Jump

Another New Year's Eve is upon us, along with that pressure to make all these resolutions that last for about a month (if you're really committed) and then are forgotten until the next New Year when you look at your old resolutions and see that you forgot to resolve any of them: you're still overweight, you're still single, and you're still nowhere near becoming a millionaire.

Looking back over my last journal, I don't even think I made resolutions - most likely because I knew I wouldn't follow through with them and really didn't want to fuss with the guilt. (Honesty is the best policy.) However, I am about ten pounds lighter than last year; I've picked up another job since last year; I have travelled pretty extensively this year for my budget and occupation; I have become more confident and (to be honest - best policy, you know) loud - DESPITE not making any forma resolution to do any of these things. I haven't read the Bible all the way through in a year, but a few weeks ago one chapter opened my eyes about what it's all about. (Romans 4 - go read it. RIGHT NOW.) I made less of a resolution and more of a goal to write more letters, try more things, meet different people, see new places, and it's been INCREDIBLE. I am more comfortable doing things alone than I have been in years.

May I venture to say - and you'll know this is a big deal if you've been keeping up with my journals - this year I've been happy. And I think it has a lot to do with my conscious effort to look outside myself and focus on other people. It's been BRILLIANT.

If I were to make any effort at a resolution for this new year, I would keep it very broad: be brave and be happy. This is the year I've been anticipating for forever - I'm graduating and closing yet another chapter in my formal education. Thus the call to be brave, to be ready and open to anything that will happen. And as to the being happy part...basically making an effort to make that a priority. Instead of looking at the flies in my bank account and the not-socially-preferred number on my scales and that relationship status on my Facebook (I always hide that to make myself feel better), I will make an effort to embrace all of those things, make the most of where I am right now, and be excited with the way my life is going, while also changing things the things that don't need to be there.

I will be writing about that last one a little later - another entry to come.

Happy New Year, dear friends. Auld Lang Syne (which I still don't know what that means but it's always fitting to say at New Year), happy drinking (if that's your thing), BE SAFE (because that should be everybody's thing), and wishing you all a happy 2014. :)

Those Who Beat Still

Recently I've had several friends and family lose loved ones. Sitting at my kitchen table with my heart full for us and them, I jotted this down. It's been on my mind for a while, but I finally got it on paper.

Those Who Beat Still

Death, your victory.
Death, your sting.
They say you have neither
And I suppose you don't.
You are a faceless incident -
A moment,
The briefest of encounters that we endure only once.

But how you linger.
Your hand is swift but the slap still burns.

For some you satisfy:
You are relief,
You are rest,
You are the sigh of sleep -
Cool sheets.

But to those who beat still
You are "never more,"
You are "no hope"
You are regret.
Searing regret.

Some speak of comfort, a better plan,
But we still scream at the sky,
Stare at the wall,
Beat on our chests
And beg, "What was this for?
How have we failed?
What have they done?"

A better plan,
A higher power,
An unknown purpose.

An empty glass for a man dying of thirst.

Death, be quick.
Death, be sure.

Your wake is brutal enough.

Pity those who beat still -
Those who lay in the grass and mix their tears with Mother Earth's dew,
Those who panic for tomorrow,
Those whose thoughts are, "Why?
What now?"

You've stolen our soulbeats.
Their turn is over.
Ours has just begun.

Same is broken.

Familiar is askew
For those who beat still.

Sea

For a while I’ve been looking for a way to share some of my fiction writing. Let me start off by saying that I am admittedly not very good at fiction. I’ve tried it for years, because for a long time I didn’t realize that there was any other type of writing (other than poetry, which I’m also junk at) that didn’t involve tons of research. Then I was introduced to the non-fiction essay, which I love, and that’s what I focus on mainly in my journals and blogs.

I love the idea of fiction. I have so many storylines in my head that could be decent novels, but when it comes down to putting them on paper, I have problems. I know exactly how I want them to look in my head, but when I try to impart that image to my readers, it starts looking like overly-detailed crap.  As a reader, I hate books like that, and I don’t want to be the hypocrite who makes her readers suffer through all that as well.

Several months ago I got an idea for a piece of fiction that I actually followed through and wrote out, eventually submitting it as an assignment for one of my literature classes. My prof asked us to write about something that was important to us. At the time my university was experiencing some interesting shifts without much openness between the administration and students; and among the student body, grumbling and whispering were rampant. Where truth is withheld, rumor fills the gaps, and there were plenty of viable options flying around as we tried to make sense of the changes that had rocked our school and, subsequently, our trust in the people running our university. We are still in the process of changing some things, and many of us remain frustrated and confused. Mu current position is one of apathy, where I remember that I have one year left, where I choose to keep out of it and focus on getting that diploma in the spring. But about six months ago, I was fed up, confused, disappointed.

And so, as I usually do, I started writing. I was sitting at my desk, watching snow fall into the courtyard outside my window. Earlier that day I had walked up the iron steps of my dorm – the walk that always makes me think I’m coming into Shawshank, especially in the winter. I was listening to my “gray” playlist on Spotify and sorting out what I thought about my university as a whole – not just during this difficult time, but overall.

This is the introduction to the piece that I submitted to my professor.

In the past few months I’ve seen that the school is, above all, run by human beings. Regardless of the tagline and the mission statement and the rituals, it is managed, operated, and steered by man. Which means that it is, in fact, flawed, simply because the human leadership is flawed. The doctrine is shifted according to the beliefs of those in charge, thus making it somewhat less than divine and more open to criticism.

I have been learning to do just that over the past three years: think critically about what I am told and examine everything objectively. For example, much of my spiritual growth has not come from chapel or our Bible courses, but from personal study, discussion with friends, sitting under the trees on campus and watching my God do His thing with each star that appears in the night sky. I’m not saying that it’s not a good place, because I don’t think that personal relationship could have been facilitated if not for some of the people that I’ve met here, whom I wouldn’t have come in contact with if it hadn’t been for this place. But I don’t think it’s been the fantastic haven for me that many others seem to find.

I feel out of place with many of the students here. My cynicism toward organized religion often keeps me from participating in chapels when I see a show, a performance, and I can’t help but suspect hypocrisy (even though it may not be there, it may just be my own judgment). I am brooding and bit melancholy by nature, and the overly-perky people that seem so prevalent here make me feel awkward. I tend to seek out the “gray” people with off-color humor and unconventional perspectives. Of all the people on campus, they seem most authentic to me. Maybe this is why I get more fidgety the longer I’m away from my job at home: I can’t wait to be around people who wear their emotions on their sleeves, who are more open about how they feel when it’s ugly.

At school the theatre has given me such a haven. It is only during productions that I feel I have a place on campus, somewhere that I fit. I am not a confident person. Most of the time I feel awkward in my own skin with my appearance, my thoughts, my emotions, my interactions with other people. If I have a choice between being around a lot of people or being alone, I’ll sit in my room by myself and read. I love to write – I have filled six journals in four years and have started countless short stories since I was eight years old – but not many people know it because I don’t share it unless it’s for an assignment. Some people ask, “But why do you act if you’re so insecure?” I’m not myself when I’m on stage; it’s my character you’re watching, not me.

