Saturday, May 31, 2008
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.
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.
Nature
I rethought today, about some of the things we discussed in "English," if you can call it that. I learn much more about the nature of the way things are rather than the ins and outs of British Literature.
We read one of his poems and it sent my mind to the grindstone thinking about questions. Real questions; because everything changes when the questions you pose are real. The one he poses in his poems is, "Little Lamb, who made thee?" and if you look at it as being a rhetorical question then I think all the meaning is lost. Little Lamb, if you really knew that God made you, that he referred to himself as a lamb when he came to earth, that he considered himself a shepherd, how would you act differently? and what does that say about your nature? Are you living up to the full capacity? What are you made of? Questions often seem trite but if you really pause and think I think it pulls the nature of God into the equation and this is a question that people spend lifetimes grappling with. The poem is juxtaposed next to this poem which was printed opposite in its original publication.
What does that say? What does it say about a God who makes a gentle lamb but also collected the fire and dreadful things and framed it in a tiger's symmetry? God made the beauty of the alps, but he also made the fury of hurricanes. The vast yellow fields of rapeseed, and the vast barren plains of famine. The evil and the divine. Does He create evil? How do I reconcile this with my understanding of His loving nature? With the innate acceptance that He is my father? Who made me? Who is He? And if he who made me, made all these things, what am I made of, really?
God expects his creations to live up to their creation. The lamb to be a lamb. The bird to be a bird. It seems like humans are the only ones who fall short of living up to what God expects them to be. What is my nature? If I am to have the nature of God, what is His nature?
It seems like the key lies in experience but experience is mocking by nature. It's beautiful to have experience, but ultimately it will kill you. Without the atonement we would be dead in the water because gaining experience means sin and dispair. Mistakes lead us to the right. But the paradox comes when you think that you learn the right way to overcome the mistake after the mistake has already been made. We are told to be like a child, but we can't understand what innocence is without experiencing the dirtiness. And so you're always too late, but you're becoming more prepared in other ways.
So I am lead to contemplate how I'm living up to my creation; how I'm using my time. If I am truly taking advantage of my potential then it will all be given back to me in the form of eternity. I'll have all the time I can fathom if I make good use of mine in the here and now. Little Lamb, who made thee?
The nature of mankind is to feel uncomfortable. I think each of us has moments of being keenly aware of what aliens we are here. We all have a sense that we don't belong. We become aware of the barnacles growing on our backs, dulling us. We itch for home. We ache for the one who made us. We search for the nature of the "whys."
Maybe this is where all art stems from. You want to find ways of explaining why sleep sometimes doesn't find you, or why you can feel so alone in a mass of others. You want answers for why there is an itch in your soul, or a hole in your heart. Sometimes you just feel awkward but pinpointing why becomes a lifelong game of refinement and searching. My professor said that artists always have a feeling of struggling; struggling for ideas, to contain ideas, to flesh out ideas; to execute ideas. It's just uncomfortable. The difference between him and I is that he has learned to live with the disagreeable feelings better than I have. And so art, in a way, is just finding ways to scratch the itch of life.
We read one of his poems and it sent my mind to the grindstone thinking about questions. Real questions; because everything changes when the questions you pose are real. The one he poses in his poems is, "Little Lamb, who made thee?" and if you look at it as being a rhetorical question then I think all the meaning is lost. Little Lamb, if you really knew that God made you, that he referred to himself as a lamb when he came to earth, that he considered himself a shepherd, how would you act differently? and what does that say about your nature? Are you living up to the full capacity? What are you made of? Questions often seem trite but if you really pause and think I think it pulls the nature of God into the equation and this is a question that people spend lifetimes grappling with. The poem is juxtaposed next to this poem which was printed opposite in its original publication.
What does that say? What does it say about a God who makes a gentle lamb but also collected the fire and dreadful things and framed it in a tiger's symmetry? God made the beauty of the alps, but he also made the fury of hurricanes. The vast yellow fields of rapeseed, and the vast barren plains of famine. The evil and the divine. Does He create evil? How do I reconcile this with my understanding of His loving nature? With the innate acceptance that He is my father? Who made me? Who is He? And if he who made me, made all these things, what am I made of, really?
God expects his creations to live up to their creation. The lamb to be a lamb. The bird to be a bird. It seems like humans are the only ones who fall short of living up to what God expects them to be. What is my nature? If I am to have the nature of God, what is His nature?
It seems like the key lies in experience but experience is mocking by nature. It's beautiful to have experience, but ultimately it will kill you. Without the atonement we would be dead in the water because gaining experience means sin and dispair. Mistakes lead us to the right. But the paradox comes when you think that you learn the right way to overcome the mistake after the mistake has already been made. We are told to be like a child, but we can't understand what innocence is without experiencing the dirtiness. And so you're always too late, but you're becoming more prepared in other ways.
So I am lead to contemplate how I'm living up to my creation; how I'm using my time. If I am truly taking advantage of my potential then it will all be given back to me in the form of eternity. I'll have all the time I can fathom if I make good use of mine in the here and now. Little Lamb, who made thee?
The nature of mankind is to feel uncomfortable. I think each of us has moments of being keenly aware of what aliens we are here. We all have a sense that we don't belong. We become aware of the barnacles growing on our backs, dulling us. We itch for home. We ache for the one who made us. We search for the nature of the "whys."
Maybe this is where all art stems from. You want to find ways of explaining why sleep sometimes doesn't find you, or why you can feel so alone in a mass of others. You want answers for why there is an itch in your soul, or a hole in your heart. Sometimes you just feel awkward but pinpointing why becomes a lifelong game of refinement and searching. My professor said that artists always have a feeling of struggling; struggling for ideas, to contain ideas, to flesh out ideas; to execute ideas. It's just uncomfortable. The difference between him and I is that he has learned to live with the disagreeable feelings better than I have. And so art, in a way, is just finding ways to scratch the itch of life.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
FYI
Posts have gradually streamed in irregularly as I've found the time to finish them up, but they are posted in the order of conception, not completion.
Thank you for your time, and attention.
