Don't take a nap.
Seize it.
Sunday, 28 February 2010
The Moor and the Jungle Cat
I just thought I should let you know that something good came out of the laundry situation.
Melissa came over for dinner yesterday evening and I made potato- and leek soup, while she baked bread from my packet of Wright's Parmesan & Sun Dried Tomato Bread Mix: Just Add Water. When she needed to put the round dough away in a warm, moist place to rise, to where did she turn? Why, to Sanna's Tropical University Room: Just Add Water, of course.
Today Dean took us to Haworth, the birthplace of the Bronte Sisters. We had to be on the bus by 8:25, and it took us approximately one and a half hours to get there. We arrive in Haworth and promptly stopped at a cafe. Villette's Coffee Shop and Bakery.
I bought a Fresh Cream Scone and a Cornish pasty. And yes, it was delicious. After this brief interlude, we carried on towards the church and attended the morning service. Then we went to the Bronte museum, sat for a lecture, and then explored the Bronte house. After this, we all went hiking to a place that may or may not have inspired Emily for the location of Wuthering Heights. The details were a little sketchy. It could have just been an abandoned stone house on the moors. Nonetheless, we had trudged through sludge, slush, puddles, and mud to get there, so we had better be appreciating the Wuthering aspects of it. Almost everyone slipped. They lay writhing, the moors littered with their bodies. Or something to that extent.
But not me. No, I am as lithe as a jungle cat, my legs like coiled steel springs. I leapt down the cliff faces as often as possible, leaving the others choking on my dust...or mud, as it were.
Then we got lost and walked in a circle, only to come out on the same road we had been on to begin with. We had to trek through a farmer's sheep pasture to get back to the bus at the bottom of the dale. It was particularly marshy, and the others, wearing sneakers, screamed as they accidentally dipped their feet in the water, their shoes sinking through the weeds.
But not me, of course. I took the opportunity to take a picture of them stumbling through the waist-high grasses.
It was a quiet ride home, and I fell asleep. We pulled up to the university as Leonard Cohen's song "First We Take Manhattan" began to draw to a close in my ear. The clock was 18:20.
BUT my night was not over. At 19:00, there was a church service at St. Micahels Le Belfrey. We were meeting at 18:45 to go to church. I ran most of the way home, stormed my room, took a three minute shower (in which I managed to shampoo, condition, and wash my face), pull on some clothes, slip on my face, swing into my coat, and rush out the door. I ran all the way back to campus (pretty impressive, I'd say, after a day of hiking) and managed to arrive on the church steps as the clock struck seven. My heart beating loudly in my chest, I took my seat, trembling in the pew. They had erected scaffolding all over the inside of the church, as they were fixing the lights. The service was lovely. I especially enjoyed the worship. Before the Throne of God Above was especially beautiful.
Solo Deo Gloria.
An easy day, all around.
By Grabthar's hammer,
the Sons of Worvans
Melissa came over for dinner yesterday evening and I made potato- and leek soup, while she baked bread from my packet of Wright's Parmesan & Sun Dried Tomato Bread Mix: Just Add Water. When she needed to put the round dough away in a warm, moist place to rise, to where did she turn? Why, to Sanna's Tropical University Room: Just Add Water, of course.
Today Dean took us to Haworth, the birthplace of the Bronte Sisters. We had to be on the bus by 8:25, and it took us approximately one and a half hours to get there. We arrive in Haworth and promptly stopped at a cafe. Villette's Coffee Shop and Bakery.
I bought a Fresh Cream Scone and a Cornish pasty. And yes, it was delicious. After this brief interlude, we carried on towards the church and attended the morning service. Then we went to the Bronte museum, sat for a lecture, and then explored the Bronte house. After this, we all went hiking to a place that may or may not have inspired Emily for the location of Wuthering Heights. The details were a little sketchy. It could have just been an abandoned stone house on the moors. Nonetheless, we had trudged through sludge, slush, puddles, and mud to get there, so we had better be appreciating the Wuthering aspects of it. Almost everyone slipped. They lay writhing, the moors littered with their bodies. Or something to that extent.
But not me. No, I am as lithe as a jungle cat, my legs like coiled steel springs. I leapt down the cliff faces as often as possible, leaving the others choking on my dust...or mud, as it were.