This is primarily why I chose to write my thoughts in a work of fiction; you can’t tell what is really me and what is simply for the sake of the story. It is essentially my opinion about the university and how I’ve discovered myself through an unconventional place. Over the past year I have become a more confident person, even though I am in an environment in which I feel very uncomfortable and not always welcome. This is a parallel story of that process. It’s completely different from what I originally intended, but I think it is more appropriate to my life at the moment.

I don’t like this short story because of the way I wrote it: like I said, I think that fiction writing is my weakest literary effort. But I like what I’m saying through it. I love that I finally found a way to get across what I think, how I feel, what I believe about the place that has taken up the last three years of my life. I love that I was finally able to express what my heart was feeling but my head couldn’t muddle through. It’s not pretty. The emotions writhing in my heart when I wrote this were not happy ones, and for those of you around whom I am more guarded, you will see the language and the truth that I feel. But maybe for the first time, it is real. The barriers are down, the filter is off. This is my story, my perspective, my heart as I look at the university that has taught me critical thinking and to actively seek out a place where I belong. My purpose is not to offend, and none of the characters have human parallels, living or dead; much of the extreme is in place only for the sake of the story. But the overall emotion is mine.

Since this entry has gone on forever, I won’t post any of it today – I’ll prolly start that up tomorrow. And in a very Dickens fashion, I’ll only put up a little at a time; after all, it is almost forty pages long. But I hope that you read it. I hope that it shows you a side of me that maybe you didn’t know or didn’t fully understand. And for some of you, I hope it is an encouragement. It sounds cynical to say it about my own work, but it was a major encouragement to me.

Fighting

This is ridiculous: I've literally been at school for less than two weeks, and I'm already sick. At first I thought it was allergies (gotta love Ohio in late summer), but I'm pretty sure it's a full-blown cold now. It started out as just sniffles; now I officially can't breathe AT ALL, and I have a horrendous cough.

Fabulous.

On a brighter note, I got the job on the custodial staff and have already put in two days. I love the lady I work with, and the work load isn't bad at all. Besides, I'll do just about anything if it means I'm making money.

....I'm not as desperate as that comment made me sound. :/

Since I've been back at school I've been reading Blue Like Jazz. Actually, re-reading it - I've gone through twice in the past few years, and I wanted to do it again as I was coming back to campus. In my opinion Donald Miller presents such a good representation of what Christianity is supposed to look like: not according to the religious institutions of today but as it was set down at the original foundation of the church in the books of Acts. To some people his approach is a little...shall we say "hippie-esque;" I explained the book to a very conservative friend of mine, and I realized halfway through my explanation that he prolly wouldn't appreciate it.

But personally, I like it. I agree with it.

You would think that it would be ridiculously deep and heavy. I mean, just take a gander at the title - this ambiguous phrase about a genre of music that is deep, moody, pondering, emotional. But then you crack open the book to find cartoons of sexy carrots and astronauts whose helmets are taken over by their beards when they are launched out into space for fifty-three years. You find chapter-long descriptions of the amazing people that Miller experienced on his journey to find God. Instead of referencing the Great Lord Reverend Whosoever, master of all things divine and sacred, he turns to "Julie the Canadian," "Tony the Beat Poet" (who is, in fact, not actually a poet), and "Andrew the Cussing Preacher" for his theology. He - and subsequently his approach to faith and God - is intense but at the same time very simple and basic.

It seems that somewhere between Christ's ascension and now, the mission and procedures of His followers have become seriously overcomplicated when it all started as "love God, love others." We have placed so many addendums around that relatively-simple mandate and have so emphasized those additions that we bog ourselves down and chase away other potential believers. When did loving your neighbor become something to do only when you can fit it into your schedule? Where did we pick up the notion of tithing only when we have nowhere else to spend our money?

And when did the Christian walk because a solitary one? Miller says so much on the importance of community among Christians - people in general, really. (That's been awesome to read lately since I'm trying to be more social.) But whether it's an American thing or a human thing, Christians are isolated in their spiritual growth, only sharing what they're dealing with over an hour-long coffee date or an intense chapel service. We feel content to give the "fine" answer - or the worst one, "oh I'm just so blessed" - and never get past the surface level, both in our questions and our answers.

Why is that? What are we afraid of? We're all a family, right? In my family we love each other even when one of us doesn't put his dishes in the dishwasher for days, or accidentally forgets to pick us up from school, or even disagrees with us on something that we feel strongly about. Why don't we race past the surface level and see what's lurking under the "blessed" face? How much deeper would our love and community be if we knew the true person and chose to love them anyway? Why don't we do that?

Yesterday we awoke to find that classes had been cancelled until noon because of a power outage. For about an hour and a half during our free morning, I sat in the lounge with five other girls in my unit, all of us half-ready or still in our pajamas because we had nowhere to be and no way to do online homework. One girl brought out a loaf of zucchini bread that her mom had made, another girl made tea, I made coffee (of course). And we talked. Like, face-to-face, "how's your semester starting out," "thank God we don't have classes this morning." It was small-talk, yes - there was no "diving into deep things," like I've been harping on for most of this entry. But nobody was sitting alone in their rooms on Facebook. Nobody had their headphones in, being unsocial. We were talking, enjoying each other's company. True, it was because we had nothing else to do, but that's not the point, is it? It was awesome.

Why do we only reserve that for when the electricity is out?

~

 

Loneliness is something that happens to us, but I think it is something we can move ourselves out of. I think a person who is lonely should dig into a community, give himself to a community, humble himself before his friends, initiate community, teach people to care for each other, love each other. Jesus does not want us floating through space or sitting in front of our televisions. Jesus wants us interacting, eating together, laughing together, praying together. Loneliness is something that came with the fall.

If loving other people is a bit of heaven then certainly isolation is a big of hell, and to that degree, here on earth, we decide in which state we would like to live.

Rick told me, a little later, I should be living in community. He said I should have people around bugging me and getting under my skin because without people I could not grow - I could not grow in God, and I could not grow as a human. We are born into families, he said, and we are needy at first as children because God wants us together, living among one another, not hiding ourselves under logs like fungus. You are not a fungus, he told me, you are a human, and you need other people in your life in order to be healthy.

-Donald Miller

Blue Like Jazz

Calvin

After spending the last four days sitting on my bed watching Jenna Marbles and Pinterest-ing (#newverb), I'm starting to fidget. Yes, classes have started. Yes, I have assignments to put in my agenda. (Color-coded, no less...I got new highlighters this year and was really excited to put them to good use.) Yes, I could work ahead for my homework that's due Monday.