Thank you for your time, and attention.
Cambridge
What is more British than punting on the Cam? Anything? I think it was definitely the highlight of my Wednesday. Another highlight was the masses of bikes and bikers. I have already decided I'm riding my bike more when I get home. Especially if the rumors of gas prices in Provo are true.
The punts.
The Cam.
I love mine too.
I need a wicker basket.
The punts.
The Cam.
I love mine too.
I need a wicker basket.Hairs
Excuse me. I'm doing an art project on women in London and as part of that, I'm collecting 100 strands of hair from 100 different women. Would you mind giving me a hair?
I did indeed ask 100 women this question for the last 5 days and my only regret is not video taping the reactions. The most common were somewhere along the lines of, "What? Seriously?" "Sure which one do you want?" and "Say that again. I don't speak English." Mostly my question was met with laughter, a brief conversation about where they are from. Surprisingly only a small handful actually came from somewhere in the UK. I met women from Bulgaria, Sicily, Italy, Germany, France, Poland, Estonia, Sweden, Norway, China, Iran and other countries. Only one woman told me "No" and two others had me pull the hair out for them. That was awkward.
I put the hairs in a little jar given to me as part of a collaborative project we're doing in 394. More on that to follow next week.
I did indeed ask 100 women this question for the last 5 days and my only regret is not video taping the reactions. The most common were somewhere along the lines of, "What? Seriously?" "Sure which one do you want?" and "Say that again. I don't speak English." Mostly my question was met with laughter, a brief conversation about where they are from. Surprisingly only a small handful actually came from somewhere in the UK. I met women from Bulgaria, Sicily, Italy, Germany, France, Poland, Estonia, Sweden, Norway, China, Iran and other countries. Only one woman told me "No" and two others had me pull the hair out for them. That was awkward.
I put the hairs in a little jar given to me as part of a collaborative project we're doing in 394. More on that to follow next week.
Bunkmate
Why I love my bunkmate:
- she brought an odd number of socks anticipating losing one in the laundry
- she doesn't actually have the plague
- she has her novels memorized and basically recited them to be verbatim while walking in Kensington Gardens
- she stays up late on her computer like me
- she leaves her music playing all. the. time.
- she doesn't get mad at me when I leave my backpack in front of her drawer
- she winks back
p.s. while writing this post one of my mates said, "does it smell like BO in here to any of you?" and then I sheepishly confessed that I too had just smelled something peculiar and, not knowing what the origin was, checked myself. (For the record it wasn't me) and then two other girls in the room confessed to smelling themselves too. Oh the joys of communal living. After a few minutes it was determined that the smell was coming from the kitchen. What is for dinner?
- she brought an odd number of socks anticipating losing one in the laundry
- she doesn't actually have the plague
- she has her novels memorized and basically recited them to be verbatim while walking in Kensington Gardens
- she stays up late on her computer like me
- she leaves her music playing all. the. time.
- she doesn't get mad at me when I leave my backpack in front of her drawer
- she winks back
p.s. while writing this post one of my mates said, "does it smell like BO in here to any of you?" and then I sheepishly confessed that I too had just smelled something peculiar and, not knowing what the origin was, checked myself. (For the record it wasn't me) and then two other girls in the room confessed to smelling themselves too. Oh the joys of communal living. After a few minutes it was determined that the smell was coming from the kitchen. What is for dinner?
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Expand
What was set aside as a night of relaxing conversation and a game of scrabble turned into six intense hours of discussion and mind expanding banter. I don't know how to process it all but I have come to a few conclusions:
1. The world we live in is just a series of paradoxes. Good or bad, that is the reality and we do what we will with it.
2. People are different and suited to unique institutions (or non-institutions)
3. There are more problems than solutions. Frustrating as it is, sometimes it creates intricacies and beauties.
4. Time, though confining, is a driving force. I can't do it all. Nor am I expected to. I need to let go of the compulsion.
5. I love art. I love thinking about art and talking about art and coming up against seemingly insuperable walls and finding ways to climb them through art.
6. I want to be a mother and an artist. I am a creator and I need not reconcile the two, but let the two become a seamless part of my life.
7. I want a studio with a table for my children to paint at. And they will all have sketchbooks.
The conversation was so moving that at times I was near tears. It either rang so true or seemed so much that I felt emotion boil up my throat and come close to spilling over.
Sometimes the things I talk about and think about or ideas presented to me take my brain in eight million directions all at once. I feel like I'm constantly playing catch-up cognitively, like I want to reach up with my arms and grab all the notions, opinions, impressions, views, theories, judgments, assessments and conclusions and somehow coral them back into my brain. But it's all too big to hold.
1. The world we live in is just a series of paradoxes. Good or bad, that is the reality and we do what we will with it.
2. People are different and suited to unique institutions (or non-institutions)
3. There are more problems than solutions. Frustrating as it is, sometimes it creates intricacies and beauties.
4. Time, though confining, is a driving force. I can't do it all. Nor am I expected to. I need to let go of the compulsion.
5. I love art. I love thinking about art and talking about art and coming up against seemingly insuperable walls and finding ways to climb them through art.
6. I want to be a mother and an artist. I am a creator and I need not reconcile the two, but let the two become a seamless part of my life.
7. I want a studio with a table for my children to paint at. And they will all have sketchbooks.
The conversation was so moving that at times I was near tears. It either rang so true or seemed so much that I felt emotion boil up my throat and come close to spilling over.
Sometimes the things I talk about and think about or ideas presented to me take my brain in eight million directions all at once. I feel like I'm constantly playing catch-up cognitively, like I want to reach up with my arms and grab all the notions, opinions, impressions, views, theories, judgments, assessments and conclusions and somehow coral them back into my brain. But it's all too big to hold.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Blake
A simple headstone in the middle of a footpath.Blake makes me think so as soon as we finished up in class I wanted to go to his grave and think some more, pay a little gratitude to a man who warped my brain for a few hours and brought me closer to my God. He showed me the power of poetry and the ability of art to strike you.
