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 :)

Post

Describe a time when you felt sorry for someone.

Sometimes I wish I could have seen somebody about four hours before I actually see them. It's like zooming out with a camera so you get a better perspective. What put that smile on your face? What wiped away the one you had earlier? What has heaped on your shoulders and pulled your head down?

When we were in Boston this summer, one of my favorite things to do was just watch people. I love doing that when I travel different places: it reminds me of how alike we are, regardless of where we're from. People everywhere are trying to better themselves, get through each day, raise their families, find love, discover something worth smiling at - these inate desires are universal. Unfortunately pain is universal as well. Every day people see death, lose friends, experience disappointment, hear bad news, give bad news. And to the strangers around them, it's just another day. Or so they think - no doubt those strangers are hiding something with a blank stare as well.

The "blank stare" is the hallmark of public transportation, and nowhere else is that more evident than in big cities. Traffic in Boston is hellacious, so smart people use buses or the subway, or just walk. By the end of our four days there, we were familiar with ("pros at" would be a generous overstatement) the subway, or the "T". On one of our last days, we were on a crowded bus on our way back to our hotel. Everyone on it was tired; the ride was silent as people leaned against windows with closed eyes or quietly watched the buildings crawl past. At one stop a woman got on and sat next to me, and I could tell she'd been crying. I wondered what had happened to her that day, what had crushed her blank face, caused her to crack the stoic front and let the hurt run down her cheeks. I had on my "I'm not in my small midwest town so I should keep to myself" face, and I thought I should just leave her alone. But after a little while I pulled out from my bag a left-over napkin from lunch and offered it to her. She smiled and declined, and soon she got off the bus.

I still have the napkin, taped in my journal as a reminder of the humanity that surrounds me. Everybody has a story; everyone has a hurt. It's good to remember that as I interact with people on a daily basis. Before you act, think about what that person experienced over the past four hours. Give everyone a little room to act in response to their situations. Be gentle; you don't know who may be near their breaking point. You may be the nudge that pushes them over or away from the edge.

Options

When I was eight, I had such a definite idea of how my life would play out. My uneventful childhood would cross into an uneventful adulthood. I wouldn't have to worry about money or watching my weight - somehow all of that would be magically taken care of without me worrying about them too much. I would live next door to my parents (apparently my neighbors were planning on moving out) and host family Thanksgiving at my house (my sister would take care of Christmas). When we were old enough (in ten years), my at-the-time boyfriend and I would get married, and I would be a pilot, like my dad. I was a church-going, sword-drill-winning Christian because everybody at my school was a church-going, sword-drill-winning Christian (they had a one-up on me, though, because they all went to AWANA and I didn't), and my faith would be that simple probably forever. I tolerated my younger siblings but was pretty sure we'd have nothing to do with each other when we grew up. (My sister once told me that I'd be the one in our family with the tattoos and face piercings. In our small world that was the epitome of rebellion, and after that I swore we'd never be friends again.) And with any luck, my hell of practicing piano for twenty minutes every day would soon be coming to a close: I had told my parents and teacher that I was finished, and finished I intended to be.

When you're eight, you don't realize how much of a life you have stretching before you. If you get your timing right and die on your eighty-fifth birthday, you watch over 31,000 days. And while I was busy sitting at my desk in third grade, writing out the names of my future kids, I had no idea that I'd seen less than three thousand of those days, several hundred of which I don't remember. Oh, sure, I understood the broad outline: school/college, married, kids, work, dead. But I had no idea what I'd see during - and even in between - those stages.

In several months I will be twenty-one, but sometimes I feel like that eight-year-old, planning my life. "After graduation, I'll get a job at the school where I do my student-teaching, and after I get some experience I'll go somewhere else and eventually wind up where my passion leads me." But I have to remember the expectations I had at eight and how differently my life has turned out. Frets about money and how the world perceives me are on my mind almost hourly. With their newly-remodeled kitchen, my neighbors probably aren't leaving any time soon; but that's alright with me, since I'm not planning on living in my home state forever anyway. I have felt something yanking on my heart (which I'm pretty sure is my Isa telling me where He wants me), and it's definitely not as a pilot. My relationship with church and "Christians" has not been the best, particularly in the last few years. With bad experience after bad experience with Pharisees masquerading as followers of Christ and churches that are based more on politics and finances than the Word of God, my view of much connected with ministry is backed by a little glare. I didn't foresee the situations when I'd sit in front of my mirror and say to my reflection, "What the hell are you doing?" I didn't imagine being more comfortable in a secular environment than I am at my religious university. When my dad said I'd be allowed to date at fourteen, I didn't think I'd be waiting until I was seventeen to actually start, and then reach a point after almost four years of not dating that it was fine, that I'm actually content to not have anybody, even though the books and movies say my "clock" is running out. (And I'm graduating two years from now and apparently college is one of the last prime places to meet a guy. So I've heard.) And I certainly didn't plan on my parents overriding my declaration to quit piano lessons; I eventually completed twelve years, and even three years after quitting, the first thing I do when I go home on breaks is play my piano for a solid hour - it's become so much a part of me, I can't imagine that I ever wanted to quit.

