Chapter One (again)

Well, I'm back.

I typically reserve this type of writing for times when I am traveling abroad or somewhere special that inspires me. Admittedly, I had hoped that my next post would be coming from Edinburgh or St. Andrews in Scotland, but as Divine Providence would have it I find myself firmly planted back in Chattanooga Tennessee. God has a funny way of doing whatever He pleases with you and working it all out for the best whether you like it or not, and therefore, I have decided to simply be inspired by Chattanooga and cast aside any European regrets.

At this moment, I am sitting on my bed in my apartment on the fifth floor of an old brick building on Vine Street. Yesterday being my first day of class and work here at the University of Tennessee in Chattanooga, it was both encouraging and frustrating. My thoughts are frankly all over the place, so I'll resort to my horrific (yet typical) use of bullet pointing for some highlights:

• Work is going to be just fine. I will learn to have a thick skin and I will learn a lot about editing and I will constantly remind myself that when you combine the cost of tuition with my stipend I am being very well compensated. My assistantship with the English department has not started yet, but I met my Professor and she seemed amiable enough and I am looking forward to working for her. The communications department, however, is where I worked yesterday and where I will be returning today, equipped with my own usb thumb drive and a readiness to read with a critical eye and search through tons of files on tons of ancient computers.
• I have officially arrived at not Covenant. Before my first class was over, the professor (a very colorful youngish gentleman who loves Literary Theory and Criticism almost as much as he loves to hear himself talk) informed the class that despite protests from the crazed conservative masses, there is no such thing as absolute truth. I thought we all realized back in high school how absurd such a statement is? Speaking of Literary theory and Criticism, that statement of fact about the non-existence of absolute truth might sort of deconstruct itself upon close inspection... maybe that's just me. Anyway, I quickly realized that the sorts of things I heard Oxford Dons say aren't as charming and palatable coming from the mouth of a Tennessee native who illustrates everything with a reference to Southpark or the Speed channel. Nonetheless it's going to be a really good class and I will be challenged on many fronts.

Glancing at the clock it strikes me that if I want to obtain my books and lunch and get to work on time I should probably roll out of bed and start moving. But, don't worry, I'll be back. :)

Galatians 19-21 "For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I do not nullify the grace of God, for if justification were through the law, then Christ died for no purpose."

Her Tea Leaves

I'm in a poetry class this semester, and I thought it would be appropriate that I include the poems that I have worked on thus far. They are in the order in which I wrote them.

Christopher Wren (Villanelle)

I saw a puddle crossing Old School’s Quad

And stepped aside to keep my sandals dry

And raised my eyes to praise a stone façade.

 

“Redemption here would take an act of God,”

I thought. Perceiving sin in every eye,

I saw a puddle crossing Old School’s Quad.

 

Within those halls the greatest thinkers trod.

I saw myself amongst them by and by

And raised my eyes to praise a stone façade.

 

Yet on those streets in light I rode roughshod,

And every base, debauching drunk denied,

And skirted puddles crossing Old School’s Quad.

 

Those vaulted spires seduced me as a bawd

Ensnares a wretched mind. I breathed a sigh

And raised my eyes to praise a stone façade.

 

Beware the wakeful wit of stone-carved gods—

The evil erudition may supply.

I saw a puddle crossing Old School’s Quad

And raised my eyes to praise a stone façade.

Brother (Sestina)                                                                    

My memories of you are like gentle

Strokes of a brush. They paint before my eyes

a silhouette upon which, until now

(your absence), I could not deliberate.

Our lives become a manuscript explored

And I will bend the binding back and read.

 

When I was six and didn’t care, you read

me Faerie books. You drew me on gently

into adventures, charmingly explored

amidst your childish zeal, and in my eyes

you were the author of deliberate,

intelligent mythologies. So, now

 

do I perceive you changed? Seeing you now,

an awkward start-up man, yet widely read

and not without thoughtful, deliberate

assurance, I must turn the pages gently

to recall the child with brightened blue eyes

who thought our creek a sea to be explored.