Numberless.The cemetery was overgrown and we found his headstone easily. It made me sad to think that such a grand person was hidden in a forgotten graveyard in the heart of London. It's passed by thousands of times a day. He didn't get the grandeur. But maybe he likes it that way, alone with the moss and the few who search for him. There was a potted fern and freshly laid flowers on his grave and it made me smile to think that others have had their hearts freshened by his words and left a token to simply say, "thanks."
Thanks.
Bunhill Fields.Globe
A light suspended at the Globe. We went here and saw this. Honestly, I think I liked the Y's version I saw in early February a bit better. But I always enjoy good theatrics, plus the company was fun. I counted my lucky stars that I wasn't a groundling since the sky was heavy and the water that gathered on the rooftops met the ground with shining.
Slickery groundlings.Noise
I decided that at heart I'm an urban soul. I simply thrive off of the chaos and commotions, the swirling stuff that elates my senses and enlivens my step. I love the Tube, I love the dirty streets, I love the diversity, I love how there are so many tiny pieces that go into making the city run like it does. And most of all I love that I am, in some microscopic way, a part of that.
This is a living city. Sometimes it feels like the city itself takes on characteristics of a breathing human soul. It signs, it groans, it lets loose and at night it sleeps. The city sometimes seems awake and anxious. Other times I feel like it's trudging. It must be the little parts that make this so, as if all the people are like cells coursing through its veins, just as real and as vital as the blood coursing through mine.
Yet.
In all the noise and tumult I sometimes crave the silence. It makes the moments where I can steal away for a few hours and sit with nothing chiming, ringing or whizzing past, no one talking, or laughing or singing . . . I just want to be. Just. Be.
Sunday night I felt as if a claustrophobic vice had pinned me in a prison of disorder and clamor. I wanted to escape by myself, find sanctuary in the grass and the leaves, run. But after the sun sets, leaving the center means having a companion and I simply couldn't stand for one. I needed to write. I needed to think. I needed to pray. Outloud. But where? Where in this cramped space of over 50 souls who, as best as they try not to, step on toes. I tried the library but it seemed to be filled with a cacophony of ticks and taps as 8 pairs of hands banged away at 4 keyboards. I tried the parlor. I tried the porch. But windows up and down the streets were open and people were walking by. Cars were zooming fast and before I could close myself into a ball of solitude sirens started sounding.
I walked inside and felt lost but let my feet carry me down. I ended up in the laundry room. Alone to my thoughts. Alone to commune. Alone to write and think and read and do all the things that I couldn't find the capacity to carry out with the weight of others breathe on my neck.
Noiseless.
This is a living city. Sometimes it feels like the city itself takes on characteristics of a breathing human soul. It signs, it groans, it lets loose and at night it sleeps. The city sometimes seems awake and anxious. Other times I feel like it's trudging. It must be the little parts that make this so, as if all the people are like cells coursing through its veins, just as real and as vital as the blood coursing through mine.
Yet.
In all the noise and tumult I sometimes crave the silence. It makes the moments where I can steal away for a few hours and sit with nothing chiming, ringing or whizzing past, no one talking, or laughing or singing . . . I just want to be. Just. Be.
Sunday night I felt as if a claustrophobic vice had pinned me in a prison of disorder and clamor. I wanted to escape by myself, find sanctuary in the grass and the leaves, run. But after the sun sets, leaving the center means having a companion and I simply couldn't stand for one. I needed to write. I needed to think. I needed to pray. Outloud. But where? Where in this cramped space of over 50 souls who, as best as they try not to, step on toes. I tried the library but it seemed to be filled with a cacophony of ticks and taps as 8 pairs of hands banged away at 4 keyboards. I tried the parlor. I tried the porch. But windows up and down the streets were open and people were walking by. Cars were zooming fast and before I could close myself into a ball of solitude sirens started sounding.
I walked inside and felt lost but let my feet carry me down. I ended up in the laundry room. Alone to my thoughts. Alone to commune. Alone to write and think and read and do all the things that I couldn't find the capacity to carry out with the weight of others breathe on my neck.
Noiseless.
Hitchcock
- Oh! He's coming home!
- She really has the cutest couch. I want a red couch. Ooh! Look at her bag. AND she has cute friends. What does that girl do? Her life looks perfect.
- Isn't she home early today?
- Nah, she usually gets back before we head down to dinner. Last night it was a little earlier because she had a dinner party.
- Oh yeah. That's right.
- Man, that guy who lives a floor below is seriously so attractive. We have a blessed view.
- You're telling me. Why isn't he dating the girl upstairs with the cute couch? I think they'd be a perfect couple.
- Whatever why isn't he dating me!
- I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you're a Peeping Tom--did he just look up here? I think he totally just looked up here.
My roommates are seriously so creepy. It's like watching Rear Window in real life. Every night they line up at the desk which lines the wall against the window, get on their computers and spy on the neighbors. One girl is almost so attached I'm just waiting for her to name them.
- She really has the cutest couch. I want a red couch. Ooh! Look at her bag. AND she has cute friends. What does that girl do? Her life looks perfect.
- Isn't she home early today?
- Nah, she usually gets back before we head down to dinner. Last night it was a little earlier because she had a dinner party.
- Oh yeah. That's right.
- Man, that guy who lives a floor below is seriously so attractive. We have a blessed view.
- You're telling me. Why isn't he dating the girl upstairs with the cute couch? I think they'd be a perfect couple.
- Whatever why isn't he dating me!
- I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you're a Peeping Tom--did he just look up here? I think he totally just looked up here.
My roommates are seriously so creepy. It's like watching Rear Window in real life. Every night they line up at the desk which lines the wall against the window, get on their computers and spy on the neighbors. One girl is almost so attached I'm just waiting for her to name them.
