of some e-mail catch up and a search for a pub with an empty chair. After an overcrowded Turf and pricey looking Slug and Lettuce (quite upclass despite the name), Alicia and I settled on the Royal Oak. We ended up outside, but had an engaging conversation that only ended because of a phone date. If only all days could be so beautifully English.

What is your quest?

I am presently at the start of the weekend that falls between the second and third week of the 8 week (or in my case 9 week) term. During first week I read the Chronicles of Narnia, which tells the tales of eight children and their journeys through Narnia. During second week I read Phantastes, a faerie story/fantasy novel by George MacDonald and C. S. Lewis's greatest source of inspiration. The story is that of the quest of Anodos who enters the land of faerie as an aimless wanderer on an unforeseen journey (hence the name Anodos which means "aimless"). This week I am reading Till We have Faces and other myths concerning Cupid and Psyche. I have been working on a piece of creative writing documenting the eventful and unexpected trip I took to Rome several weeks ago. In Discuss we have been studying the book of Exodus and the journey of the Israelites from slavery to freedom. All of this leaves me wondering just what kind of adventure I have embarked on and what shape my own quest will take.
I began this journey knowing where it would start (London) and when it would end (December 18), but the rest is quite uncertain. I, like Anodos, am aimlessly wandering, coming in contact with new people and experiences. I wonder, what will come of this adventure? When one embarks on a journey they never return the same. As Anodos makes his way through the land of faerie he learns from his experiences what nothing else could teach him - humility, love, freedom. What am I to learn? What have I begun to learn already? How will I be taught? What will I encounter?
I have journeyed to ancient cathedrals and historic ruins and I have begun to realize that though architecture changes and the world crumbles the God I worship is the same yesterday, today and forever. I have followed the Israelites from Goshen to Sinai and I am becoming aware of the need to depend on God daily. I have walked through the parks, the English countryside, the palace gardens and along the river and I ache to be a part of the beauty around me.
I daily ask myself why I am here and what I am to learn before I return home. I've yet to reach an answer. I am in a period of learning, of seeing and seraching, though truly I know not what I am looking for. I wonder if I will when I find it. Or perhaps when I lose it. At the end of his own journey Anodos states, "Thus I, who set out to find my Ideal, came back rejoicing that I had lost my Shadow.” If I can claim the same for myself, all will have been worth it.

One more toilet fact for you. Every once in a while I see a sign referring to the loo as the W.C. I was quite confused by this until it dawned on me (while in the W.C. nontheless) that this is an abbreviation for the now seldom-used term "water closet," which is really most appropriate in consideration of the size of restrooms in England. You may all now visit England with this new and valuable knowledge.

Freshers (and returning students) have settled on Oxford. The clubs and pubs are making money hand over fist I'm sure, not to mention the shopping venues (most of the Europeans I have met adore shopping). By far the best part of all the returning students (aside from the substantial number of attractive British men - a huge change from NWC) is their contribution to Thursday night Discuss. Last Thursday I ate dinner with an entire table full of students my own age! Though I enjoy the 25-35 year olds that I've been meeting at Discuss it was a nice change. My small group is still composed of many of the same people (all of whom are a few to several years older than I). We may be doing a type of service project and going to Hepsy and Rob's (they're my leaders) for tea in a few weeks.

I have committed myself to writing a substantial essay (4,000-5,000 words) on Jane Austen. It would have been wise for me to choose something related to my tutorials, but I am hoping to rise to the challenge. This will require a significant amount of reading, which I really must become better at. In addition to this essay (due at the end of term) I continue my weekly reading and essay in C. S. Lewis, as well as a creative writing assignment (relating to my trip to Rome) every fortnight. I have decided to drop the idea of ballroom dancing in order to spend more time working at church and doing "Oxfordian" things. Still, I'm really wanting to take dance lessons at some point when I get back to the States. I think a partner might help (though I'm told it's a good way to meet people ;) )

In my spare time I'm getting ready for visitors!! Samantha is coming all the way from Spain and will be in Oxford October 29-31 (just in time for the midnight reading of Poe in the graveyard) and then we're hoping to see Spamalot in London on Nov. 1st, at which time I will leave her in London and potentially pick up Ross, whose plans (believe it or not) are still up in the air. It will be most wonderful to see both of them within the next 3 weeks. I do think I will be seeing Brady as well, but once again times have yet to be solidified.