 

The fleeting backyard world we once explored

dissolves to rude reality, and now

the physical discovery of eyes

and child-size hands is mediated, read

in words instead of sprightly play. Gently,

age has constructed a deliberate

 

man of you, and I must deliberate

whether you’ve lost the ardor to explore

that once drove me to mimic each gentle

action you took. Perhaps the truth’s that now

you’ve moved beyond that childish world and read

a greater story than before, with eyes

 

that are more like God’s own redemptive eyes.

This new world unfolds in deliberate,

broken, yet beautiful glimpses. I read

again your every move and see explored

a vaster, more enchanting story now

than any you’ve invented. Still your gentle

 

passion inspires me like your gentle eyes

have often done. Now, with deliberate

care, we’ll explore this faerie world you’ve read.

Babel   (Pantoum)                                            

Beautiful melodies, sung out of key,

Fall on receptive, deafened ears. Short of

all encompassing salvation, only

blind men read. Inarticulate sermons

 

Fall on receptive, deafened ears, short of

A word of truth. Faith mewls and dozes while

Blind men read inarticulate sermons

To pews of padded flesh and bone. To style

 

A word of truth, faith mewls and dozes while

coarse commotion rises and silence calls

to pews of padded flesh and bone to style.

Without a tuning touch the center falls,

 

coarse commotion rises, and silence calls

wantonly, babbling. Tongues must comprehend

without a tuning touch: the center falls.

In such scars our words aspire to transcend

 

wantonly. Babbling tongues must comprehend

all encompassing Salvation. Only

In His scars our words aspire to transcend

Beautiful melodies sung out of key.

Upon the Dropping of Ceramics Class (Sonnet)

Alas, I cannot apprehend the weight

of every willful act I take. Control

eludes—clay forms collapse, crush, take the toll

of ineffectual hands. I watch with hate

and curse the crooked forms. To tolerate

this failure, must I lay my wilting soul

in weak submission down before a bowl

of mangled earth?—a blank deistic fate?

Not so. For He has cradled lifeless clay

before. The malleable matter of

my small and childish lot cannot betray

such dextrous, guiding hands. For viscous gloves

of filthy mud did not deter His plan

when quick’ning arid dust and forming man. 

Highland Lament (Ballad)

Oh won’ ye go an find my luve,

 an bring him back tae stay?

Oh won’ ye go an seek him out?

 He’s left me but a day.

He promised to be e’er my luve,

 an ne’er tae go away.

Oh won’ ye go an find my luve,

 an bring him back tae stay?

 

On yester’morn he left our home,

 Wi’out a single word.

The fast’nin o’ his brog an brat,

 was a’ the sound I heard.

I rose from bed tae find him gone,

 the myst’ry I now mourn

Oh Won’ ye go an find him for

 I’m hertily forlorn.

 

When we were wed it seemed a shame,

 for I were yet so young.

My faither gave me tae a man

 So auld, my hert was wrung.

An though he luved me tenderly

 An wrote me verse an sung,

I met his luve wi’ bitterness

 an spake wi’ poison’d tongue.

 

The day since he’s been gone I’ve been

 descendin tae despair,

At first I said “he’s left tae seek

 a bih o’ Hielan air.”

But now I see he won’ come back.

 It takes me unaware,

Tae see the way I need him, Oh

 my hert was unprepared!

 

So won’ ye go an find my luve

 an tell him I was wrong,

The way I took his gentle smile

 for granted a’ along.

Today if he wuld smile at me

 my hert wuld fill wi’ song.

Oh won’ ye go an find my luve

 an tell him I was wrong?