Phlegm
I wish I had the capacity to type out the sounds that have been clinging in my ears like sticky ectoplasm. My poor bunkmate must have the plague or something and I really do feel for her, but must she insist on coddling up every gram of phlegm and slime desperately clinging to her esophagus walls, forcing into a mass in her mouth and then spitting the wad into a plastic sac that just so happens to be precariously perched on her bulletin board which also happens to be positioned directly over my head? I just wish you could hear the sounds she makes. Every hacking, coughing, juicy-head-cold, allergetic, sludgy, oozy sound a human is capable of making she makes and indeed makes every, oh, say, 13.2 seconds. I'm just waiting for the time that she either a) spits into the bag and the little plastic "fft" sound that the mucousy blah makes as it plunks into the sack is followed by a mucousy plop of nearly two weeks of guttural excess on my shoulder or b) misses the bag entirely and I find a massive blob of plague on my head. Sort of like flubber, only not so friendly.
I'm just praying I don't fall ill. I was just nasty on Sunday and woke up with a fear that her 2 weeks of hacking down the crack between the wall and her mattress onto me and my things may have finally taken its toll on my immune system. I put my retainer on the shelf the other day and ever since I've been to afraid to wear it. I just don't think there is any way that brushing it could be sufficient. I need rubbing alcohol or something. Maybe I'll just run it through the sanitizer in the kitchen with the silverware.
I'm just praying I don't fall ill. I was just nasty on Sunday and woke up with a fear that her 2 weeks of hacking down the crack between the wall and her mattress onto me and my things may have finally taken its toll on my immune system. I put my retainer on the shelf the other day and ever since I've been to afraid to wear it. I just don't think there is any way that brushing it could be sufficient. I need rubbing alcohol or something. Maybe I'll just run it through the sanitizer in the kitchen with the silverware.
Boroughs
I didn't get enough the first time so we went back. As soon as we were walking up the stone steps and strolling along the Thames I was already planning my thrid venture to the market.
I want to live in Boroughs.
Grilled cheese. Again. I really just can't get enough, but if you had one with fresh cheese, you wouldn't either. After all, Cheese On Cheese Tastes Oh, Oh, Oh!
Cheese me.
I was obsessed with the variety of hummuses, spreads, and dips. Inspired. I'm going to have to do a bit of recipe research and experimentation when I get home. I'm so excited. I decided the passion of the summer is definitely going to be food. Fresh, delicious, healthy, new, inspired food. I've already started looking up and comparing recipes, trying to find ones that are like the delicacies I was walking by. Walking, in this case is a relative term. Bank Holiday on Monday made for an extremely crowded market. Bodies were packed next to each other and if you were lucky you could hop into the current of people moving in the same direction as you. Otherwise it was like spawning up river.
Apple juice that tasted like apples. How novel.
Fresh fruits and vegetables, herbs and juices . . . Everything was just so yummy. Organic. It felt clean in my mouth. I think I'm going to start an herb garden when I get home. Oh, and learn to make fresh pasta. I have a lot of ideas for things to do with feta cheese, corn, spinach and bell peppers.
Did I mention how much I love asparagus?
I want to live in Boroughs.Grilled cheese. Again. I really just can't get enough, but if you had one with fresh cheese, you wouldn't either. After all, Cheese On Cheese Tastes Oh, Oh, Oh!
Cheese me.I was obsessed with the variety of hummuses, spreads, and dips. Inspired. I'm going to have to do a bit of recipe research and experimentation when I get home. I'm so excited. I decided the passion of the summer is definitely going to be food. Fresh, delicious, healthy, new, inspired food. I've already started looking up and comparing recipes, trying to find ones that are like the delicacies I was walking by. Walking, in this case is a relative term. Bank Holiday on Monday made for an extremely crowded market. Bodies were packed next to each other and if you were lucky you could hop into the current of people moving in the same direction as you. Otherwise it was like spawning up river.
Apple juice that tasted like apples. How novel.Fresh fruits and vegetables, herbs and juices . . . Everything was just so yummy. Organic. It felt clean in my mouth. I think I'm going to start an herb garden when I get home. Oh, and learn to make fresh pasta. I have a lot of ideas for things to do with feta cheese, corn, spinach and bell peppers.
Did I mention how much I love asparagus?I can't wait to go back.
Further down the river we showed up here for their big USB Long Weekend. My favorite part? Playing "Adaptive Ping Pong" where the table had holes cut out of the middle and we used everything from magazines to muffin tins for paddles. I'm thinking I'm going to have to introduce this new found activity to my family in Provo. FHE anyone?
ps thanks capture(d) for some shots.
Further down the river we showed up here for their big USB Long Weekend. My favorite part? Playing "Adaptive Ping Pong" where the table had holes cut out of the middle and we used everything from magazines to muffin tins for paddles. I'm thinking I'm going to have to introduce this new found activity to my family in Provo. FHE anyone?
ps thanks capture(d) for some shots.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Blade
Friday might have risen to one of my top 10 favorite days in London.
The day started early with a trip by train to Lingfield to go here and do some of these. The London Temple is so beautiful and it was inspiring to sit inside. I love how they are truly sanctuaries from the world, a world apart from the chaos and noise. Maybe living in London for the past month and being bombarded with so much commotion helped me to appreciate the serene quiet even more.
We got home around 4:30 and I helped with dinner before eating at 5. My days seriously revolve around meals here and the trend has got. to. stop. As I was helping clean up I had the water running while I was washing plates and all of the sudden luke warm water started streamed from the tap. I put my finger under and to my utter delight the temperature continued to rise until I nearly shouted to ElemEd to, "Get in here! We have warm water!" It's been over 10 days since we've had warm water and it was one of the most exciting discoveries of my semester. I immediately jetted up the stairs, stripped down and stepped into hot water. Ahh. Finally.
There had been talk of participating in what has come to be called, "Blade or Die" but we didn't know if we could get a deal on rollerblades, nor did we know if our tired-of-traveling bodies could handle it, but some of the girls went down to Slick Wheelies, batted their eyes and tossed their hair to secure a deal. Blade or Die, here we come. We dressed up quick in some bright colors and headbands, you know, to intimidate the competition . . .
Just a bit of practice outside the center before we head to our death.
I was scared for us after barely making it out the front door and seeing girls nearly falling left and right but we practiced for a few minutes before doing a trial run to the starting point at Wellington Arch. I don't think I've rollerbladed since the 6th grade.
