Long Time No Update/Oxford Kibbutzing (PHOTOS)

Yes, well, various events of mild interest have commenced since my last blog post. But no matter. My sister Gillian, who is also my best friend, is in Oxford for Christmas, having arrived yesterday, and we are taking full advantage of it. We spent all of today knocking about Oxford, going to explore several of the colleges that I hadn't been in before, and we've also planned trips to London (Tower of London, Westminster, wherever else) and Stonehenge. That will be cool. To say the least. We're sitting here side by side on the couch on our laptops.

So... photos!

Gillian on Merton Street. Merton is this great little cobbled street that I'd been on only once before, and almost forgot how cool it is.

This is noteworthy because the street name is very Oxford, which I therefore find amusing. Gillian took this picture.

Gillian at the Merton College gate, by the cobbled walk.

Gillian at the front of Oriel College, with the front quad visible in the background.

The spire of Exeter College Chapel. I really liked Exeter, I hadn't been in there before, and now as before, I am realizing I forgot to take a picture of the walk overlooking Radcliffe Square. Argh.

The entrance to Exeter College Chapel.

The interior of Exeter chapel. This was really fricking amazing, I don't think the picture does it justice.

The Exeter fellows' garden, which was closed, but we got a picture through the gate anyway.

The Exeter grounds, with the Radcliffe Camera visible to the right through the trees.

The windows of the Exeter library. Gillian fiddled with this a bit since the original was blurry, so if it looks weird, that's why.

Me on the steps into the garden.

The front quad of Balliol, another one where Gillian got distracted and I had to make sure she didn't get into trouble. So to speak. But we told the porter that I had a Bod card and he was like, "Ah, just go on through, whatever." So that was easy.

A cool entranceway at Balliol.

The Balliol College chapel. Not quite as cool as Exeter's, but cool nonetheless.

Balliol Chapel from the outside.

Gillian under the tree, looking prim.

Gillian at the entrance to Balliol's Hall, purposefully standing in front of the sign which says it was closed to visitors.

Me on the stairs. The trees everywhere look cool.

The quad of St. John's College, complete with cloisters. Take a note of the doorway in the middle. St. John's itself wasn't as amazingly beautiful as some of the others, but its gardens were HUGE, with all kinds of pathways, rocks, mossy walls, deep trees, etc.

Gillian in the doorway, as seen from the other side.

Gillian under a willow in the St. John's gardens. We were in a back path and discovered that the willow was only 2 feet away -- but those 2 feet were occupied by the grass, which you DO NOT walk upon under pain of death. But we looked both ways, bounded across the grass, and ducked under the willow anyway. And nobody killed us, so there was that.

Me under the willow.


That does it for the pictures today. We had a lot of fun exploring, got a panini at the Cafe Roma on Walton Street, and then decided to head back. We're planning to go to the Ashmolean tomorrow, check out the Dead Man's Walk behind Merton, and then go to the Eagle and Child pub for dinner (better known as the Bird and the Baby, where Tolkien, Lewis, and the Inklings used to meet). We're going to London on Monday and Stonehenge on Saturday, with Christmas on Thursday, so it should be fun. More pictures to come soon.

Photo Diary: Wales

A little late, as usual, in getting these up, but not TOO bad, as we went on Friday and it's now Monday night. I spent the weekend happily not doing work (no psychology essay this week, WHOO!) and of course had to make it up today with all the reading I got assigned to compensate, so I holed up in Blackwell's all day with a notebook and paid rent on a table with a sandwich and drink. But now that I find myself at leisure (and yes, rather rare) I figured I'd post the pictures from Wales. As always, peppered with my not-so-insightful commentary.

The suspension bridge crossing the River Severn into Wales, shot from out the bus window.
Suspension bridge in the distance (there are two of them) and you can see a bit of an island off to the left. The Severn is about the size of the Hudson, which was to say, they both took me aback since I'm not used to seeing that much water in Colorado.

The entrance to Tintern Abbey, of Wordsworth fame.