But I don't have much homework; if I do it now, I won't have any to procrastinate this weekend. And I already put all my assignments in my agenda. (And put my highlighters to good use.) And I'm already caught up on all my homework that's due tomorrow, which is NONE. I'm even ahead of the ballgame: I worked out tonight. I've been on campus for less than a week and I've already been to the gym twice.

And ran. On a treadmill. For seven minutes. Stop your judgment: this is a big deal for the child who runs for NO MAN.

I've been sentimental, I've caught up with old friends, I've already made a few new ones, I've completely set up my room, I've Skyped with Linus and everything is right with the world. Now I'm ready to get busy. With only thirteen credits on my schedule (all of which, including the subsequent homework, will end at the end of October when I start working in a school), I have a lot of free time on my hands. So what do I do? So far, I've occupied myself right here where I sit now: on my bed, on YouTube, on Pinterest. What a life. But while there's a time and a place for that, that's NOT how I want to say I spent my senior year. This is the year that I become involved, get outside my dorm room, and see what this campus has to offer.

In the winter and spring I'm auditioning for the plays, but I can't sit around here and wait for those to come. I want to get my ass in shape again in Zumba. I want to see what this whole discipleship group thing is all about. (One of my friends is actually starting one with the book Radical, all you ladies should join, it's gonna be pretty swish.) I've always wanted to take a theatre class, and there's one offered this semester focusing on dialects, which I LOVE. (I just emailed the prof to see if there's still space, I'll let you know what she says.) I realized that, for a potential teacher, I really don't have much interaction with younger kids, so I'm thinking about getting involved in AWANA at a church downtown. I told my sister I'd host a Bingo night with her in the Student Center. Last week I applied for yet another job.

It's not because I feel guilty - for a while I felt really guilty not doing anything. It's just because I'm so damn BORED. If I really sit down and think about it (which I've had ample time to do), this is prolly the last year I have until I wheel myself into that retirement home when I have the choice to be active in things. I can choose to do things instead of being roped into them by my kids, my job, my husband, my whatever. And I should be taking advantage of every minute! It's really a miracle that I've caught myself at this point instead of in mid-November when it's too late. I know there's the potential to get so caught up in things that I start to feel overwhelmed, but honestly I'd rather have next summer be a sigh of relief instead of a continuation of the same.

Tomorrow night on campus is the big kick-off party (dear students, ya'll should come - it's gonna be great), tag-teamed with an Involvement Fair, where all the organizations on campus and from local areas come to sell their wares and get you, in an obvious word, involved. So it's a prime opportunity for a young person, bored out of her frickin' mind, to figure out what opportunities are available to get busy and do something with her life. I'm ready to start working with people and learn outside of a classroom setting and not sit around on my ass doing absolutely nothing.

Because really: who wants to waste their last year of freedom?

~

 

A thought for today:

 

I believe that the greatest trick of the devil is not to get us into some sort of evil but rather have us wasting time. This is why the devil tries so hard to get Christians to be religious. If he can sink a man's mind into habit, he will prevent his heart from engaging God. I was into that habit. I grew up going to church, so I got used to hearing about God. He was like Uncle Harry or Aunt Sally except we didn't have pictures.

-Donald Miller

Blue Like Jazz

 

UPDATE:

The dialects class is a go! I was looking through some of the notes online, and there's a section for South African.

 

This is about to be all kinds of epic.



Superman

Sometimes you can't get a good idea of what you're doing until you just welcome the inevitable and have yourself a good cry.

Or two.

I saw a quote on Pinterest (my Internet addiction. Along with Candy Crush) that said salt water cures everything - be it sweat, tears, or the sea. And it's seriously true. What do you do if you're feeling just pissed off at the world? Go work out super hard. What do you do if the weight of the world is crashing down on you? Pour it out on a welcoming shoulder. What do you do if you need a break from it all? Go to the frickin' beach.

Pinterest quote validated.

Today was considerably better than yesterday. For the first time in several months, I had the chance to sit in my room and write/watch Jenna Marbles videos/play Candy Crush. I've had those opportunities all summer, but today was different because of the considerable lack of other things to do. To coin a phrase that my mother decided to hang over my head sometime in my late high school years when I thought playing the piano was more important than AP Government homework (which, of course, it is), I "have the freedom" to sit on Pinterest for hours if I want to.

Tomorrow will be different strictly because I'm Pinterest-ed out and I need to get out of my dorm room. I'm thinking about crashing under a tree somewhere with a book I need to finish.

I did meet some of the girls in my unit today, and they're all very nice - good unit sisters. I also had the chance to catch up with some friends from previous years, including some high school buddies that I haven't talked to in for-absolutely-ever. Which was grand. :)

I told my sister earlier that I forget how many friends I do still have on campus. It's just different to look across the room and see a stranger where my best friend used to be. But different isn't always bad, and while these past two days have been really difficult, tomorrow will be better. Actually, once classes get started and we don't just have all this ridiculous free time to sit around and do nothing, that will be better. But that day isn't until Wednesday, and I refuse to mope inside for two more days. I just won't do it. Plus the weather has been beautiful and I need this last-minute scrounge for Vitamin D.

~

 

In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.

-Albert Schweitzer





Night

A lull. For the first time this summer, I've actually got time to sit and write. No deadlines looming over my head, no wedding music to prepare, no packing to worry about. Because all the packing is done. All the deadlines have been met. And the wedding, as I've mentioned before, went off without a hitch.

Summer's over. And I'm sitting in my half-decorated room wondering what the hell this year holds for me. And from where I'm sitting....I'm not sure.

The classes aren't the problem: with thirteen credits, this is the lightest that my load's been since I was a freshman. I actually applied for a second job - that's just how much time I've got. But as I moaned in my last entry, a good number of my friends have graduated. And while I've put on the happy face all day - the "oh, I'll figure something out, I've got this whole thing covered" face - it didn't help me when I was sitting in the back of my parents' car on the way back from dinner, biting my lip and staring out the window to hold back the tears.

It won't be the same. It will be very, very different. And I might just have to get used to that.

I read a book once that dealt a lot with the moving-on of life, the having to say goodbye and press forward in a different fashion. And there was a story that was told by one of the characters to another. It goes something like this:

There used to be a lake close to our house. We loved it when the summertime rolled around; we would spend hours on the water, swimming, splashing around, floating, going around in a little raft. One time, this flock of ducks came and landed on the lake. And while they were still sitting there, the temperate dropped so fast that the lake froze, right then and there. But you shouldn't feel sad - those ducks flew off and took that lake with them. I hear now it's somewhere over in Georgia.

There really isn't any moral to that story; there's no lesson to be learned, no tidbit to be shared. But somehow it makes me feel better to see it again. So things happen. Sometimes you're going along, minding your own business, and all of a sudden you're stuck in a frozen lake.

The question is, what are you going to do with it?