To our delight Whitlie brought her portable iHome with a shoulder strap that I took command of and soon had music practically seeping from my skin. I was bustin' sweet tunes as I rolled along and at the red lights we'd stop and get on our groove thang. Everyone laughed and clapped along and we had the greatest time.
There was no doubt that we all stood out, neon tights, loud music, and obvious American accents. Combined they acted as American lures and I think we met every American on the skate. A guy from Baltimore, a woman from Dallas . . . they all wanted to know where those "silly girls" were from. We made a lot of friends who were impressed with our ability to keep up with the group, being first-timers and all.
Blade or Die.
About a quarter past nine we stopped for "half time" where everyone took a breather in the middle of the city. Honestly, I have no idea where we were. All I knew was that we were over an hour away from home. According to the regulars I spoke with, the routes are usually around 20K but the marshal told me at half time that this Friday's skate was a bit on the intense side and would be closer to 25K. I have never felt so empowered. According to the map it was about 4K to Wellington Arch from the center bringng our total to roughly 31K (and for all you doubters that is 19.262507 miles).
Half time. Not only surviving but THRIVING.
The night was seriously some of the most fun I have had in London. Zipping past the sights and rolling over cobblestones; dancing to the sweet sounds of Whitlie's iPod and blading in the midst of friendly people; sporting awesome outfits and feeling the burn; it all made for an amazing night. The locals all head to the pub after and we got numerous invites, but we settled for a picture under the arch and hit the road.We got home just before 11 and I was surprised how un-sore I was. Little did I know that the next morning my entire body would feel like it was filled with lead.
The guy taking the picture asked us if we thought we were Japanese. Victory!
The day started early with a trip by train to Lingfield to go here and do some of these. The London Temple is so beautiful and it was inspiring to sit inside. I love how they are truly sanctuaries from the world, a world apart from the chaos and noise. Maybe living in London for the past month and being bombarded with so much commotion helped me to appreciate the serene quiet even more.
We got home around 4:30 and I helped with dinner before eating at 5. My days seriously revolve around meals here and the trend has got. to. stop. As I was helping clean up I had the water running while I was washing plates and all of the sudden luke warm water started streamed from the tap. I put my finger under and to my utter delight the temperature continued to rise until I nearly shouted to ElemEd to, "Get in here! We have warm water!" It's been over 10 days since we've had warm water and it was one of the most exciting discoveries of my semester. I immediately jetted up the stairs, stripped down and stepped into hot water. Ahh. Finally.
There had been talk of participating in what has come to be called, "Blade or Die" but we didn't know if we could get a deal on rollerblades, nor did we know if our tired-of-traveling bodies could handle it, but some of the girls went down to Slick Wheelies, batted their eyes and tossed their hair to secure a deal. Blade or Die, here we come. We dressed up quick in some bright colors and headbands, you know, to intimidate the competition . . .
Just a bit of practice outside the center before we head to our death.I was scared for us after barely making it out the front door and seeing girls nearly falling left and right but we practiced for a few minutes before doing a trial run to the starting point at Wellington Arch. I don't think I've rollerbladed since the 6th grade.
Our ankles wanted to bust as we glided over the not-so-smooth walks in Kensington Gardens, but we pressed on only to meet nearly 150 other die-hards at the starting line. I did not anticipate the group waiting to Blade or Die to be so large (and due to Monday's holiday, they were half their normal size). There were about 20 people in bright yellow vests marked "Marshal" and they lead the group as we took off down the street just after 8. The Marshals acted as traffic directors since we bladed in the middle of the streets and all 150 of us acted like a giant vehicle in the midst of the cars and double-deckers.
Watch out.
Watch out.To our delight Whitlie brought her portable iHome with a shoulder strap that I took command of and soon had music practically seeping from my skin. I was bustin' sweet tunes as I rolled along and at the red lights we'd stop and get on our groove thang. Everyone laughed and clapped along and we had the greatest time.
There was no doubt that we all stood out, neon tights, loud music, and obvious American accents. Combined they acted as American lures and I think we met every American on the skate. A guy from Baltimore, a woman from Dallas . . . they all wanted to know where those "silly girls" were from. We made a lot of friends who were impressed with our ability to keep up with the group, being first-timers and all.
Blade or Die.About a quarter past nine we stopped for "half time" where everyone took a breather in the middle of the city. Honestly, I have no idea where we were. All I knew was that we were over an hour away from home. According to the regulars I spoke with, the routes are usually around 20K but the marshal told me at half time that this Friday's skate was a bit on the intense side and would be closer to 25K. I have never felt so empowered. According to the map it was about 4K to Wellington Arch from the center bringng our total to roughly 31K (and for all you doubters that is 19.262507 miles).
Half time. Not only surviving but THRIVING.The night was seriously some of the most fun I have had in London. Zipping past the sights and rolling over cobblestones; dancing to the sweet sounds of Whitlie's iPod and blading in the midst of friendly people; sporting awesome outfits and feeling the burn; it all made for an amazing night. The locals all head to the pub after and we got numerous invites, but we settled for a picture under the arch and hit the road.We got home just before 11 and I was surprised how un-sore I was. Little did I know that the next morning my entire body would feel like it was filled with lead.
The guy taking the picture asked us if we thought we were Japanese. Victory!Saturday, May 24, 2008
Morning
Conveniently, I forgot to pack an alarm clock. Whodathought I would do such a thing me being the morning person that I am and all . . . Truth be told they're superfluous here (at least for me) because I have been able to have his uncanny ability to just wake up when I want to. I go to bed thinking, I need to get up at 7 and miraculously, I do! Plus, if that fails, inevitably the rustling of 15 other bodies in the same room as me causes an almost palpable sense of waking up that just can't be ignored and my body is involuntarily compelled out of its state of rest.
This morning, however, I was awoken by a sudden thwap on the temple followed by an might be under your bed. Mind grabbing it?"
Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.