No, there is nothing remarkable about this sign whatsoever, except as an illustration that everything is printed in both English and Welsh, which you too will get hopelessly confused if you attempt to actually pronounce. The Welsh language: torturing consonants since the fifth century A.D.!

The entrance into Tintern from the Warming House.

A view through the ruined windows.

The main facade of the ruin.

The bulwark from the (former, obviously) cloisters.

A doorway out through the back.

The atmospheric shot. You can just hear the Dracula theme music striking up in the background.

VISITATIONS FROM THE AFTERLIFE! AAAAH!

And another atmospheric shot, with the Welsh countryside out the windows. Feel free to ignore the less aesthetic components of said scene, such as the metal scaffolding.

A dramatic shot, this time with sunlight.

Me, looking as retarded as ever. Unsure why I appear to have chipmunk cheeks.

Probably my favorite shot, but why are the bastards always ruining things with hoses and scaffolds? I know, I know, we don't want it to fall down on our heads. Shaddup.

Dramatic cross-sections.

DRAAACULA!!!

The door into the abbey.

No, the things in the foreground are not giant mutant cabbages or an army of invading trolls, at least I do not think. They are evidently bits of stone which they haven't got a place to put yet. Creative redecoration in action.

Annnnd this is a long while later, I realize I sort of forgot to photograph the transition (and besides my camera decided it was low on battery... after I'd changed them out earlier in the day. I swear, that thing eats them). This is at the Museum of St. Fagans, aka the Welsh patron saint, which is kind of like a living-history village with a bunch of authentic buildings you can wander around it. It is about a 30-minute drive from Tintern Abbey, just outside Cardiff.

Inside one of the period-furnished row houses, this one I believe from 1805. Thanks to my camera's habit of being smart and putting the flash on whenever it feels like, this picture is quite a bit lighter than it actually was inside.

Forgot which this one was. 1850s or something. Also a lot lighter than it was.

Inside the 16th-century farmhouse. It was almost completely black in here, so when I saw the picture, I said, "Huh, that's what the bed looks like."

The Celtic village. The first hut inside the gates is mildly unsettling, as you stick your head in and there is nothing but total darkness and some smoke. Also, very muddy. But cool.

The Welsh forest outside the village. Cue the faerieland music. Pretty, huh?

More faerieland. Complete with lamppost.

The entrance from across the bridge to St. Fagans Castle (actually just a Really Big Manor House We'll Call a Castle and See If Anybody Notices and Thinks We're Important Oh And Maybe Gives Us Money)

See! This Bit Appears Castle-Like!

See! We Also Have a Pond With Dopey Lute-Playing Statues! That Fellow On The Right There! And One On The Left but the Shrub Got In The Way!

We Also Have a Lovely Courtyard.

See! That Looks Really Castley!

(I hate to inform you, but that's a church. Across the road. And not part of St. Fagans Castle. But yes, it does look very gothic, what with the tower and archway and graveyard and all).

And here ends the photos. Which I am always dismayed to realize, since I never took as many pictures as I thought I did, and missed out on the gardens and some of the walkways around. But this should give you a nice representative sample as to how I faffed the day away in the merry olde land of Wales. More to come sometime.

Yes We Did

Short post. I'm exhausted. It's 5:30 am and I have two tutorials in about 7 hours. Birds are singing. But I'm here. Stayed up for all of it.

Yes we did.

I love my country.

The Part Where I Hate Not Being In America

(Or: I lack fingernails).

Tuesday, November 4, 2008. The day we've been waiting for. The day that's finally here. The day that's going to kill me with anxiety before it's over. The day where (KNOCK ON WOOD) America finally puts an end to the error, the criminality, the sheer stupidity and willful recklessness, of the last eight years that have left our country in tatters. The day where they listen to the better half of themselves and vote for hope, not fear. Vote for moving us into the 21st century, vote for finally realizing our promise as a better nation, instead of the laughingstock we've managed to make of ourselves. The part where we regain the trust of the world and our core American promise, where any citizen of any background can claim the highest office in the land. The part where I cry and laugh in joy, even though the first polls don't close until midnight my time. If I have to stay up until 5am to know for sure, I will. I leave nothing to chance. I am there the whole way. The nervousness is unbearable.