I don't quite know how I'll tackle this frozen lake yet. I'm actually asking for some major prayers, if that's your thing, because tonight my heart is melancholy and I don't feel like putting up the happy face. But I ask for a curiosity, an eagerness to see what lies ahead of me in my senior year of college - my last little bit of freedom before the harsh reality of adulthood sets in with its taxes and its ridiculous medical examinations. I ask for bravery to face the trials that I will encounter, and strength enough to pull forward myself and the others around me.

And yes: that was a horrendously-written last sentence. But when you've written twenty-six pages in a week-and-a-half, you're really entitled to make as many grammatical faux pas as you damn well please.

Uniformity

My heart is busy tonight. With a week left of summer break, the reality of this year is fast approaching, and, from where I stand now, I am not ready. I've managed to narrow my summer work left to do down to a final exam and five pages in a paper, but then what about packing? And work? And the inevitable multitude of other things that I will be commissioned to do?

Not to mention this is the year I've been dreading since freshman year, when my roommate of three years and my best friends - the circle of people with whom I fit best for the whole of my college career up to this point - are gone. It really hit home over the wedding weekend (I road-tripped to Maryland with three college buddies for the first wedding of our little group) that the phase of my life with which I found the most comfort and stability is over. Now this year is looming ahead of me with a vast expanse of new experiences, new people, new places for me to get involved. I have one year left - isn't this supposed to be the time when I have everything set? I feel like a senior citizen having to be hip and likeable all over again, I thought that was what freshman year was for. Now I'm starting over and rebuilding that core group of friends since half of them have moved on to bigger and better things - grad school...employment...parents' basements... I know that now is the time to "be brave, young pup," because people are looking to me as "that senior," like the ones that I so admired last year. But am I ready to take on such responsibility? Am I really worthy to be "that senior?"

I think back to senior year of high school when I sorta rolled into the position of "having it all figured out" quite comfortably: I knew who and what I was, I was happy, I was confident in my strengths and flaws. And this summer has been really helpful in getting me back to that point, only this time as an adult and (hopefully) longer-lasting.  My ever-present weight battle is back to a happy compromise. I sat in English pubs and coffee shops (which, by the way, I located and travelled to solo) and was treated like a local (or at least ignored like one). I am realizing (about forty-six years too late) that I am better than I think I am. I am strong, in-all-ways-except-financially independent, smart, talented.

And may I venture to say that I'm happy? For those of you who have kept up with my blog for a while, you'll see that this is not always the case.

When I look at it this way, I get excited to get back to school and see how I will handle it all. My dad has always encouraged me to approach life with an unquenchable curiosity and enthusiasm, and when I look at my senior year of college like that, I don't feel nearly as afraid as I sometimes do.

And when enthusiasm doesn't work, a good solid "shit-not-given" goes a really long way. :)

Cheer up, kid. You're gonna be fine.

Hubbub

Today I’m staying close to the dorm after two days of cross-country travelling. We went to Oxford on Thursday to see C.S. Lewis-related stuff for the Calhoun students (I was geeking out the whole time like “Terry Jones was here!!!!”), which, I’m sorry to say, wasn't my favorite part of the trip. We saw some really cool stuff, let me say that: I was standing with my head lolled back contemplating cathedral ceilings for about half of it. But I don’t know/appreciate enough about C.S. Lewis to have my life made complete by walking up the steps to his office building at Magdalen College or eating at the pub where he got together with the Inklings. (Although it was excellent – a chicken and mushroom pie filled me up for the second time on this trip.) It was cool to see the college and the town and all, but I feel like I should have been more excited than I actually was. Or at least about the right stuff, like Lewis’ house instead of this awesome bookstore across from King’s College.

I got my souvenir, by the way – a book from the afore-said bookstore. The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollope. I stayed up until about three the other night watching the four-hour BBC adaptation and absolutely fell in love with the story. I saw the buy-one-get-one-free copy at Blackwell’s and considered it fate.

Yesterday a friend and I planned to go back to London to see “The Taming of the Shrew” at the Globe, which meant catching a bus at 7.15 in the morning. On Thursday night I set my alarm at 5.15 just to make sure I had plenty of time, showered before I went to bed, and settled into so deep a sleep that I was dead to the world until my friend called me at 6.53 to see it I was coming. Ten minutes later I was downstairs, makeup and contacts shoved in my purse, and at 7.13 we were sitting on the bus, ready for the three-hour trek.

We were both starving when we arrived since neither of us had eaten breakfast, so we grabbed a muffin and coffee from Starbucks and sat on a ledge outside a dentist’s office, just watching the world go by.

(And what an interesting world it is too: when they say “it takes all kinds,” they mean it.)

We still had a few hours before the show, but we still had to navigate the Tube, so we bought day passes and successfully figured out which trains to take and how we would get back.

When we went to the Globe a few weeks ago, we passed this open-air market underneath a bridge, and being the open-market fan I am, I asked if we could go there.

Such places are really the crossroads of the world. They had everything: fresh fruits and vegetables, traditional English fare, freshly-made sangria, exotic meats (kangaroo meatballs and ostrich steaks, namely), fantastic-smelling fish, this Spanish stew with rice and seafood (it was beautiful) – all amid people from all walks of life, crammed together underneath a bridge in an obscure section of London. I get such a kick out of stuff like that. J

We kept going toward the Globe, grabbed lunch, and sat on a bench by the Thames until we discovered the free Wi Fi in the Globe and camped out there until the show started.

While we were waiting, I talked to an older gentleman about the theatre and Shakespeare and all. He was a patron of the theatre and really had been before the Globe was actually built in the 90s. He said that side of the river had been all warehouses for a long time, and the theatre has brought new life to the area. So cool to learn local history from actual locals. J

The production was totally different from what I thought it would. (All this exposure to Shakespeare is teaching me that his plays don’t have to be the puffy-sleeved, breeches-clad productions that you usually see: there’s such a wide range of artistic interpretations that can be done.) This was an all-female cast of about eight, so there was much switching around – “I’m this character who wears this and does this accent, but I’m also this character in this totally different persona.” It was quick, very diverse costume-wise (Grumio was in a 1930s pilot’s jumpsuit, and Gremio was in an all-white golf outfit – sweater, trousers, cap), full of random but awesome songs, and one of my favorite shows we’ve seen.

Our bus arrived back at Cheltenham around 9, and at that point we hadn’t eaten since about 11.45 that morning. So we feasted on frozen pizza, garlic bread, vegetables, and Coke, talking in our little kitchen with two other girls until nearly midnight.

We traveled a lot for one thing. I stood up during the show, so I was a little sore this morning. The day started a little crazy and ended with me passing out from exhaustion at the end. (Not literally, Ma.) But it was the best way to spend my last travel day here. The rest of the time will be spent wrapping up another section of homework for an essay and exam on Monday, packing, laundry, etc. Today there’s a farmer’s market downtown, so a friend and I are going there to try meat pies for lunch. But yesterday will stand out in my memory as my last hoorah of the trip. We were independent, smart, safe, and, above all, having a blast.