I wish I was more charitable and instead of thinking about bloodshed thought about hugs and kisses and something along the lines of, How great it is that Bunkmate is finally well enough to be chipper. But I did not wake up relishing in faith, divine nature, individual worth and good works. Rather, I cursed her name, and with my half asleep, limp excuse for an arm felt around down the crack for her horrid battery. I found it. Then I gave her the battery, alarm clock, batter cover, and a crusty morning glare.
I have now woken up to this blasted alarm clock striking my head twice now. Luckily, this time I wasn't face up, but I think if it happens again I'm going to have to bust out my rubber cement and secure that thing to the shelf. For the record, I much prefer incessant, repetitive, ear splitting, obnoxious, sirenesque sounds waking me up rather than alarm clocks falling from the sky. I have learned, however, that there are definitely more ways than one that an alarm clock and jolt you from your sleep.
This morning, however, I was awoken by a sudden thwap on the temple followed by an might be under your bed. Mind grabbing it?"
Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.
I wish I was more charitable and instead of thinking about bloodshed thought about hugs and kisses and something along the lines of, How great it is that Bunkmate is finally well enough to be chipper. But I did not wake up relishing in faith, divine nature, individual worth and good works. Rather, I cursed her name, and with my half asleep, limp excuse for an arm felt around down the crack for her horrid battery. I found it. Then I gave her the battery, alarm clock, batter cover, and a crusty morning glare.
I have now woken up to this blasted alarm clock striking my head twice now. Luckily, this time I wasn't face up, but I think if it happens again I'm going to have to bust out my rubber cement and secure that thing to the shelf. For the record, I much prefer incessant, repetitive, ear splitting, obnoxious, sirenesque sounds waking me up rather than alarm clocks falling from the sky. I have learned, however, that there are definitely more ways than one that an alarm clock and jolt you from your sleep.
Missionary
Last Sunday was a thirteen and a half hour day. I loved it.
We left at the usual 8:15 time to make church by 10:00. There was a lot of traffic in Mitcham, however, and we got out there about 15 minutes late. Bummer.
For weeks the ward has been advertising a missionary open house, inviting all the ward members to get out and invite non-members, less-actives, inactives, friends, family, everyone and anyone willing to listen to a message while simultaneously improving their lives and understanding of the gospel. We were asked a few weeks ago by the senior couple of the ward to be there and help out. We were glad to offer a hand.
So last Sunday was the big day. After meeting, teaching, singing, sharing, and practicing we hopped on home with the senior couple for a spot of lunch/dinner before having to skip back a few hours later to set up.
The bishop's wife was asked to do "light refreshments." Let me tell ya, I'd want her to do light refreshments for me that her version of "light" is the spread she had last week. Homemade donuts, spring rolls, chips, sandwiches, biscuits . . . It was delightful. My catering skills and instincts came in handy as we helped fix and set up the goods and the night was a great success. Investigators came and were fed in more ways than one, and we got a chance to be right on the missionary front lines and see the seeds being planted.
Earlier this semester I tried ordering one of these to hand out while I was here in London. FYI shipping from the Distribution Center to the London Center is over 35 greenbacks. Ouch. Then the bright idea dawned on me to snag one off a missionary from the ward. My brilliance was realized when I obtained a copy at the open house. A thrill ran through me as I put it in my bag and felt the weight of responsibility resting on my shoulder. Now I had a physical reminder to be brave and share.
I was thumbing through it at the bus stop and reading parts of a pamphlet the missionaries slipped in the front cover when a woman behind me asked me what bus I was waiting for. The 118, and you? She was waiting for the same one and we were both headed to Tooting. The bus arrived a few minutes later and we got on together. She asked me where I was from and why I was in London. I told her a bit about the program and how long we're staying and asked her where she is from. Maylasia. She's been here for over 20 years and has worked as a librarian. Conveniently, she loves to read. My mind was a reeling: Should I give her the Book of Mormon? How do I bring it up? What should I say? Do I say anything when I give it to her? And then she practically spoon fed me the opportunity. She asked why we were dressed up and I told her that we were at church. She asked what church we go to. I told her. She asked where it is. I told her.
She was concerned about us walking home and getting to our next bus transfer this late at night so she accompanied us and led us through a better lit ally rather than taking the street. As her bus approached we said goodbye and the book burned hot in my bag. I ran up to the door of the bus as she was stepping inside and said "Wait! Can I give you this book as a thank you for helping us tonight? It's one of my favorites." She graciously accepted and gave me a hug.
Later I was talking to one of the girls with me about the experience and she told me that the woman had been reading the pamphlet over my shoulder at the bus stop before we started our conversation. I was so excited.
Seeds are being planted. The work is going forth and it is an amazingly exciting opportunity to be part of a little bit here in London.
We left at the usual 8:15 time to make church by 10:00. There was a lot of traffic in Mitcham, however, and we got out there about 15 minutes late. Bummer.
For weeks the ward has been advertising a missionary open house, inviting all the ward members to get out and invite non-members, less-actives, inactives, friends, family, everyone and anyone willing to listen to a message while simultaneously improving their lives and understanding of the gospel. We were asked a few weeks ago by the senior couple of the ward to be there and help out. We were glad to offer a hand.
So last Sunday was the big day. After meeting, teaching, singing, sharing, and practicing we hopped on home with the senior couple for a spot of lunch/dinner before having to skip back a few hours later to set up.
The bishop's wife was asked to do "light refreshments." Let me tell ya, I'd want her to do light refreshments for me that her version of "light" is the spread she had last week. Homemade donuts, spring rolls, chips, sandwiches, biscuits . . . It was delightful. My catering skills and instincts came in handy as we helped fix and set up the goods and the night was a great success. Investigators came and were fed in more ways than one, and we got a chance to be right on the missionary front lines and see the seeds being planted.
Earlier this semester I tried ordering one of these to hand out while I was here in London. FYI shipping from the Distribution Center to the London Center is over 35 greenbacks. Ouch. Then the bright idea dawned on me to snag one off a missionary from the ward. My brilliance was realized when I obtained a copy at the open house. A thrill ran through me as I put it in my bag and felt the weight of responsibility resting on my shoulder. Now I had a physical reminder to be brave and share.