Cornmarket (Blank Verse)

A cold, light rain falls gently on my cheeks

and hair, like so many silver beads. The rain

no longer stops this town, its streets are full

of faceless motion, tucked beneath a black

umbrella, or sunk in hooded slickers. I

once thought I saw a friendly face within

this heartless throng, but soon repented of

such charitable thought, and chastened, walked

with down-turned eyes to watch my footfalls. Now,

with beaded rain collecting on their lashes,

I raise my eyes again, examining

the street. Each darkened form propels itself

with some unknown intention, hastening on

to buy a pair of shoes or read another

essay to a keen and silent don. In all

the bodies moving here among the stores,

the birds, and beggars on the cadge, I smile,

look up into the falling rain, and feel

delicious freedom pouring down like oil. 

Adventure of the Nations (Part II)

Better late than never, ey? That's what the Canadian travelers we encountered in Gimmelwald, Switzerland would say anyway...

Gimmelwald: After several different train rides and cable cars up up into the mist covered Alps (and a short stop in the village of Murren to gather supplies of the edible variety) Trey and I arrived in Gimmelwald, a small Alpine Village with significantly more cows than people, two roads, and no grocery store. Our Hostel was a pretty little Chalet with colorful flowers in the window boxes and a breathtaking panorama of the alps in front of it. We agreed that it was by far the best view we've ever had as we brushed our teeth in the morning and peered out the open window above the sink at a sort of majesty that I had never before (and never have since) witnessed.

My only regrets concerning Gimmelwald are twofold: First, that we did not stay longer, and second, that we were allotted less than ideal accommodations. After completing our check-in, the friendly Swiss hostess/bartender informed us that, "you'll be staying in the lover's room." I decided I must have heard her wrong. But despite Trey's diligence to designate with every reservation that it would be himself and his SISTER, I peered horror-stricken at our information slip and saw the words clearly printed at the top: "Lover's Room." My chagrin only deepened when we actually reached the room to find that it was a large room with about 20 bunk beds all pushed together essentially into a giant form of what the gentlemen of Founders might mockingly call a "love bed." oh my... That was the first, and ONLY time I will ever sleep on a giant bed with 20 other people. Although I admit in hindsight that the situation was quite laughable. At the time, Trey seemed to find it a bit more hilarious than I myself did...

As to my first regret, that will be a given after full explanation of our day in the Alps.

We awoke early and headed out in the closest thing we had to Alpine hiking gear (which turned out to be jeans, sweaters, Tevas and Keens...), and rode a cable car up to the peak of Schilthorn. (Check it out: http://www.swisspanorama.com/html/schilthorncam1.html ) Schilthorn is a 2900 meter peak and apparently owes a portion of it's fame to the 007 movie "On Her Majesty's Secret Service". On the top we had a delicious breakfast next to the panorama windows in the revolving restaurant, Piz Gloria, which included everything from cereal to coffee to pancakes to champagne. Then, after fatting ourselves for a few hours and watching for a sign of the mountains through the thick cloud cover, we set out on the greatest hike of my life. The first few miles were a bit rough, trudging our way through about a foot of snow in places (keep in mind that I'm wearing sandals throughout this) and laughing at the contrast of our casual appearance with the serious hikers with snow boots and poles. We actually had a couple at the head of the trail look at us like we were crazy people and say, "You're going to walk down that? Are you sure that's a good idea?" But, believe me, it was well worth any numb toes and slippery going. I couldn't possibly begin to explain how breathtaking this whole experience was. It was the most surreal feeling I've ever had walking along surrounded by those silent snow-capped mountains, watching the mist sweep along between them and across our path. As we climbed further down, bubbling mountain streams ran down from and melting snow and delicate little wildflowers began to peep through the snow until they became an absolute sea of color around us. If I have ever felt like I could jump into the air and take off in flight, it was standing there in the Swiss Alps with the wind in my hair.