There may be one or two more blog entries about the scenery or what I’ve learned, but this will prolly be the last one I write here since the rest of the weekend will be spent working and we go home on Tuesday. If you’ve been keeping up with my escapades over the past few weeks, thank you so much for reading – I’ve enjoyed writing for you. : )

Orono

This morning started with breakfast and studying at a small coffee shop downtown, then a little bit of wandering around the shops, picking up a few things, being very independent and grown-up. Oh, and for those of you wondering about my sanity: I found a piano and was able to play for a minute. I think that'll hold me over until I get home next week. : )

At dinner a few of us were talking about going home. It'll be the same as it was before we left, we all know that. But it'll be a little different now that we've seen somewhere else. I for one am realizing (yet again) that the world is so much bigger than I imagine when all I do at home is go back and forth between home in a small town and school in a small town. There are people all over the world doing things and going places and meeting other people who are doing things and going places. If you think about it, life on this side of the world isn't much different from the side that I come from. Sure, there are little things: the roads are different and the money is a little more complicated and there are words like "kerfuffle." But yesterday I saw a mom eating breakfast with her daughter while another woman scarfed down a scone in her hurry to get to church on time. People go to the grocery store, pay their bills, do their jobs, read books on benches, wonder and dream and think about life. People all over are just trying to keep it together, raise their families, come out on top. I'm a long way from home on a very large globe, but the world isn't really as big as I think it is.

Also at dinner I was watching us sitting around and talking. There were four of the normal six who cook together at the dorm and enjoy a few hours in between classes and doing homework, and usually we'll sit around and talk for most of it. We're all part of the same school doing mostly the same thing over here, but while I'm learning about this new culture over here, I'm also getting to know the people that I get to travel with. Who are in their turn not all that different from me either. We have our dreams, our fears, our wonderings, our questions, our things that we get excited over; and each one of us is dying to share if we can just get a word in. Because we're international, our cell phones don't work, and the internet here is wireless so our computers stay mostly at our desks hooked up to the wall by a very short cable. Which means that we're actually looking at each other while we're talking. Not once did someone snort at something they'd read on their phones; at no point did one of us say, "Hang on, let me respond to so-and-so." We were sitting around a small table, in the here and now, talking and laughing about the thing we were talking about right then.

And it was awesome.

How often do I really get the chance to do that? I've already talked to a couple friends about getting together for a meal when I get home (if you're one of them, just know that I'm REALLY excited about it :D ), but those moments are usually few and far between. We have a no-cell-phones-at-the-table rule at my house, but when I eat dinner with my friends at school, when I'm riding in the car with my mom, when I'm standing around the kitchen with my brother - when do I really put down my phone, completely disconnect from CyberSpace, and focus on the flesh-and-blood people in front of me for a change? And when I finally do, why don't I recognize the awesome-ness of it and do it even more? Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm a fifteen-year-old boy who sits in the back seat and grunts in answer to questions while I'm texting somebody (.....although I do get pretty into Candy Crush when I play it). But there are so many times when I'm going somewhere with my mom and I'll be checking my Twitter while she's driving. Or I'll have my phone on the table ready to answer any texts or calls right away (not that I'm getting any, but it's there just in case I ever do). I get so focused on not missing out on what's happening online that I completely ignore the person who's sitting right in front of me.

I've been thinking a lot about what I'll take away from this trip when I head back home, and, though it's not English or literature-related, I think that disconnect will be a major thing: put down the phone and listen to somebody alive for a while.

And also, don't settle for cheap cereal. Because you'll prolly wind up with some Fiber Flakes pish and that's just no fun at all.

Wrinkles

Waking up (too early) on another beautiful day in England. Since I've officially run out of cereal in my room, I'm going down to a coffee shop for breakfast and to camp out doing homework basically all day. But I wanted to give a quick update before I sell my soul to fourteenth-century British literature.

Yesterday was, in a nutshell, a whirlwind. The trip has been organized so that if we want to go somewhere apart from the rest of the group, it's up to us to find transportation, things to do, places to eat, etc. That's a huge step in my independence, as most of my travelling has been with my family with my dad leading the way with his internal pilot GPS. But when it was suggested that we go to Bath for the day, we were responsible to figure out the train system, buy tickets, make the right connections, and remember where the train station was.

All of which we did pretty well. Win.

We left Saturday morning around 8.30 and walked (forever) to the train station, then successfully navigated the stations and switches to downtown Bath. It's an old spa town with Roman baths where people used to vacation and "take the waters" because of its health benefits. The Romans have gone but they've left a heavy Italian influence, so I had to pinch myself and remember that all of that beautiful architecture, gelato, and legit pizza was in the middle of England - we were nowhere near Italia.

It was about 11.30 when we got there, and the general agreement was that we search out FOOD. Because we are cheap (and very American), we checked out a pizza place and split two pizzas and some of the best garlic bread I've ever had. From there we hiked up to the Jane Austen museum. Darling Jane spent some time there in her youth, loved it, and actually set a few of her novels there (don't ask me to say which one because I haven't read any, I was with a lot of Austen fans and they were all geeking out over it).

Let me refer to a much older entry for a moment. I love literature. Like, LOVE IT. I will forego dinner if it means spending money on another book. And I'm alright with romances - I enjoy a good chick flick every now and then, and I've spent way too much of my lifetime watching "Say Yes to the Dress" and pinning wedding ideas on my Pinterest. But I despise....that doesn't even cover it: I abhor, detest, loathe, abominate, scorn Jane Austen's writing. I had to read Pride and Prejudice for a class, and literally it was the longest and most boring endeavor of my life. I don't have time to read about how Lady So-and-so and Mrs. So-and-so walked from this room into that one, then spent the next eighty pages in this room talking about men and money. I understand that this is a huge mark against my womanhood that I prefer Dickens to Austen, but I really don't get the warm fuzzy feeling that a lot of my friends have for Jane. I'm sure there's something to be admired in her back story, that she overcome horrible gender oppression to become this popular writer (yeah, after she died), that she's an inspiration to the hopeless romantic in all (most) of us. But I have completely missed the boat. I'll take a good comedy (Wonder Boys), adventure (Captains Courageous), romance (I appreciate Anna Karenina because it doesn't have a happy ending, it's more realistic - affairs tear families apart, that's just how it works). But I hate that description-driven, long-winded, have-some-tea-in-the-parlor-for-40-a-year nonsense.

All that to say, the museum was really cool, and we got to dress up in period clothing at the end of it. Because there should never be a point when anyone says, "I'm too old to dress up in a ridiculous costume."

This whole trip I've been dying for a milkshake (milkshakes and Reuben sandwiches are my go-to...oddly enough), so we hiked back down to the main part of Bath and drank milkshakes (actually a "gelatashake" make with gelato. Mine was tiramisu. And it made my heart sing) across from this big open square in front of a cathedral, where street musicians were performing. There was one lady singing opera a capella. To hear her voice reverberating off the walls of this massive cathedral, and to see a square full of tourists and locals sitting and listening to her...it was incredible, and I seriously could have sat there all day.