Then we got lost and walked in a circle, only to come out on the same road we had been on to begin with. We had to trek through a farmer's sheep pasture to get back to the bus at the bottom of the dale. It was particularly marshy, and the others, wearing sneakers, screamed as they accidentally dipped their feet in the water, their shoes sinking through the weeds. But not me, of course. I took the opportunity to take a picture of them stumbling through the waist-high grasses.
It was a quiet ride home, and I fell asleep. We pulled up to the university as Leonard Cohen's song "First We Take Manhattan" began to draw to a close in my ear. The clock was 18:20.
BUT my night was not over. At 19:00, there was a church service at St. Micahels Le Belfrey. We were meeting at 18:45 to go to church. I ran most of the way home, stormed my room, took a three minute shower (in which I managed to shampoo, condition, and wash my face), pull on some clothes, slip on my face, swing into my coat, and rush out the door. I ran all the way back to campus (pretty impressive, I'd say, after a day of hiking) and managed to arrive on the church steps as the clock struck seven. My heart beating loudly in my chest, I took my seat, trembling in the pew. They had erected scaffolding all over the inside of the church, as they were fixing the lights. The service was lovely. I especially enjoyed the worship. Before the Throne of God Above was especially beautiful.
Solo Deo Gloria.
An easy day, all around.
By Grabthar's hammer,
the Sons of Worvans
Saturday, 27 February 2010
Lunatic's Laundry
Had a frustrating laundry day. Overstuffed one of the machines, and when I arrived to put the supposedly clean load into the dryer, some of it was soaking wet, some of it was dry. None of it was washed. Wasted 1.60. Separated load into two different machines. Had to borrow change from people. (DOES NO ONE IN YORK HAVE SMALL CHANGE?) Waiting, waiting for laundry now.
Note to self. Do not repeat.
Laundry done.
One came out
of the dryer
Dry.
The other one
still damp.
That was my poem for the day.
Since I have had to handwash three of my dresses, I had to find a place to hang them up to dry. I placed them on the heater and they have been drying nicely. The only problem is that I turned my room into Singapore. Instant humidity.
Makes me think of my family.
All for now.
Peace out,
Homedog
Note to self. Do not repeat.
Laundry done.
One came out
of the dryer
Dry.
The other one
still damp.
That was my poem for the day.
Since I have had to handwash three of my dresses, I had to find a place to hang them up to dry. I placed them on the heater and they have been drying nicely. The only problem is that I turned my room into Singapore. Instant humidity.
Makes me think of my family.
All for now.
Peace out,
Homedog
Friday, 26 February 2010
Napkin Man
I just arrived inside the door, shaking the water drops from my coat and umbrella. Wonderfully rainy day, but the skies do look so dull. The yellow weeping willows on the other side of the stream are waving in the wind, their arms hanging listless and bedraggled in the rain. I am glad the heavens decided to make up their minds over the weather issue. At least it is a substantial rain, and not this misty wetness or foggy silence that usually hangs over York.
I have a blue umbrella with red trimmings.
Friday is always a good day. But I do not see why it should be so singled out. All my days are good. For example, since last I wrote, I have gone to Bible Study, written a poem, and attended a showing of Beauty and the Beast at the theatre. A good week, by all accounts.
Wednesday Bible study was wonderful. It was a small group. Gemma, Julie, Shoona (I am sure I misspelled this Scottish name), and Jessica were all very kind and open. It wasn't awkward at all, as sometimes new meetings and first impressions can be. We all had a lovely time, and I am sure I depleted their supply of chocolate-dipped Digestives.
I memorized two Bible verses. Let's see if I can recall them.
Proverbs 22:17-18 - Listen to the words of the wise; apply your heart to my instruction. It good to keep these in sayings in your heart and always ready on your lips.
2 Thessalonians 3:5 - May the Lord lead your hearts into a full understanding and expression of the love of God and the persistent endurance that comes from Christ.
Voila! C'est bon!
My poem was written for my Tracking British Literature class with Dean. It had to be a creative piece, inspired by or alluding to Wuthering Heights, or any work by Colerdige, Tennyson, and Wordsworth. I am not quite sure what happened with mine, as I thought it would be quite boring to write an extra chapter of Wuthering Heights or rewriting the Lady of Shalott. I do not like to create pieces that are solely dependent on something else. If you take that original piece away or give your work to someone who has never delved into Wordsworth or read Wuthering Heights, the point is completely lost on them. Therefore, I decided to write in the style of Tennyson and Wordsworth, and the final product was a poem in iambic pentameter entitled The Journey.