I must admit that I was forced to give a little rendition of "The Sound of Music." Trey exhibited more self control. ;)

Munich: Munich, the city of excessive drinking... this was not the most anticipated destination in my mind, but it, just like all the captivating cities we visited, won me over. To be perfectly honest, our time in Munich was largely spent day-tripping outside the city itself. We opted out of getting sucked into American tourist traps like the Hofbrauhaus and instead had both of our meals in the city at a smaller more locally frequented beer hall. Let me tell you something about German food: it is GOOD. And let me tell you something about German beer: it is AMAZING. We had some delicious meals of Pork Schnitzel, potato flapjacks with apple sauce, and blueberry pancakes (which is, like I said, more like a cake than a crepe and has ice cream on top), as well as sampling their signature beers.

Our first day in Germany, we took the train to Neuschwanstein, the fairy tale style castle of Ludwig II of Bavaria. Apparently Ludwig liked to play around with his country's money by building idyllic palaces, which is why he soon accidentally, and rather mysteriously, drowned in 3 feet of water with several unaccountable bullet holes in his back... Regardless of the slightly opulent and squeamish history involved, however, the place really did look like something out of a fairy tale. About a mile from the castle was a waterfall tumbling into a gorge which was spanned by a large walking bridge. Despite a great deal of rain, we stood and surveyed the castle and gorge from that bridge with utter delight. I felt like I was in a novel.

Day two in Munich we hiked to a Monastery called Andechs. The hike was relaxing and beautiful, and the Monastery itself was resplendent-there was a sort of gaudiness to it that shocked me a bit, I think I had pictured something more like the dark and dank places of gothic novels-but the coolest thing about this place was that it had a huge dining hall, where one could get typical German cuisine, as well as beer brewed specially by the Monks themselves (in fact, as I write, I am sipping juice from a small glass stein with Andechs painted on it). Trey and I were apparently the only non-Germans in the place, which gave us a satisfying sense of authenticity. We both got a pretzel and a beer (his was a full liter, but I resigned myself only to a half-liter), and hunkered down to enjoy our tasty treasures, reminisce about the path behind us and the journey yet to come, and do a healthy amount of people watching. I was amazed to watch German men sit down together for lunch and consume a full 2 liters of beer each, without showing any sign of the alcohol intake. Admittedly, I was sufficiently unsure of myself after my .5 liters so that I chose my footing carefully on the stairwell out.

Another highlight which I almost forgot about Munich was the event of the Eurocup final. We happened to be in town for the final match between Germany and Spain and found the streets before the game thronged with balloons, flags, painted faces, honking horns and general hilarity. Unfortunately, this all abruptly vanished into an oppressive silence at the game's conclusion and Spain's authoritative victory. As boring as I found the game itself, I felt extremely sorry for the disappointed fans that surrounded me.

Vienna: This city seems more of a blur in my mind for a variety of factors. One is doubtlessly the oppressive heat, another is possibly because we had grown too lethargic in the face of this heat, my own longing for America, and the advent of Independence Day to dish out all of our money on admittance to the countless museums. Nonetheless, some of my most treasured memories from our adventure are set in Vienna. We trekked around town and saw the venerable faces of the Hofburg, the Schonbrunn, Mozart's house, The State Opera, and St. Stephen's Cathedral, as well as the gorgeous Hapsburg gardens and Mozart's Memorial. We decided to actually pay and enter the Imperial Library (the Hofbibliothek), which was well worth the sum paid. It was reminiscent of the Duke Humphrey's Library, a three storied room with high domed ceilings (ironically picturing the apotheosis of Karl VI). We got to see some beautiful manuscripts.

Our second day in Vienna was a laughable, but treasured, Independence day (my birthday). In hopes (at least on my part) of finding a spring in which to swim, we day-tripped out to the town of Baden: frequented getaway of Beethoven and the Hapsburgs. We arrived to find a very commercialized resort spot, in which there were spas, casinos, etc. and no hope of a natural spring to swim in. But our spirits were still high and after obtaining a map at the tourist information center, we headed to Kurpark Baden bei Wien, which is esteemed as one of the best gardens in Austria. It was, indeed, quite beautiful, and we had a nice little picnic in a small grecian temple structure beneath the bust of Beethoven, and gazing up at yet another painted dome, this time picturing the apotheosis of Beethoven. On the way out, I was also pleased to find a fountain that put off quite a bit of spray and enabled me to jump around like a child of 4, giggling in the cool vapor. Trey, once again, exhibited more self control, but was very indulgent of my insanity, recognizing that it was, in fact, my birthday.