This American girl voted from Oxford two weeks ago, by Colorado absentee ballot. She re-registered in her home swing state (instead of where she goes to school, a very blue state indeed) to make the greatest difference. She checked the Secretary of State's website to make sure it arrived. She voted for hope, for promise, for her children's futures, for her own. She looks forward to being proud of her country’s choices and example again. She voted a straight Democratic party ticket and BARACK OBAMA AND JOE BIDEN for President and Vice President of a country that awaits their leadership and vision. And now she waits and prays.

YES WE CAN.

English Eventide

Afternoon.

Afternoon is hail.

The sky goes dark, clouds sweep in
shivering bare trees that crane over stone
and gaze down on leaves who have lost their way
golden and crumbling, scuffing on bridges, blowing
in the bus exhaust and the bicycles that sweep on by
dodging signs and faces, moving forward in the rain.

I walk on beneath the townhouses leaning together
like old men resting a moment on the cobbled hills
and the towers that raise their faces to the rain.

On Cornmarket Street
there's the bagpiper
you can hear him for a long way
lively jig or searing lament, coins glittering
on the plaid spread before him
keeping time with his own toe
not caring who watches, watching them
go back and forth and pour in streams from
glass and steel and stone, veiling
in the rain.

Tourists take shelter beneath the eaves
of modern shops and glowing windows,
playgrounds for the wealthy, their shells
left empty on the grilles that open to
subterranean windows: fast-food wrappers
skittering in the wind, caught short in their flight
against the craning stalks of lampposts, holding aloft
golden blown-glass orbs to pin back the onrushing rain.

Above them there are windows, some dark, some barred
some glowing with a light, and below you see your reflection
locked deep in the sheened cement beneath your feet
and water runs from the curb and gathers in the broken cobbles
and around you the human tiderush, moving in quick
fractions from the negative of a film-freeze, seen through
the looking-glass, and heads down and umbrellas and scarves
jackets and shopping bags held up against to guard
the hissing susurrus and silent crystalline moments
of the clattering fall of hail, bringing down
the clouds and mist and rain.

Evening.

Evening is clearing.

The clouds break and a breath of flame
touches the low-lying streamers in the north
and the bell-towers rear head and shoulders
back above the scurrying maze of people
to stand there, to reach, ancient walls and
high crenellations standing side by side
with Starbucks and McDonalds, a brightness
a modern plasticity where you step for a moment
you could be anywhere, but then you come free
and down past the tangled wynds with names
like Penny Farthing Lane and Starwort Road
narrow cobbled side roads closing out the sky
and shadows dancing in the licking remnants
of the starburst falling rainstorm now gone.

There in a moment you're alone, and the noise
of civilization gone behind you, you step into the
grounds of a castle, there among the houses on the hill
and the buses and the shops, for a moment you disappear
into history. At the far end of the wall, a buttress tower
and a flag at the top, you stand there, gaze at it
in the light of the dimming sunset, and hear,
"Hurry, my lady.... and go with God."
Footsteps on cobbled stones, and the snows of midwinter
thousands of years ago, brought here in a moment
close enough to touch.

English eventide.
Placing your notebook on the ancient ring wall
bordering a green faerie hill
to button your jacket against
the oncoming chill.
Tucking your scarf in
and turning away
Emerging from darkness
The last of the day.
And in a moment,
civilization returns.

Absorbed in again beneath the gaze
of the towers, who have seen
more than this
more than you.

You walk then, and wish
"you" could see through "my" eyes
a moment that the lens cannot touch
glass dappled with rain.

Step forward, and you're free then
among the hordes waiting at the bus station
and then you're there, not caring
thinking things like, Jesus, Christ Church is beautiful
and watching the wall bend away
through the low trees, looking for its end
lost in the mist.