Except everyone else said "let's go look at this other Austen-related thing" and off we went again to this huge circle of apartments. Someone in a Jane Austen book ran up and down this road looking for her love, so of course we had to go see it. (My friend asked me, "So...we're going to look at a road?" For the sake of stinkin' Jane, of course we are!!) The circle was actually awesome, there was this massive grassy area in the center with trees literally as big around as a tractor-trailer. My friend and I sat looking out over this huge lawn while everybody else walked around the circle, then we sat for a while longer while half of them went to a fashion museum and the rest of us said, "No, that's alright, I'd rather not spend my money on seeing something else I hate."

.....Maybe that was just me but I may speak for some of their thoughts.

It was going on 5pm so we decided to wish Bath farewell and head back to Cheltenham. We all survived another trip on the trains and a hike back to the dorm. I think we're all pretty much unscathed, except I'm sporting a beautiful sunburn on my chest with a white stripe where my purse strap sat all day. (Ma, it doesn't hurt, it just looks bad.)

I have an exam to take tomorrow so the rest of the day will be spent reading and writing in preparation for that. Happy Sunday to my readers, love to my family, and hopefully I'll talk to some of you soon!

Bronchitis

DISCLAIMER: I don't actually have bronchitis - it just seemed to be the word of the day today.

Can you say "whirlwind." It was actually kinda nice after a few days of downtime, classes, and walking around. This morning at 10.30 we were told to meet outside our dorm and board a bus, which would take us the hour-and-a-half to Stratford-upon-Avon.

A.K.A. Bill Shakespeare's stomping grounds.

We stopped at Anne Hathaway's famous thatch-roofed cottage. No, not that Anne Hathaway, not the one that "dreamed a dream." This was also the name of Shakespeare's first wife, and her family home still stands, mostly unchanged from its original construction (minus the room additions and huge garden put in front of it).

A brief note about the British museum association: In America, most historical sites are supplemented by tacky photo ops, those machines that squish pennies for you, and gift shops. Mind you, there are a ton of gift shops here as well, but someone in charge of the British historical locations believes that the best way to add a little flair to an old dusty house or monument is to throw a garden in front of it. "Here's William Shakespeare's birthplace- Oh, and have you noticed the sprawling gardens?"

I digress.

We were cautioned not to eat a heavy lunch since we had early dinner plans in downtown Stratford, so after eating our meager granola bars and sandwiches (garnished with a ridiculously-spicy mustard - people who talk about bland English fare have apparently never had their sinuses evacuated by the mustard), we got back on the bus and drove a little farther to the Holy Trinity Church, where William Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway are buried.

Let me ramble for a second. If you've never read Ken Follet's Pillars of the Earth or Worlds Without End, or never seen the TV drama versions, you need to. Pillars of the Earth - the first in the series but the one I watched most recently - focuses on the building of a cathedral in a small English village. It covers all areas of life during the 1100s: the clergy, royalty, merchants, builders, politics - seriously, everything. Raw? Yes. Intense? Most definitely. But if you can get past all that - or even if you want to avoid the story altogether - watch the parts where they're building the cathedrals, or talking about the logistics involved. At one point, the master builder explains his beliefs to the priest he's building for:

A cathedral is God's anteroom. It's halfway to heaven.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I watched the series in awe of the masons, the men who dedicated their very existence to creating these symphonies of stone. There was no promise of them every being finished: though it was prevented by raids and disease and poverty and scant employment, the Kingsbridge cathedral ended up taking thirty or forty years to build. But they worked anyway. They spent the whole of their days, their years, sometimes their lives constructing these monuments, many of which remain to this day.

 

As I stood in the chancel of the Holy Trinity Church, I looked at the very stones that held the walls together, the statues that looked as if they would get up and speak to you, the details on the ceiling tiles that were each handcrafted and unique. I couldn't help but think that this - this dedication to building a cathedral you may never see finished for a God that you've never seen in person and, in many cases, may not have seen His Hand at work - the building of these cathedrals was and is the highest form of worship and reverence in human history.

 

Seriously gave me chills to stand in there. Again, if you haven't interacted with Pillars in some way, do it - time well-spent.

 

After we left the Church, we were able to spend a few hours doing basically whatever we wanted around Stratford. Most of our group spread out to find shops, food, and souvenirs; but my friend and I found ourselves standing in front of the birthplace (like, original building) of William Shakespeare. After a little prodding regarding finances, we both went in, and it was considered an afternoon well-spent. When we exited the house (once again, into the garden), there were three workers dressed in period costumes, and we sat for half an hour watching them perform selections from Shakespeare's works.

 

By request.

 

Like, "Do you know Twelfth Night, why yes I do, let me start here."

 

As I said: an afternoon well-spent.

 

At 430 we were corralled for our first English high tea, which was fantastic. Sandwiches (smoked salmon is interested, yet glorious), scones with clotted cream and jam (I was told that I ate it the "right way" because I put on the cream after I put on the jam - I felt so legit), and little slices of what looked like raisin bread but were actually cakes. And, of course, tea.

 

It was a good thing we were warned not to eat a lot beforehand. It doesn't sound like a lot, but we were all stuffed afterwards.

 

The evening ended with a performance of "Hamlet" at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre Company. I swear, I've seen the most (and best) theatrical performances of my life in about a week - that doesn't normally happen but I'm so glad it's happening now! It was set in maybe the 1960s or 1970s, and it was seriously so well-done. I can't even begin to describe it, this entry would go on longer than it already is.

 

So here I am back at the room, really tired but like a "today was full and awesome" tired. Tomorrow is a homework day, because on Saturday we're heading to Bath to "take the waters." (Actually we were warned not to take the waters there anymore, so we're just going to look at Jane Austen stuff inside. Huzzah Jane.) A pip-pip-cheerio to all you back in the States, much love to my family, and hopefully I'll be able to post more when something else awesome happens. : )





 

Attempt

I don't typically write poetry. I tried it a while ago, but it all sounded stupid, so I gave it up. But this hit me a little while ago, since I've been thinking about this a lot. There's no England update today, so I thought I'd post this instead.

Oh, by the way, there's no title to it. I've found that picking a title for a piece is twice as hard as actually writing the thing.

You're doing it again.
That thing that I always hate -
When you creep into my head
And take up all the space I could be using for something else,
Something more productive,
Something less silly.

Sometimes it's the laugh I haven't heard,
Sometimes it's the smile I haven't seen,
Sometimes it's the way your fingers will link with mine.
But whatever it is -
Whenever it is -
It still unearths the same question:
Who are you?

I wonder if I've met you.
I may have known you forever and not known who you were -
What you would mean.
Or maybe you're still waiting,
Trapped in the page of the story that I haven't read yet.
In my head I imagine
What I will say when I realize
I've finally met you as you.
Probably something stupid - I usually do.