We finished the day out with dinner at "Happy China" and gelato from "Zanoni and Zanoni," and then headed back to the hostel where we actually witnessed a firework display across the city, over the tops of buildings. I will treasure it as one of the strangest, and most precious birthdays. 

And now... Slovakia must wait for one more installation. I have now dwelt amidst my memories for too long, and the stresses of schoolwork are bearing down on me. It is a misty, rainy, sleepy sort of night, and I intend to burrow into my couch with a cup of tea to soften my Global Trends reading.

Please Forgive Me

I submit myself for judgment. I have been terribly neglectful of this poor electronic space.

Obviously, I am no longer in Europe. In fact, I am on Lookout Mountain, sitting in my purple bedroom in my little house on Krupski Loop, contemplating the joys of the past few months. God has carried me a long long way. Already this has been the most incredible year of my life to date. 

Oxford already begins to seem like a lovely dream. Was I really there? I couldn't have imagined a better experience for myself, which, I suppose, is why I leave my actual life experiences up to the gorgeous creativity of God. He never fails to weave the greatest story.

I am about to "run out the door" (as my mother might put it) and head for campus. Pinch Pots in Ceramics class and a Global Trends quiz await me, and later a small group with the precious people of Rock Creek Fellowship. However, I sincerely promise to return and finish a relation of our European adventure, as well as providing an update on mountain affairs. I can hardly wait to relive the Swiss Alps!!

The Adventure of the Nations 2008 (Part I)

Things I have realized that I love:

• ·      Leaning out of the window in a big city to feel the cool wind on my face as I watch the people pass below.
  
• ·      The smallness and inspiration I feel in the face of gargantuan, snow-capped mountains, not to mention a renewed wish for wings to soar amongst them with (I hope we can fly in heaven!! Is that too much to ask?).
  
• ·      The Stone Mountain Laser Show J
  
• ·      German pancakes. It’s an actual cake. In a pan. It’s huge, and it has blueberries in it and ice cream on top. And it is probably one of the most delicious things on this planet.
  
• ·      The innocence and endearing absurdity of small town life.
  
• ·      The shade of tall trees leaning over a dirt path after miles of smoldering pavement.
  
• ·      Discussing Lord of the Rings with someone who knows eons more about it than I do (*cough* Trey’s a nerd *cough*).
  
• ·      Speaking and being understood in a language that is not my own. Human connections that span the language gap are often the sweetest, albeit the subtlest.
  
• ·      Associating familiar and well-loved music with the various and new landscapes that unfold beyond a train window.
  
• ·      Seeing the image of God displayed in more cultures and people than I could ever imagine or comprehend.
  

I feel overwhelmed with the idea of approaching all that I’ve experienced since the last time I wrote. Therefore, I regretfully beg your pardon for the gaps and confusion that will follow. If you’re really that curious, we can get coffee some time and I’ll tell you all about it. This whole experience (Oxford and Europe and the whole deal) has been the longest, most overwhelming and most exciting adventure of my life to date. ;)

Paris, I will explain in fewer words than it deserves (not necessarily because of the merit of the city itself, but because of the joy, exasperation, refreshment and general hilarity we found being there together as a family). The sights of Paris are endless, and we saw many beautiful and meaningful things, but overall I think I will treasure the hysterical laughter we shared during and after the Sewer tour, and the triumph and awe we received atop Notre Dame, and the transport and wonder we discovered at the Garnier Opera above and beyond the tourist destinations themselves. Paris was beautiful, but being there with my family made it even more so! (One might presume that I missed them quite a bit the past few months at Oxford…)

Trey and I said our farewells to Mom, Dad and Paris on June 21^st and set out on our grand adventure. Since then we have traveled Paris to Strasbourg, Strasbourg to Geneva, Geneva to Gimmelwald, Gimmelwald back to Geneva, Geneva to Munich, and tomorrow we leave Munich for Vienna. Phew… It makes me tired just remembering it all. Every city we’ve been to or traveled through has had something beautiful or endearing about it that I will carry around in my pocket; years from now, I will pull them back out and unfold each memory with a smile and a longing.