English eventide:
The streetlamps still catching
an edge of gold on the trees
and the spidered ironwork
clutching a gasp of pale sky
high on the stone cupola
in the ancient towers gilded
by the deepening darkness
and the soft-coming mist
and here on the eve of All Saints
you believe, although what
you couldn't say.
and somewhere, for a moment
barely heard but echoing
shivering the air, to touch
but not to bring back, there and gone:

bells.

The All-Purpose Oxford Update

So I realized that even though I currently don't have any new photos, I do need to update my blog. Readers of my previous efforts will remember that I am not the world's most fastidious updater. Shut up. Although this might have been prompted by me having a dream last night that I would get $11 for every blog post and doing my best to bring my subconscious to life (yes, I am poor) it would also behoove me just to keep a semi-regular record so when I make references to things in the future, you will have some clue as to what I am talking about. But in general, I am not updating not because I am a lazy slob (debate me on that point later if you must) but because I am really, really busy. Take yesterday for example. Up bright and early, a half-hour walk to Wadham to return my library books and meet up with the school chaplain and four other student tutors, then take a bus out to the Oxford suburbs to tour the primary school where we'll be working.

(NB: I am now a member of said student tutoring program, which is a weekly commitment to take the bus out to Blackbird Leys and spend an hour or two both reading with the kids and providing a kind of big-sister support they may not get at home. It sounds like a lot of fun and a great opportunity, and I'm looking forward to it officially kicking off in two weeks). Once we got back from the school, it was lunchtime, so I had time to scarf down a Cornish pasty and a milkshake (found a great little shake store with a lot of character) and do some reading before packing up and heading off to my psych tutorial. (Tutorials, in case I haven't fully explained, are the core of the Oxford educational system and consist of your tutor assigning you a stack of books/research papers to read, and an essay or presentation to write, then you get to sit there for an hour and basically listen to them give you detailed point-by-point feedback on what they think you need to do better. It is an intellectually humiliating but ultimately worthwhile experience, and the SLC system is based in part on that -- we have regular classes and classwork, but we also meet every other week with our professor in order to pursue an independent topic that we then write a very long "conference paper" about at the end of term. So SLC has prepared me for this, and I imagine it would be a shock if I was coming from a big state university).

In any case, once the tutorial was over, I had gotten hit with another stack of homework for the next one -- books, papers, etc. etc. So I went to the Experimental Psychology library to pick them up, but since they were overnight-only loan (lame) I took them back to Wadham and parked in the Wadham library for the afternoon, read them and took notes on those bad boys, then went all the way back to the Experimental Psych library (getting dizzy yet?) to return them, before going (yes) all the way back to Wadham again for a meeting on the other half of the student tutoring program. (Do your feet get frequent walker miles? Maybe I'll get crap for free). Anyway, that means I'm going to London tomorrow (Friday) after my writing tutorial, to work with two other students to put on a workshop about the Normans. (So it's my task to get them to do creative pieces about William and Harold. Okay, I can handle that).

I've spent the afternoon doing some housecleaning and reading my way furiously through three of the four books I need to have finished by tomorrow, which has been enjoyable. It's actually raining here, which is not as expected as it might sound (the weather has, for the most part, been great). Quiet evening, maybe some dinner later, and then busy tomorrow before the weekend hits. That's not too much different, as I no longer have Saturdays (they are used to write my psychology essays, since that's the first off-day I have) but at least I have Sundays, in which I have continued my long-established routine of finding a coffee shop and chilling for a few hours before attending the Wadham College Evensong service, which is transformative and beautiful. I have quite enjoyed being able to reconstruct a spiritual side of myself, and Oxford has helped tremendously with that, among others. I have found myself thinking of it as home, even my little flat out here on Iffley Road with my three other flat-mates. I'm always out, doing things, keeping busy, seeing people, planning, and not to mention, all that homework. Yeesh. Still, I wouldn't have it any other way.

In summation: yes, alive, yes, happy, yes, busy. Whoof. I'll check in again whenever I feel like it's been a while or something interesting happens, whichever happens first.