I was thumbing through it at the bus stop and reading parts of a pamphlet the missionaries slipped in the front cover when a woman behind me asked me what bus I was waiting for. The 118, and you? She was waiting for the same one and we were both headed to Tooting. The bus arrived a few minutes later and we got on together. She asked me where I was from and why I was in London. I told her a bit about the program and how long we're staying and asked her where she is from. Maylasia. She's been here for over 20 years and has worked as a librarian. Conveniently, she loves to read. My mind was a reeling: Should I give her the Book of Mormon? How do I bring it up? What should I say? Do I say anything when I give it to her? And then she practically spoon fed me the opportunity. She asked why we were dressed up and I told her that we were at church. She asked what church we go to. I told her. She asked where it is. I told her.
She was concerned about us walking home and getting to our next bus transfer this late at night so she accompanied us and led us through a better lit ally rather than taking the street. As her bus approached we said goodbye and the book burned hot in my bag. I ran up to the door of the bus as she was stepping inside and said "Wait! Can I give you this book as a thank you for helping us tonight? It's one of my favorites." She graciously accepted and gave me a hug.
Later I was talking to one of the girls with me about the experience and she told me that the woman had been reading the pamphlet over my shoulder at the bus stop before we started our conversation. I was so excited.
Seeds are being planted. The work is going forth and it is an amazingly exciting opportunity to be part of a little bit here in London.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Hampton
I have come to love Wednesdays since we take a group hiatus to somewhere outside of the confines of London and see more of England (even if it is in a cursory way). This past Wednesday we headed here. Stunning.
There were two main phases of building so the palace ended up as an eclectic mix of Tudor and Baroque architecture. It was home to many names of note Christopher Wren, George III, William and Mary, James I, and Henry VIII to name a few. An interesting fact of note: the fashionable dress of the era matches the architecture. The broad, strong, square, grounded look in the buildings was exactly what the clothing reflected. Tall, elongated elegance of the Baroque can be seen in both the dress and the architecture. Nifty huh?
Squares and stripes and a few colored windows.
The palace was lavish and the audio tour interesting. I was floored by the detail in the woodwork and plaster they used for embellishment. The intricacies covered every inch of that place and my eyes were constantly crawling in and out of sculpted fireplaces or opulent tapestries. I loved hearing the stories of the royal families and blessed my parents a hundred times for not being the king and queen. There is way to much underhanding and thwarting with royals.
A duality of sorts.
My favorite place to be, however, was outside the palace staring at the architecture and brick work or roaming the gardens. I could spend days walking the grounds but it made me realize that I miss a certain Dahlia Boy. . .
Mushaboom, Mushaboom.
Vanishing point.
There were two main phases of building so the palace ended up as an eclectic mix of Tudor and Baroque architecture. It was home to many names of note Christopher Wren, George III, William and Mary, James I, and Henry VIII to name a few. An interesting fact of note: the fashionable dress of the era matches the architecture. The broad, strong, square, grounded look in the buildings was exactly what the clothing reflected. Tall, elongated elegance of the Baroque can be seen in both the dress and the architecture. Nifty huh?
Squares and stripes and a few colored windows.The palace was lavish and the audio tour interesting. I was floored by the detail in the woodwork and plaster they used for embellishment. The intricacies covered every inch of that place and my eyes were constantly crawling in and out of sculpted fireplaces or opulent tapestries. I loved hearing the stories of the royal families and blessed my parents a hundred times for not being the king and queen. There is way to much underhanding and thwarting with royals.
A duality of sorts.My favorite place to be, however, was outside the palace staring at the architecture and brick work or roaming the gardens. I could spend days walking the grounds but it made me realize that I miss a certain Dahlia Boy. . .
Mushaboom, Mushaboom.
Vanishing point.Thursday, May 22, 2008
Gift
There is a trend that has started with one of the professors. When he is allotted 2 minutes for addressing us in a meeting he inevitably far exceeds 20 and when he begins to stray off topic during lecture instead of meandering back he takes the line and reels us in an arbitrary direction until we have been more off topic than on for an hour.
I love it.
Monday he got off talking about this and ended up rambling for 45 minutes straight, but what he had to say was the most fantastic rambling I've heard in a long time.
His main points were that our bodies and spirit need constant feeding. Often feeding of the spirit comes through others and God simultaneously. Many times it comes through art. Art works through a very subtle medium since it doesn't just use the five senses but it engages them. All forms of art express, touch, and feed us in unique and important ways feeding different parts of our spirits to varying extents. He (being a professor of English) focused on literature for a bit, pointing out that only words can express the details of thought, but the majority of his lecture revolved around music. Music sends messages in completely abstract forms, but those forms somehow fit so comfortable inside us we are many times unaware of the gentle ways it is working inside us. This can be a scary thing. There is great power in music and other forms of art.
But there are also impostors, posing as powerful works of art when in reality they are really just cheap, sick and dirty. It is our job to seek for the good, substantial and meaningful art and be fed by it. He made an analogy about food and how if you sustain yourself off of cheep food, it provides immediately pleasure and maybe a bit of nourishment, but eventually you do yourself more harm than good. In essence, Bad Art = McDonald's. Cheap art is thin gruel and sustaining yourself off of rubbish can only last for so long before you have poisoned your body and incapacitated your soul.
His last point was that art is a gift but like with all gifts, they come with an amount of responsibility. The responsibility of the gift can't exceed that which the receiver can handle. Driving is a gift, but giving that gift to an 8-year-old would mean certain death. Marriage is a gift, but imposing that on someone immature and ill-prepared only sets them up for failure. Misery and gifts often come side by side. The greatest gifts in life are reserved for those who love the work required to receive the responsibility of the gift. The atonement is a gift, but understanding it and accepting it takes a measure of responsibility and a whole lot of work. The best gifts are often the hardest to accept. We have to work to accept. We are in line to inherit a tremendous gift; the kingdom of our Father. To think of the work and responsibility required to handle this amazing gift is mind-blowing and daunting in every sense of the word. It makes me feel small and inable, inadequate and irresponsible. I mean, spiritually I'm a pygmy. I have so much to work on, to improve, to build, before I am even partially prepared to have the weighty responsibility of that gift bestowed on my shoulders.