Strasbourg is near the border of France in Bavaria. It was a friendly, smaller town that gave us the rest and welcome we needed to recover from the frantic, rude nature of Paris. The city itself was picturesque with it’s Bavarian wood beamed buildings, lazy waterways and charming Cathedral (not to mention that the people were warm and more than willing to engage and communicate with two very clueless American kids). We bummed around the city for a day, seeing the Cathedral and taking a boat tour, which had an adorably strange multi-lingual commentary. On our second day we saw the decorative arts museum (which was extremely nice, and extremely empty, and altogether odd. In other words, we loved it!), and then rented bikes to venture further out and picnic beside the water, and see Strasbourg’s two lovely public gardens.

I feel as though I were writing a tourist guide, but nonetheless… Strasbourg was really nice because they are seeking to become a bigger tourist destination, but are not there quite yet. This means that they were thrilled to see us, and were still friendly in a smaller town sort of way, but at the same time, they had really good tourist deals, and the place just isn’t that crowded. Trey and I spent 11 Euros on a tourism pass that got us the bikes, the boat ride, up to the top of the Cathedral platform, in to see the astronomical clock at the Cathedral, and into the decorative arts museum. In other words, it got us everything we did for two full days for completely free, and we didn’t even take advantage of all its perks. So, in other words, if you’re planning a trip to France, Strasbourg might be nice! And they would adore me for saying that… :)

Another highlight of Strasbourg was a tiny little Kebab store we discovered. The night we arrived, Trey and I stumbled into this place because it smelled like food and we were starving. While awaiting our tasty brochette sandwich, he noticed that everyone in the place was speaking Arabic, and when we went back the next day (it was so good we had to get some more) Trey spoke some Arabic with the guy that served us. Turns out he is from Morocco, and it was so cool to see the way his face lit up when he heard Arabic (and specifically Moroccan words and phrases) coming out of Trey’s mouth. The last thing he expected from a big pasty American kid (no offense bro!) was to hear his own language. It was so awesome.

Geneva came next and threatened to dampen our spirits, but charmed us in the end. The part of town we stayed in was overwhelmingly large and… well… ugly. However, thanks to the kindness and enthusiasm of an American we met in the Co-op, we discovered that we could jump on a tram (I incurably referred to them as trolleys—often accompanying the reference with a rendition from “Meet Me in St. Louis”—much to Trey’s chagrin) and find ourselves in some very cool places. We went to the UN building and listened to the joyful shrieks of little children as they played in the fountains while we admired a very very large, three-legged chair (a sculpture in honor of victims of land mines). Then we rode to the other side of town and sauntered through the old city, where we saw the Reformers Wall, picnicked in a park and providentially stumbled upon the Reformation museum, as well as the Auditoire De Calvin which is A Scottish Presbyterian church that was founded by Calvin as a haven for protestant refugees of all languages to meet, worship and receive the teaching of John Knox. In the words of John Holberg: Oh Yeah.

Geneva ended up having a lot to offer and it rests in my mind as a very lovely city where families are thriving. Everywhere we went we ran into some kind of park where parents were watching their children mingle and play: everyone’s urban ideal. It was a bit sad to see that the general populace, as well as the tourist crowd was not hugely interested in all the Reformation history laying at their feet, especially considering that Calvin was basically responsible for putting the place on the map (the population doubled when he encouraged it as a haven for protestant refugees). However, we were able to appreciate it for its historical impact, as well as its general niceness as a European city, and as a melting pot today just as much as it was during the reformation.