The journey hence had taken many miles,
And now he stood erect with furrowed brow,
A still and silent figure rooted to
The frozen port, now waiting, watching for
The time before the sun first peeks across the land
And flings out far its pale and yellow rays,
Its golden pieces strewn before the swine.
The light, he knew, would rise to touch the lines,
The broken pier, the black and rolling waves,
Then hollows deep, the lowland plains, the hills,
The knotted spine of mountains in the east,
The rusty moors, the graying grass, the dip
And sway of curving mounds; would rise
To wink along the weak and weary waves,
And running up the sides of every house,
Fast climbing into windows, rooms, and beds,
And gently finger eyelids of unhappy men,
The touch as soft as lovers’ kiss, but too
Persistent, turns to irritation and
Succeeds to rouse the seaman from his bed—
Awakens, swearing curses at the sky,
And muttering ill-will against the light,
He dresses in a hurry, stamps his heel
Into his boot, and spits and leaves for work;
he rakes a savage hand through wildered hair.
Beauty and the Beast was wonderful. It was an amateur production, but still very good. Gaston had a Elvis Presely flair I had never seen before expressed in such capacity--sideburns, belt, and American accent--but, by far, the star of the show was the Napkin Man. During the Be Our Guest musical number, a man, dressed in what seemed to be a purple bedsheet with golden tassles, appears in the middle of the writhing mess of singing cutlery. In higher spirits than the rest, he flailed around on stage in a manner of coordinated dance steps, his square wingspan wobbling enthusiastically. He throws himself into some acrobatics--the other forks, spoons, tea kettles, and lone cheese grater (why a cheese grater?) give him space and gather at the corners of the stage--and finishes with The Worm. I applauded.
Now, I feel like making some tikka masala and reading a few chapters in Great Expectations, before I leaving for Dean's for an episode of Simon Schama and refreshments.
Peace out.
The Quiddler
I have a blue umbrella with red trimmings.
Friday is always a good day. But I do not see why it should be so singled out. All my days are good. For example, since last I wrote, I have gone to Bible Study, written a poem, and attended a showing of Beauty and the Beast at the theatre. A good week, by all accounts.
Wednesday Bible study was wonderful. It was a small group. Gemma, Julie, Shoona (I am sure I misspelled this Scottish name), and Jessica were all very kind and open. It wasn't awkward at all, as sometimes new meetings and first impressions can be. We all had a lovely time, and I am sure I depleted their supply of chocolate-dipped Digestives.
I memorized two Bible verses. Let's see if I can recall them.
Proverbs 22:17-18 - Listen to the words of the wise; apply your heart to my instruction. It good to keep these in sayings in your heart and always ready on your lips.
2 Thessalonians 3:5 - May the Lord lead your hearts into a full understanding and expression of the love of God and the persistent endurance that comes from Christ.
Voila! C'est bon!
My poem was written for my Tracking British Literature class with Dean. It had to be a creative piece, inspired by or alluding to Wuthering Heights, or any work by Colerdige, Tennyson, and Wordsworth. I am not quite sure what happened with mine, as I thought it would be quite boring to write an extra chapter of Wuthering Heights or rewriting the Lady of Shalott. I do not like to create pieces that are solely dependent on something else. If you take that original piece away or give your work to someone who has never delved into Wordsworth or read Wuthering Heights, the point is completely lost on them. Therefore, I decided to write in the style of Tennyson and Wordsworth, and the final product was a poem in iambic pentameter entitled The Journey.
The journey hence had taken many miles,
And now he stood erect with furrowed brow,
A still and silent figure rooted to
The frozen port, now waiting, watching for
The time before the sun first peeks across the land
And flings out far its pale and yellow rays,
Its golden pieces strewn before the swine.
The light, he knew, would rise to touch the lines,
The broken pier, the black and rolling waves,
Then hollows deep, the lowland plains, the hills,
The knotted spine of mountains in the east,
The rusty moors, the graying grass, the dip
And sway of curving mounds; would rise
To wink along the weak and weary waves,
And running up the sides of every house,
Fast climbing into windows, rooms, and beds,
And gently finger eyelids of unhappy men,
The touch as soft as lovers’ kiss, but too
Persistent, turns to irritation and
Succeeds to rouse the seaman from his bed—
Awakens, swearing curses at the sky,
And muttering ill-will against the light,
He dresses in a hurry, stamps his heel
Into his boot, and spits and leaves for work;
he rakes a savage hand through wildered hair.