But probably I will just hold your hand,
Put my head against your shoulder.
It will be such a comfort to know you've found me.
But for now, I still sit and wonder,
Comparing everything to that thing a long time ago.
Don't judge me for that:
It seemed great at the time.

Will you watch happy movies and not find it weird when they make me cry?

Will you admit that the way I load the dishwasher is better?

Will you cry when our kids are born
And appease my late-night cravings for sandwiches?

What will make you happy?
What will make you sad?
What will make me rub your back and tell you that tomorrow is another chance?
Will you let me say that I'm terrified
Of the future - it has so many grottos and hollows
For tragedy and pain to hide.

Will you let me give up the biggest brownie,
The last slice of pizza,
The comfiest pillow in the house,
The first place in a line -
Just because I'm tickled to death
To have someone to share all that with?

Will you keep arguing with me even when I shut up?
That's the only way that we'll keep going, you know.

My world is full of mysteries right now.
I don't pretend to have everything figured out
And I won't act like it doesn't scare me.
But as far as you're concerned,
Know that I think about you a lot.
And I can't wait to meet you.

Whoever you are.

Nix the Days

I don't actually know if I should be writing, as I'm not exactly coherent. I'm currently sitting on top of my desk listening to Billy Connolly, and I'm seriously more tired than I have any right to be - today was the lightest day we've had so far. I've also lost count of what day we're on, and I don't feel like going back over and fixing the entries that I've titled wrong (...ly). So we're ditching the day numbers, combining two days, hopefully catching up on writing, and halting my lazy streak.

....Hopefully.

Friday was another orientation day, and after our two-hour session we were allowed to walk back to the dorm through the town of Cheltenham. First off, it was a BEAUTIFUL day: the sun was shining pretty enthusiastically for the first time since we'd arrived, and it was around 70 degrees.

PAUSE: We were taught to Celsius to Fahrenheit ratio. If you want to convert C to F, you take the C and divide it by 5, then multiply that number by 9 and add 32. Example: 15*C divided by 5 is 3, times 9 is 27, plus 32 is 59*F. Just in case you were curious.

Anyway.

The other bonus of Friday was that it was the once-every-fortnight (fourteen days - another English thing we've picked up) open farmers market in the middle of the promenade. There was one point when we were approaching a fruit stand and I could smell the fresh fruit before I saw what it was. HOLY COW.

The rest of Friday was spent just poking around Cheltenham: taking advantage of the free Wi-Fi in Starbucks, getting used to looking the opposite direction than the American way when we cross the street, getting sausage and mash for lunch for less than a pound, checking out the incredible three-story bookstore, picking up enough food to feed six people seven meals for less than 20 pounds. In theory we would work on homework last night to give us some time to travel and explore during the weekend, but I wound up Skyping my family and my roommate for almost four hours. Which was still pretty grand. : )

We were instructed by our professor to get out of the dorm and see things this weekend, but we started freaking out about how much homework we're facing down and how we couldn't plan a trip anymore in only a few hours to be ready to leave by this morning. So three of us chose the best of both worlds and took homework into town, starting at a small coffee shop for an English breakfast. I got black coffee, a scone, and clotted cream and jam.

It literally made me want to sing. I have never tasted anything like the cream before, and it was fantastic - combine the texture of melted cheese and whipped spread (a.k.a. fake butter), and that was the consistency of this thick cream. And the coffee was so rich on its own without any kind of added flavoring. It was, I venture to say, a beautiful breakfast.

In the middle of High Street (a major shopping street downtown), there's this awkward triangle area with a fountain next to a Starbucks. This was decided to be our study hub, and we camped out there for a few hours to do homework, get a little sunshine, watch the people, and hack the Starbucks' free internet. We went back to the dorm after a little while to do laundry and presumably get more homework done (guess how that worked out), then grabbed some really interesting smoothies for dinner. Mine had oatmeal, a banana, honey, and cinnamon. Interesting texture, but surprisingly filling and wonderful.

At 6.15 we headed out again, this time heading for one of the coolest theatres I've ever been in for its closing performance of "Beauty and the Beast." I've seen it twice before in small local theatres, and another girl with me had seen it on Broadway. But we all agreed that it was well worth the 15 pounds for nose-bleed seats. My gauge is tears: if I cry during a show, whether it be "oh my word, that's so sad" tears or "oh my word, that's so awesome" tears, it's done its job.

I cried a couple times. Mission accomplished.

When we were leaving, I realized that this was one of those rare unplanned moments that will stand out as a highlight of the trip. This morning we didn't even know that the show was being performed - we just noticed it as we were walking past the theatre after breakfast. And we debated whether or not we wanted to pay 15 pounds for a seat of a show that could be hit or miss, judging how some community theatres go. But we figured that we didn't have anything else to do for the rest of the day, it was relatively cheap for a ticket, and it was less than we were told it would be. And I realized also that if we had super-quick whipped a trip together, been gone this morning, and probably straggled back later all frustrated that we didn't plan far enough ahead of time, we completely would have missed it! Tonight was the closing performance - we wouldn't have had another opportunity to see it! It was so worth it: I would definitely count it as a highlight of the trip so far!

Tomorrow is another sit-around-and-maybe-think-up-something-to-do-but-probably-sit-around-and-do-homework day. I'm looking forward to my first official day to sleep in, and if it's open I might head downtown to a music shop where I saw a "sheet music for one pound" sign.

Because there's no such thing as too much sheet music. : )

Day 5 - Catching Up (Cheltenham Edition)

A free day in Cheltenham, so I'll try to post a few different entries about the past few days.

On Thursday we were supposed to leave the hostel at noon exactly. Some of our group decided to go fit in a little bit of sight-seeing before we left, but the rest of us took the opportunity to sleep in and take our time getting ready for the day. Around 10.30 a few of us went downstairs to grab breakfast, only to discover that the hostel wanted us out of our rooms by 11. With only four of the ten inhabitants of our room in the hostel (everybody else had gone out, thinking they had that extra hour to pack and clean up), we ran back upstairs and did a whirlwind through the room, dragging luggage down the four flights of tiny little stairs, hauling sheets and towels off beds to be taken downstairs, grabbing the other people's things and taking them loose downstairs to be distributed later.

At exactly 11, we were out and sitting in the lobby playing cards.

An hour later, our bus arrived, and we rode the two-and-a-half hours to Cheltenham.

A word about the English countryside, because we saw a lot of it. A lot of the time, it's gray - yesterday was the first day that it didn't rain. But it's not a nasty, dreary, Ohio gray. The rain makes the flowers incredible - they're so full and pretty. The grass and trees are this lush green, and the sprawling fields of color are such a huge part of the landscape that it really doesn't make you depressed that it's cloudy or rainy.

 

When we arrived in Cheltenham, we dumped our stuff in our room and had a little orientation with our English contacts who have been so helpful in getting us settled, making sure we're in the right place, and teaching us a little about English customs and culture. They gave us a little while to chill, then took us to a specifically-English dinner, as was requested by one of our profs. It was at a little place called the Carvery, and basically it's just a buffet with meat, vegetables, and Yorkshire pudding.