I've heard my entire life that life is short, but in the past week I've heard that it's long - very, very long. And I forget that when I look at where I am: within two years of jumping off one ledge onto another, very different one. All I can see right now is the gap that I'm about to leap; I can't see the plateau that I'm jumping to, with its new hills and crags and valleys to explore. (And now I'm sounding like a bad graduation speech.) I forget that I have so much life to live. In the grand scheme of things, I'm young and inexperienced and clumsy and a royal mess. How in the world can I, at twenty years old, expect to have things figured out and organized and under control? That's like handing a toddler a jacked-up car motor and saying, "Fix this, will you?" That's dumb.

Anyway. Exam week is coming up, which won't be half as bad as the week before exam week. Papers, books, analyses, quizzes....heaven preserve us.

Style

Do you ever wonder if you've being heard? Your words are tossed into a void, maybe never to be acknowledged. As a writer I'm supposed to expect rejection - it comes with the territory. I don't mind my voice getting lost in the shuffle, it's not a totally-unknown possibility. That sounds really whiny, but that's just how it is. Sometimes the answer is "no." Get over it.

So when I get a written response from one of my major influences....O_o

After almost three months, I got a response from Terry Jones, one of the surviving members of Monty Python. If you know anything about me, you'll recall that I'm a Python NUT. And I am sitting six inches away from a note from Terry Jones. Hand-written. Personal. International stamp.

This is a big deal.

I wrote to him when I decided to write my literary analysis criticism on "Life of Brian." And I was pretty sure my letter had gotten lost in the heaps of mail that he no doubt receives. I've written to celebrities before - almost seven years and no response from Geoffrey Rush. (Kevin McNally did write back. And I got a mass-produced autographed picture with a note "from the office of Keira Knightley." But that's another story.) Every now and then I wondered about it, but I wasn't too bent out of shape over it. So to receive something back from him...I nearly passed out when I pulled the letter from my mailbox.

I quote:

 

Thanks so much for your wonderful letter. It's good to know that something we've done is still having some effect! I hope you continue to be independent and thoughtful!

 

Looking at it five hours later still makes me light-headed.

 

It's a vicious cycle, really. He knows his work is still appreciated by a generation whose parents were children when Python was first popular, and I know my letter wasn't totally ignored. And how fitting to get it today, after I've finished the second draft of my "Life of Brian" paper? Python has been such a crazy influence in my life over the past year, and to get that well-wish from one of my idols (meant in an iconic and not religious way - I know actual idols are bad)....my life has been made.

 

Now back to the reality that my paper is due in a week (among so frickin' many other things) and is still only in the drafting stage. Actually I'm really proud of the work I've done in only about three weeks. My goal was to find a middle ground between the Pythons and religion, and I think I've done a fairly decent job. But lest we bask too long in that knowledge, just remind yourself: it ain't done yet.

 

Tonight Mr. Jones' letter lies as a bookmark in my journal, like a little whisper reminding me that it's good to think outside the box (or, in my case, the Bubble).

 

~

 

Your words are worth-while. Write on.

-Arbor Brannagh

Seventy

Fall break. Tomorrow. One crazy night left, and then four glorious days of nothing. We're about halfway through the semester now; next week the countdown to Thanksgiving begins, then it's only a few more weeks until Christmas and winter break...Where is this year going???

Do you believe in coincidences? I do, in a sense; but I believe that coincidences are God's way of working behind-the-scenes. I think He uses these in a teaching way, just as He uses our screw-ups. Like freshman year, when my grades bombed and I blew a scholarship. That's how I ended up working at the store. And for the last two years I've been digging myself out of a hole that I created for myself, both financially and grades-wise. I'm .05 points away from getting the scholarship back, and the way this semester's going, that should be no problem. But if I hadn't lost it, I probably wouldn't have gotten the job at the store, met the incredible people that I work with and love like my family, and learned about fixing my own problems.