Beauty and the Beast was wonderful. It was an amateur production, but still very good. Gaston had a Elvis Presely flair I had never seen before expressed in such capacity--sideburns, belt, and American accent--but, by far, the star of the show was the Napkin Man. During the Be Our Guest musical number, a man, dressed in what seemed to be a purple bedsheet with golden tassles, appears in the middle of the writhing mess of singing cutlery. In higher spirits than the rest, he flailed around on stage in a manner of coordinated dance steps, his square wingspan wobbling enthusiastically. He throws himself into some acrobatics--the other forks, spoons, tea kettles, and lone cheese grater (why a cheese grater?) give him space and gather at the corners of the stage--and finishes with The Worm. I applauded.
Now, I feel like making some tikka masala and reading a few chapters in Great Expectations, before I leaving for Dean's for an episode of Simon Schama and refreshments.
Peace out.
The Quiddler
Thursday, 25 February 2010
And the point is...?
Chemical element 112 is named 'Copernicium'
The name proposed by GSI for the heaviest chemical element has been officially endorsed
Scroll down for nerdy science joke.
IUPAC accepted the name proposed by the international discovering team around Sigurd Hofmann at the GSI Helmholtzzentrum. The team had suggested "Cp" as the chemical symbol for the new element. However, since the chemical symbol "Cp" gave cause for concerns, as this abbreviation also has other scientific meanings, the discoverers and IUPAC agreed to change the symbol to "Cn". Copernicium is 277 times heavier than hydrogen, making it the heaviest element officially recognized by IUPAC.
The suggested name "Copernicium" in honor of Nicolaus Copernicus follows the tradition of naming chemical elements after merited scientists. IUPAC officially announced the endorsement of the new element's name on February 19th, Nicolaus Copernicus' birthday. Copernicus was born on February 19, 1473 in ToruĊ, Poland. His work in the field of astronomy is the basis for our modern, heliocentric world view, which states that the Sun is the center of our solar system with the Earth and all the other planets circling around it.
An international team of scientists headed by Sigurd Hofmann was able to produce the element copernicium at GSI for the first time already on February 9, 1996.
Using the 100 meter long GSI accelerator, they fired zinc ions onto a lead foil. The fusion of the atomic nuclei of the two elements produced an atom of the new element 112. This atom was only stable for the fraction of a second. The scientists were able to identify the new element by measuring the alpha particles emitted during the radioactive decay of the atom with the help of highly sensitive analytical procedures.
Further independent experiments confirmed the discovery of the element. Last year, IUPAC officially recognized the existence of element 112, acknowledged the GSI team's discovery and invited them to propose a name.
Copernicium is the sixth chemical element GSI scientist named. The other elements carry the names Bohrium (element 107), Hassium (element 108), Meitnerium (element 109), Darmstadtium (element 110), and Roentgenium (element 111). 21 scientists from Germany, Finland, Russia, and Slovakia collaborated in the GSI experiments that lead to the discovery of element 112.
What good is an element that only lasts for a fraction of a second? Sounds like a party pooper to me.
The elements are having a party.
"Hey Cesium!"
"Wazzup?"
"Not much. Who's the new guy?"
"That's Copernicium. But he's only staying for a second."
"What a boron."
The name proposed by GSI for the heaviest chemical element has been officially endorsed
Scroll down for nerdy science joke.
IUPAC accepted the name proposed by the international discovering team around Sigurd Hofmann at the GSI Helmholtzzentrum. The team had suggested "Cp" as the chemical symbol for the new element. However, since the chemical symbol "Cp" gave cause for concerns, as this abbreviation also has other scientific meanings, the discoverers and IUPAC agreed to change the symbol to "Cn". Copernicium is 277 times heavier than hydrogen, making it the heaviest element officially recognized by IUPAC.
The suggested name "Copernicium" in honor of Nicolaus Copernicus follows the tradition of naming chemical elements after merited scientists. IUPAC officially announced the endorsement of the new element's name on February 19th, Nicolaus Copernicus' birthday. Copernicus was born on February 19, 1473 in ToruĊ, Poland. His work in the field of astronomy is the basis for our modern, heliocentric world view, which states that the Sun is the center of our solar system with the Earth and all the other planets circling around it.
An international team of scientists headed by Sigurd Hofmann was able to produce the element copernicium at GSI for the first time already on February 9, 1996.
