Puppy

VioMind lived in Oxford for 6 months as a child and took me along for a walk down memory lane on Friday. For her it was a blissful afternoon of memories. For me it was an afternoon of walking around with an excited puppy who was rediscovering all the places where it left its mark at age 11.

What I did love about Oxford was getting to know a few Brits and seeing them in their element. VioMind's good friend from the 6th grade met us at the train stop. She has curly ginger hair and fair eyes. She taught us slang and helped us with accents. Her name is Jo. I couldn't have picked a better name for her. We sat near a meadow behind this "pretty bit," as Jo called it, while I munched away on my goat cheese, tomato, chutney, and rocket sandwich with whole-grain fair trade bread. Yum.

After, we ventured to all the places VioMind had piddled all those years ago. I took pictures as we wandered.

I think it leads to Narnia. C.S. himself did love the pub down the road from here.

The door to the house where a literary giant created hobbits.

Eventually we found VioMind's old flat and she had the guts to march up and ask the elderly woman living there if she could take a look around. The woman was so delighted to have visitors I soon found myself upstairs watching VioMind taking pictures of "the bathtub I saw a spider in once!" (Oh what could be more exciting?) Well I'll tell you what could be more exciting: the cat she used to snuggle as a school girl in knee socks was still alive. Not only was it alive, but I think it is soon going to be large enough to consume the woman who lives there. It took up half of the queen bed it was lounging on. Basically, she raised a cougar. His name is Luigi.

Cramming.

We continued our trek and ended on Squitchey Lane where Jo lives. Yes, Squitchey. Her house is filled with wonders. Among them: 3 cats (one of whom was sitting on the kitchen counter as we were making dinner. That made me a little concerned), 1 water bottle containing a clear liquid with a paper label that read "Poison" that was perched above the sink, a powder room that doubled as a coat closet, a wall of books, every issue of the Guardian since May 1984 on the dining room table, a round door that connected the office to the living room, a phone without any numbers, a book on how to make mixed drinks, and a eraser die that we used to play half a game of this.

Boardwalk? Please, try the Ashmolean.

While there I got to talk on the phone with one of Dad's good friends from South Africa. Her voice was like warm honey; it coated me as she spoke and stuck to my ribs as it went down. I loved just listening to her, even though it was brief. We made a date for the 11th. I can't wait to be sticky with her words.

By the time I got home with the puppy I was beat. But I got talked into playing a game of Sardines with some other students in the center. Let me tell you, it is creepy and creaky in the quiet hours of darkness. I did, however, discover during the game that there is a girl's bathroom downstairs! and to think I've been jogging up 4 flights of stairs to use the loo when there was one so close . . . blimey.