**To be continued**

Free Man in Paris

"America is my country, and Paris is my hometown" -Gertrude Stein

Finally, we have obtained an internet connection! I have been in technological withdrawal...

I am in Paris. A week ago today, I finished my last tutorial at Oxford University. I packed up my things, and said a rather drawn out goodbye to the city, spending a couple last days with my family, touring the Kilns (Lewis' home), and showing them some of my favorite spots around town. I have been in France for 4 days, and I miss England already. 

Paris is, however, (rather unsurprisingly) a beautiful and marvelous place. I had no idea architecture could be so quintessentially... well, french. We have now seen Notre Dame, The Musee D'Orsay, The Eiffel Tower, Sainte Chapelle, The Conciergerie, St. Sulpice, The Pantheon (with Foucault's pendulum!), the Opera Garnier (the inspiration for Leroux's Le Fantôme de l'Opéra and thus Andrew Loyd Webber's musical), and also got a brief tour of the Paris Sewers (which Mom and I took at more of a sprint... I wouldn't necessarily recommend it for the weak stomach).

The small apartment we are staying in is on a cobbled street with rows of little shops. Past the red curtains and the rather grand white framed windows are opened into the room and one may peek out at the lovely little rue that stretches out in front. Directly across the street sits a little pastry shop which we have visited a time or two. Although french food is not really my forte, no one can frown in the face of a pain aux chocolat. mmmmmm... french pastries.

I must admit that my one regret for this Parisian experience is that I have not yet heard a busker playing La Vie En Rose. I know, I'm a ridiculously stereotypical tourist, but I can't help myself. Today, we make for the Louvre and Victor Hugo's House (yay!!). Tomorrow is Versailles, and then Trey and I embark on Europe Adventure 2008. Let's hope it's an adventure, rather than a catastrophe...

Singing in the Rain

It's been an excessively rainy day. Here in England, we generally get occasional bouts of misty, light rain, but today it fell in torrents all day. Kathleen and I trudged to Queen's College for a very damp tutorial, where Clare actually told us that if she'd had our number, she'd have telephoned and told us not to come today, due to the rain. "Oh well," she said, "I guess when you live in Oxford, you have to get a bit used to being wet." Never have I heard a statement of greater truth.

I suppose you might wonder why I'm so fixated with the weather these days, but I finally understand why the British talk about it all the time. It's infectious apparently. And I've found that I take a lot more notice of the weather when I'm forced to be out in it every day, walking or cycling to one place or another. In all honesty, however, I quite enjoyed splashing my way home through all the puddles, armed with umbrella in one hand and a steaming mocha from the Queen's Lane Coffee Shop in the other. I've found that walking under an umbrella is extremely conducive to singing show-tunes, as the rain creates a certain level of noise, and the umbrella hides one's face, so that no one can be quite certain if that girl was actually singing to herself as she walked down the street alone... It's hard to take life too seriously when you're traipsing through puddles the size of swimming pools. No one looks distinguished as a drowned rat.

On a completely different note, I just had 3 lovely girls over for tea and a tour of our house. Shantha, Amy and Crissy (all 1st year historians from Keble, not to mention some of the most fabulous people I've met!) came over this afternoon and, although we didn't exactly get to lounge in the garden as we would have liked (due to the torrential rain... See! it's an unavoidable topic!), we had a nice time chatting in the dining room over tea and biscuits (which were actually cookies... or at least some of them were, and some were truly biscuits... it was a bit confusing really, but we worked it all out eventually) and walking around the house. It was fun to see how impressed they were with it. I think the awe of these accommodations have slowly worn off for me, so I was both proud and refreshed to hear how much they admired them. 

So now, as I sit at my desk and wait for dinner time to roll around, I am kept company by a bright red balloon, which Shantha presented to me at the door. It used to have a face, but the rain washed it away on the journey here. I can just barely trace the outline of a big smiling mouth and two heavily lashed eyes. 

Oh my... I'm going to miss rainy Oxford days!