Using the 100 meter long GSI accelerator, they fired zinc ions onto a lead foil. The fusion of the atomic nuclei of the two elements produced an atom of the new element 112. This atom was only stable for the fraction of a second. The scientists were able to identify the new element by measuring the alpha particles emitted during the radioactive decay of the atom with the help of highly sensitive analytical procedures.
Further independent experiments confirmed the discovery of the element. Last year, IUPAC officially recognized the existence of element 112, acknowledged the GSI team's discovery and invited them to propose a name.
Copernicium is the sixth chemical element GSI scientist named. The other elements carry the names Bohrium (element 107), Hassium (element 108), Meitnerium (element 109), Darmstadtium (element 110), and Roentgenium (element 111). 21 scientists from Germany, Finland, Russia, and Slovakia collaborated in the GSI experiments that lead to the discovery of element 112.
What good is an element that only lasts for a fraction of a second? Sounds like a party pooper to me.
The elements are having a party.
"Hey Cesium!"
"Wazzup?"
"Not much. Who's the new guy?"
"That's Copernicium. But he's only staying for a second."
"What a boron."
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
I'm Feeling Yorkish
It has been forever and a day since I last updated. I do apologize and hope that the length of this post will compensate for my silence.
In case any of you did not know this already, I am currently residing in York, England. I have been here for the past three and a half weeks and it has all been wonderful. I have traveled to Whitby and to the Lake District to see William Wordsworth's house. This Sunday we will travel to Haworth, hometown of the Brontes. My weeks have been busy. I have taken communion at the York Minster, walked along the cobble-stoned streets of York, bought groceries at Sainsbury's and Morrisons, participated in Quiz Night at the pub Independent, sat in on Open Mic Night at the Student Union, attended a wonderful church service at St. Michael Le Belfrey, visited the pubs the Three-Legged Mare, The Independent, the Yorkshire Terrier, and the Brigadier Gerard (the last one in which our ears were accosted by the repeated refrain of a sea-shanty, sung by a very drunk lady), seen Coleridge's house from a distance, hiked up a mountain, and ordered an unreasonable amount of books offline.
Speaking of which, I will have read Show Me the Sky, Tess of the D'Urbervilles, Wuthering Heights, Middlemarch, Mansfield Park, Oliver Twist, Great Expectations, Flatland, Goblin Market, Where Angels Fear to Tread, Darwin: the Autobiography, Peter Pan in Scarlett, The Devil's Disciple, two books on the history of England, The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey, and selected poems by Tennyson, Coleridge, and Wordsworth, all by the end of this term.
On the bright side, I have already done away with Oliver Twist, Mansfield Park, Wuthering Heights, and the poetry. For tomorrow, I have a creative writing assignment. I was thinking of writing poetry in the form of Wordsworth's iambic pentameter. But I do so like Tennyson and Coleridge, I might not be able to resist writing something along those lines as well.
At 7:30 tonight, I will be going to a Bible study. I saw a small, hand-coloured sign in a window as I was walking back from school, that advertised a Bible study on Wednesdays, a division of Acombe church. I am looking forward to going. I find that Christians are usually the same world over--kind and hospitable.
When I went to St. Michael Le Belfrey on Sunday evening, I was truly blessed. Theresa, Mary, and Eva went with me, but all of us had doubted during the day as to whether we should go. We had just come back from the Lake District. Only a few hours before had we hiked around a lake and then sat on a bus for a few hours. Nonetheless, we persisted and arrived on the church's doorstep just as the service began. Despite being next to the Minster, this service was contemporary and I felt right at home. (I respect the traditions of the Anglican church, as they both record and retell the fascinating and tumultuous history of the Church, but honestly I feel very lost during the service. When to sit. When to stand. My heels clicked conspicuously up the aisle as I rose to partake in Communion.) The worship at St. Michael's was wonderful. I have not been so blessed and so cheered by God's music in a very long time. It was like oil to a spiritual wound. The worship sprung through my being, golden strains filling me and breaking through my veins, my arteries, resonating deep within my spirit. The good message was preached: The kingdom of God will grow no matter what you do or do not do. The Communion was offered. The divine exchange was given. Afterwards, I struck up a conversation with the couple in front of me, and it turned out they were Danish. We had a short conversation in Swedish and Danish, before I introduced my friends to them. Anna and Christian were very nice people, and it turned out they had lived in East Lansing, Michigan! Then they invited us to a pub (The Yorkshire Terrier), and we gladly accepted. We were introduced to their friends John and Simon as they ordered the drinks. I had a Coke, served in the smallest glass. It's height did not reach above the length of my palm, and I have small hands.