 

Let me just say that it was the first time on the trip that we were full. : )

 

Wednesday night was the first chance I got to Skype my family, which was fantastic. I keep thinking about my sister through all of this - it's the first time in a long time that I've travelled without her, and I wish she could see all of it, she would absolutely love it. But I got to tell her all about what was going on, she caught me up on everything happening at home, and that was so good to do. : )



Day 4 - Catching Up (London Edition)

Yes. I know. My daily blog has been a "I'm gonna write once and leave everybody hanging" thing. I'm so sorry. Mea culpa.

BUT.

I've had very good reason to not write as we've been running for the past two days, and this is the first chance I've really had to chill. Since Tuesday we've seen a bit, travelled a little, and walked a ton. But for now, the London highlights. (I'm splitting up the past few days into two entries because it could get a bit lengthy.)

Wednesday was by far the coolest day I've had on the trip. Maybe, actually, ever. We left our hostel around 10, bought day passes for the Tube (which, by the way, we successfully maneuvered. #win), and made our way down to the Thames to the famous GLOBE THEATRE!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes, I realize that it's not the same one that Shakespeare worked with - that one burned down quite some time ago. But nonetheless....still awesome. The whole group saw "A Midsummer Night's Dream" in the afternoon, and it was INCREDIBLE. I'd never read or seen in before, so to see it live on the stage of the Globe was seriously the chance of a lifetime.

For those of you who have never seen the interior of the Globe, photos or otherwise, it's a circular theatre with seats all around the outside and a huge open area in the middle (which has no roof...we were thankful to have seats for the afternoon show as it poured down rain on the poor souls in the middle). Way back when, the middle- and upper-class would have sat in the three levels of seats, and the poor people would have paid their penny to stand in the center. Near the stage is a prime place to stand as you can lean against it - standing for three hours on a hard ground is a little taxing on the lower back - but we were warned by our tour guide that this opportune place comes with a price: the nearer you are to the stage, the more you're fair game for the actors. Example: in the evening we stood through "The Tempest," and at one point a character says something about eating his dinner. The actor grabbed a cup of beer from one of the nearby audience members, drank some of it, spat it out over the audience, and threw the cup of beer along with it. Another watcher got red paint all over his clothes when the same actor ran into him on his way of the theatre. So we stayed well near the middle and away from the stairs leading from the stage. A little sore, but at least not wet.

 

We grabbed a cheap pizza dinner between shows-

STOP. I know what you're thinking: "you go all the way to England and eat pizza." But before you scoff at our unwillingness to try new things, let me explain. In England (maybe not all England, but at this place at least), unless you explicitly ask for cheese on your pizza, you won't get any. We ordered one pizza with cheese (three different types, and none of this bagged mozzarella pish. Think creamy, fresh, wonderful cheese slathered on a crust) and another with four toppings in four different sections, and the only piece on that one that had cheese was the one that advertised having cheese. The others were just straight-up toppings on sauce and crust.

Wonky.

After dinner we booked it back over to the Globe for "The Tempest," which was pretty good but I didn't like it as much as the first show. To be honest (and probably to the chagrin of my English teachers) I didn't really understand most of the plot - I got the broad gist, but the details were a little fuzzy. But the costumes and effects were incredible, especially considering the simple set-up of the theatre. And one of my professors explained later that this play was Shakespeare's "farewell" to the stage somewhat; it was the last play that he wrote solo. Once we understood that, the final speech of the main character, the magician Prospero, became so much more impressive: Shakespeare was essentially giving up his art because he realized the power of his works over the common people, and he wondered if perhaps he had more power (potentially more dangerous power) than he should have. So cool, and a little chilling to think back about it.

It was about 10.30 by the time we finally got out of the Globe, and we successfully found our way back to the hostel via the Tube. We were all so exhausted that we went straight to bed, since we had another long day the next day, when we would leave London and head to Cheltenham.

And this, dear friends, is where I pause in this entry and go grab dinner. The next entry will pick up on our whirlwind exit of the hostel and our journey to the university in Cheltenham. Stay tuned - it's gonna be good. : )

Day 1 - Under the Union Jack

A lull. For the first time in twenty-four hours (I think....I can't remember anymore), I'm sitting. Not with somewhere else to go, not with something to worry about. Just sitting. In my pajamas. Nice and clean. On a hostel bed.

In London.

Today and yesterday have been on the longest combined days I've spent in a very long time. Monday morning we left our house around 10.30 to get to airport two-and-a-half hours before my departure. After a frantic "we might not make the early flight but we might if we run," we made it onto the early flight from Chicago to London. Nights on a plane being what they are, I am currently running on about two full hours of sleep. But that made no difference when we were dumped off at our hostel this morning around 10 and told to go explore.



So with no more guidance or direction than that....we went exploring.

You could really look at our day in two ways. First, you can argue that it was a really crappy first day. And you'd be perfectly justified. For one thing, the weather was ready to beat us when we arrived at the hostel this morning. It started raining around eleven and had just stopped when we got back around four this afternoon. This wasn't too promising when we yanked out our maps time and time again, only to have them completely fall apart under the freezing-cold rain. And though London doesn't seem that big, it can be fairly large when you walk past the same spot four times saying, "I'm sure this is the right way." By the time we got back to the hostel, we were soaking wet, frustrated, sore, exhausted, hungry, and wondering whose bright idea it was to turn us loose with a little map and a "have fun."

But then....

We sat on a ledge under an awning and had lunch across from Big Ben - we even got to hear him chime! We saw the Tate Gallery, Trafalgar Square, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, the House of Parliament, the London Eye, that gate that only the Queen can drive through, and the AWESOME fountain outside Buckingham Palace. We got seriously, SERIOUSLY lost (not "we were in danger and fighting off hoodlums" lost - just a "this is our first time in this city and we have no idea where the heck we are" lost), and through know-how, some very cute gentlemen who just happened to be around every time we decided to ask for directions (human. yes. I am human), and some inner Pocahontas blood that one of us possesses, we made it back to our hostel.

And get this: we walked. We didn't take the Tube, we didn't take a taxi (mostly because we didn't know how to call one and neither one of us wanted to look like an idiot by trying), and we didn't take a bus. We walked the whole thing.

And the only money we spent was on lunch.

WIN.

Tonight will be spent nursing blisters (not me) and catching up on sleep (that'd be me). In the morning we're heading to the GLOBE THEATRE!!!!!!!! to see "The Tempest" and "A Midsummer Night's Dream." Standing up. Potentially in the rain. Rockin' it Elizabethan style.

Because really: if you're gonna come all the way to London, why wouldn't you be epic? :)

I might not have a chance to write tomorrow - the internet at the hostel costs a pound for 24 hours, and it'll be free once we hit Cheltenham on Thursday. But we're all safe, happy, healthy, and excited for the days ahead! Much love to my family - we'll talk soon :)