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