Anna invited me to come to an International Cafe on Friday, hosted by the church. I will be going to that as well, in the hopes of making some more (British) friends.
I have had some problems with my heating. The heater in my room would turn on for a day, pumping out unbearably hot air and turning my room into an oven. It would then proceed to shut off and refuse to work for the next four days, leaving me with an icy room. I made sure to inform my friends that if I did not appear in class on Monday morning, they were sure to find my poor, frozen corpse huddled under the blankets. Be not alarmed. I want you to play "I Wanna Rock" by Twisted Sister at my funeral.
Since I had so much reading to do, I would huddle under my bedcovers and read Mansfield Park, but I fell asleep. This system was obviously not working. I asked Dean if I could study at his house, and he said yes. I went to his place after school and sat down on the sofa--I was soon joined by Nancy (his wife)--but the room was so wonderfully warm that I fell asleep. I cannot help it if I am heat-deprived.
Thankfully, the heating has been fixed since then (due to my roommate Emma who complained numerous times at the domestic office), and my room is now at a constant, comfortable temperature. I cannot say the same for the weather, which remains perpetually weepy--misty, foggy, cold, and wet. British weather makes my hair frizz.
At the moment, I am all out of things to say, but I am sure I will think of new ones for next time.
Toodeloo.
Barshkin the Great Bearded Brigadier
In case any of you did not know this already, I am currently residing in York, England. I have been here for the past three and a half weeks and it has all been wonderful. I have traveled to Whitby and to the Lake District to see William Wordsworth's house. This Sunday we will travel to Haworth, hometown of the Brontes. My weeks have been busy. I have taken communion at the York Minster, walked along the cobble-stoned streets of York, bought groceries at Sainsbury's and Morrisons, participated in Quiz Night at the pub Independent, sat in on Open Mic Night at the Student Union, attended a wonderful church service at St. Michael Le Belfrey, visited the pubs the Three-Legged Mare, The Independent, the Yorkshire Terrier, and the Brigadier Gerard (the last one in which our ears were accosted by the repeated refrain of a sea-shanty, sung by a very drunk lady), seen Coleridge's house from a distance, hiked up a mountain, and ordered an unreasonable amount of books offline.
Speaking of which, I will have read Show Me the Sky, Tess of the D'Urbervilles, Wuthering Heights, Middlemarch, Mansfield Park, Oliver Twist, Great Expectations, Flatland, Goblin Market, Where Angels Fear to Tread, Darwin: the Autobiography, Peter Pan in Scarlett, The Devil's Disciple, two books on the history of England, The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey, and selected poems by Tennyson, Coleridge, and Wordsworth, all by the end of this term.
On the bright side, I have already done away with Oliver Twist, Mansfield Park, Wuthering Heights, and the poetry. For tomorrow, I have a creative writing assignment. I was thinking of writing poetry in the form of Wordsworth's iambic pentameter. But I do so like Tennyson and Coleridge, I might not be able to resist writing something along those lines as well.
At 7:30 tonight, I will be going to a Bible study. I saw a small, hand-coloured sign in a window as I was walking back from school, that advertised a Bible study on Wednesdays, a division of Acombe church. I am looking forward to going. I find that Christians are usually the same world over--kind and hospitable.
When I went to St. Michael Le Belfrey on Sunday evening, I was truly blessed. Theresa, Mary, and Eva went with me, but all of us had doubted during the day as to whether we should go. We had just come back from the Lake District. Only a few hours before had we hiked around a lake and then sat on a bus for a few hours. Nonetheless, we persisted and arrived on the church's doorstep just as the service began. Despite being next to the Minster, this service was contemporary and I felt right at home. (I respect the traditions of the Anglican church, as they both record and retell the fascinating and tumultuous history of the Church, but honestly I feel very lost during the service. When to sit. When to stand. My heels clicked conspicuously up the aisle as I rose to partake in Communion.) The worship at St. Michael's was wonderful. I have not been so blessed and so cheered by God's music in a very long time. It was like oil to a spiritual wound. The worship sprung through my being, golden strains filling me and breaking through my veins, my arteries, resonating deep within my spirit. The good message was preached: The kingdom of God will grow no matter what you do or do not do. The Communion was offered. The divine exchange was given. Afterwards, I struck up a conversation with the couple in front of me, and it turned out they were Danish. We had a short conversation in Swedish and Danish, before I introduced my friends to them. Anna and Christian were very nice people, and it turned out they had lived in East Lansing, Michigan! Then they invited us to a pub (The Yorkshire Terrier), and we gladly accepted. We were introduced to their friends John and Simon as they ordered the drinks. I had a Coke, served in the smallest glass. It's height did not reach above the length of my palm, and I have small hands.
