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.