But the problem remains: I am now the proud owner of student loans that I earned myself. At the beginning of this school year, I decided to get a job. But when I looked around campus, there weren't many to be found. One door closed, this one never opened; and two months into the semester, I still had no job. I thought about selling some of my writing for money, but I don't feel confident enough about any of it to actually send to publishers. And there also remains the problem of having no money, which is usually needed when you submit works to publishers. I prayed a lot back in August that God would provide some kind of job opportunity. But so far...nothing.

Until Saturday.

I got an email from a lady on campus asking if I wanted to help out with mailers, stuffing envelopes, etc. I replied that I'd be interested in it and the pay they were offering. I went in yesterday to do my time, and she said that the email was intended for another girl on campus who happens to have my same name. (I've gotten several emails meant for her, and no doubt she's gotten some that were supposed to come to me.) BUT THE LADY PUT ME ON THE PAYROLL ANYWAY!!!!!!!!!! I was sitting sealing envelopes when I thought, This is an answer to my prayer from two months ago!! I still can't believe it! I'd totally forgotten about it, and here I am with a job!!

MY GOD IS SO GOOD!!!!! HE IS FAITHFUL TO HIS CHILDREN AND PROVIDES FOR THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sting

I'm typing this entry on my mom's iPad...the next one I write will definitely be on my laptop.

Recently I came across a quote by C.S. Lewis that says, 'Has this world been so kind to you that you should leave with regret? There are better things ahead than any we leave behind.' And in the week (or so) ahead, this will be much on my mind.

For those of you who are friends of mine (I'm pretty sure if you're reading this blog, you're a friend - I don't think many other people read it) you'll know that my family has been watching the decline of a very close friend for a few weeks now. My adopted grandfather, now 86 years old, has been diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis. For those not familiar with medical terms, your lungs need to expand when you breathe, and the walls of his lungs are hardening, which makes it difficult for him to breathe. It's only a matter of time before he suffocates. I have visited him every weekend for several weeks now and make it a point to call him when I can't make it home from school. They say he's doing better, but they said the same thing about my uncle the day before he died. To put it bluntly, I wake up every day expecting the phone call that he's gone.

Does this make me a pessimist? Not in the least. I am a realist, and I know the danger of getting my hopes up in an inevitably-hopeless situation. I think this gives me a clear vision when I look at him - I don't see the possibility of healing, but I don't necessarily see only the grief that will come with losing him. I see a very tired man who has lived a rich, full life. He's been married to the woman he loves for over sixty years. Though his own two children passed away about twenty years ago, he has been blessed with so many others who call him uncle, father figure, and friend. Since three of my grandparents are dead and we don't see our own grandfather often, Mr. Everett has become the only real grandfather figure who has been constantly around for my siblings and me. I remember waking up to the doorbell and, running to the door, finding no one there but a box of donuts, where he'd dropped them off and run back to his car before we could catch him. He's been there on birthdays and  holidays, and at Christmas my siblings and I would go to his house and sing carols with him and his wife. His carpentry - wooden pumpkins, painted snowmen with acorn eyes, a birdhouse with a bent license plate for a roof - still sit around our house.

When he was about my age, he went to the Pacific to serve his country n World War II. Though he still wears his veteran's hat, he has never said much about what happened there. Sometimes when we would visit them, I would watch him and think, 'What have you seen? What happened that is still so painful that you won't bring back the ghosts of sixty years ago?' Once I asked him if I could interview him for a school project, but he said he'd rather not talk about it. When I was little I always thought how cool it'd be to be the one he'd open up to and reveal his secrets to. But now that I'm older, I realize that he'll go to his grave with his secrets. And why shouldn't he? What good would it do to drag up all those memories again? Some things are best left alone.

When my mom and I were talking about him over lunch yesterday, I couldn't help but cry as I thought about losing this man I've know since my first year of life. But when I went to see him last night, he was joking and laughing, like he always used to. I will miss him terribly - how can you know someone for twenty years and not feel a void when you lose them? But how selfish it would be of me to ask him to stay. He told my mom the other day that he's just tired. I can see that when I look at him. But behind those tired eyes, underneath his ragged breathing and thin skin, I see no fear. When I look at him, I see a man who has had enough. He's not giving up - he just knows when it's time. He's ready to look his God in the face, to see his children, to breathe easy again, to erase the scars on his memory.

When I get to his place, I pray that I may have the same peace.

Prayers would still be appreciated for everyone involved. The next few weeks will be tough.