Anna invited me to come to an International Cafe on Friday, hosted by the church. I will be going to that as well, in the hopes of making some more (British) friends.
I have had some problems with my heating. The heater in my room would turn on for a day, pumping out unbearably hot air and turning my room into an oven. It would then proceed to shut off and refuse to work for the next four days, leaving me with an icy room. I made sure to inform my friends that if I did not appear in class on Monday morning, they were sure to find my poor, frozen corpse huddled under the blankets. Be not alarmed. I want you to play "I Wanna Rock" by Twisted Sister at my funeral.
Since I had so much reading to do, I would huddle under my bedcovers and read Mansfield Park, but I fell asleep. This system was obviously not working. I asked Dean if I could study at his house, and he said yes. I went to his place after school and sat down on the sofa--I was soon joined by Nancy (his wife)--but the room was so wonderfully warm that I fell asleep. I cannot help it if I am heat-deprived.
Thankfully, the heating has been fixed since then (due to my roommate Emma who complained numerous times at the domestic office), and my room is now at a constant, comfortable temperature. I cannot say the same for the weather, which remains perpetually weepy--misty, foggy, cold, and wet. British weather makes my hair frizz.
At the moment, I am all out of things to say, but I am sure I will think of new ones for next time.
Toodeloo.
Barshkin the Great Bearded Brigadier
Tuesday, 2 February 2010
Captain Oates
There are certain times when I read a textbook and come across a specific passage that strikes me so poignant and so sad that I feel my hairs stand on end. Christopher Daniell writes in his A Traveller's History: England:
"[Captain Scott and his crew] had raced the Norwegian Roald Amundsen to be first to the South Pole, but to their bitter disappointment the Norwegian had arrived a few days before them. Disheartened and ill Scott and his party started on the long walk home across the hostile polar ice and snow: they died of cold. The expedition was noted for its old-style Empire heroism, especially that of Captain Oates; he realised that he was slowing the other members of the team down and so, with the words 'I am just going out, I may be some time,' left the tent and walked to his death in a snowstorm."
I cannot help but imagine him trudging alone into the wild whiteness, willingly facing a cold and silent death. What were his thoughts in that moment? Were they turned towards home? To his family? To his friends? Or to his country, or God above
Another passage, under the title, The Price Paid.
"Whilst there was little physical destruction of the towns and cities in Britain, the total number of dead was tragically high. It was estimated that 750,000 had died and over 1.5 million were wounded. A memorial was erected in every town and village of Britain to remember the local people who died. Every year on the Sunday nearest to 11 November, Remembrance Sunday is held to remember the dead and poppies are sold to raise funds for the injured of this and other wars. The poppy was the obvious symbol: it covered the fields of Flanders where so many had died."
My God, what have we done?
"[Captain Scott and his crew] had raced the Norwegian Roald Amundsen to be first to the South Pole, but to their bitter disappointment the Norwegian had arrived a few days before them. Disheartened and ill Scott and his party started on the long walk home across the hostile polar ice and snow: they died of cold. The expedition was noted for its old-style Empire heroism, especially that of Captain Oates; he realised that he was slowing the other members of the team down and so, with the words 'I am just going out, I may be some time,' left the tent and walked to his death in a snowstorm."
I cannot help but imagine him trudging alone into the wild whiteness, willingly facing a cold and silent death. What were his thoughts in that moment? Were they turned towards home? To his family? To his friends? Or to his country, or God above
Another passage, under the title, The Price Paid.
"Whilst there was little physical destruction of the towns and cities in Britain, the total number of dead was tragically high. It was estimated that 750,000 had died and over 1.5 million were wounded. A memorial was erected in every town and village of Britain to remember the local people who died. Every year on the Sunday nearest to 11 November, Remembrance Sunday is held to remember the dead and poppies are sold to raise funds for the injured of this and other wars. The poppy was the obvious symbol: it covered the fields of Flanders where so many had died."
My God, what have we done?
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