I love it.
Monday he got off talking about this and ended up rambling for 45 minutes straight, but what he had to say was the most fantastic rambling I've heard in a long time.
His main points were that our bodies and spirit need constant feeding. Often feeding of the spirit comes through others and God simultaneously. Many times it comes through art. Art works through a very subtle medium since it doesn't just use the five senses but it engages them. All forms of art express, touch, and feed us in unique and important ways feeding different parts of our spirits to varying extents. He (being a professor of English) focused on literature for a bit, pointing out that only words can express the details of thought, but the majority of his lecture revolved around music. Music sends messages in completely abstract forms, but those forms somehow fit so comfortable inside us we are many times unaware of the gentle ways it is working inside us. This can be a scary thing. There is great power in music and other forms of art.
But there are also impostors, posing as powerful works of art when in reality they are really just cheap, sick and dirty. It is our job to seek for the good, substantial and meaningful art and be fed by it. He made an analogy about food and how if you sustain yourself off of cheep food, it provides immediately pleasure and maybe a bit of nourishment, but eventually you do yourself more harm than good. In essence, Bad Art = McDonald's. Cheap art is thin gruel and sustaining yourself off of rubbish can only last for so long before you have poisoned your body and incapacitated your soul.
His last point was that art is a gift but like with all gifts, they come with an amount of responsibility. The responsibility of the gift can't exceed that which the receiver can handle. Driving is a gift, but giving that gift to an 8-year-old would mean certain death. Marriage is a gift, but imposing that on someone immature and ill-prepared only sets them up for failure. Misery and gifts often come side by side. The greatest gifts in life are reserved for those who love the work required to receive the responsibility of the gift. The atonement is a gift, but understanding it and accepting it takes a measure of responsibility and a whole lot of work. The best gifts are often the hardest to accept. We have to work to accept. We are in line to inherit a tremendous gift; the kingdom of our Father. To think of the work and responsibility required to handle this amazing gift is mind-blowing and daunting in every sense of the word. It makes me feel small and inable, inadequate and irresponsible. I mean, spiritually I'm a pygmy. I have so much to work on, to improve, to build, before I am even partially prepared to have the weighty responsibility of that gift bestowed on my shoulders.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Home
It was such a strange feeling coming back from Edinburgh and feeling so at home when we finally reached the familiar Underground. Something so un-homey has never felt so completely homey. I have realized that this place really is becoming a part of me and I love that. I need to come back and live for a few years, have more time to soak in the city and let it get into my pores.
I took a walk to Holland Park Tuesday afternoon and walked down some of the most charming streets in Kensington. I wouldn't mind living in any of them. I'd call them home in a second. Anyone have few million pounds to spare?
Holland Park Ave.
I thought about my dad a lot and how much he would love roaming the streets I was walking. They were just so beautiful. The kind of beauty that makes you have to stop and lift your heart in gratitude. The kind of beauty that keeps your camera in your bag because anything would be an injustice. It's that kind of beauty that feeds me spirit and keeps me alive. I soak in the nourishment through my eyes and feed my entire being.
I took a walk to Holland Park Tuesday afternoon and walked down some of the most charming streets in Kensington. I wouldn't mind living in any of them. I'd call them home in a second. Anyone have few million pounds to spare?
Holland Park Ave.I thought about my dad a lot and how much he would love roaming the streets I was walking. They were just so beautiful. The kind of beauty that makes you have to stop and lift your heart in gratitude. The kind of beauty that keeps your camera in your bag because anything would be an injustice. It's that kind of beauty that feeds me spirit and keeps me alive. I soak in the nourishment through my eyes and feed my entire being.
Trifecta
I have experienced the same phenomenon numerous times now. Whenever I'm with her and her we form a sort of mystical trifecta that summons the Tube (or the bus or the train) to arrive just as our feet near the edge of the platform. It has happened more times than I have fingers. Magic!
William Wallace. Shirtsthought. Me. (Note the red cheeks. It was chilly atop that crag).
William Wallace. Shirtsthought. Me. (Note the red cheeks. It was chilly atop that crag).Repetition
The first assignment in our conceptual art class was to sit on the Tube for and hour and jot down the bits of overheard conversation, then take those bits and form a piece of poetry or prose. I really liked the assignment even though I felt a bit scummy doing it. But the project made me notice the repetition and the rhythm of transit, also how in the mobs of people there are still the individuals that don't get swept into the repeating endlessnesss.
Look at you
The thing is that, the thing is, the thing is I see now
It wasn’t even in my head to see you
Don’t you see?
Wier kann nicht
Sehen
Change here for the Jubilee Line
Stop
It’s not that far, not that far, not that far
(I already told you)
Two or three I think, at least forty-two, a hundred
It’s the next station
Only one
Stop
Change here for the Piccadilly Line
Listen
You can’t, you can’t
I extended my arms
Listen
This generation, that generation, any generation
But what do you do if it doesn’t?
Listen
Move to the back
Make sure
Listen
Change here for the District and Circle Lines
He’s the man who carries
He’s proof to me that I got it
He’s my brother, my dad, that man there
Change here for the Central Line
Those are the one she feels like
Value what they value
I said yes, he said no
I felt like a rarity
It’s my choice to feel like a rarity
But then all you see is sand
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
York
York was the next stop on our four day get a way. I didn't know what to expect when we first arrived. I had read up on this a bit and I expected a cramped, medieval city. But York held wonders on its cobblestones.
We found a pastry shop that although failed miserably in the meat pie department, excelled in the desert pastry department. Just think, 5 Yum Yums for only 99p! Could there be anything sweeter? We sat in a graveyard across the street from the pastry shop and made 3 consecutive trips inside to gorge ourselves once more on the flaky, buttery goodness.
After we tramped toward the York Minster but got distracted along the way. Distraction number one? A store full of environmentally friendly and fair traded goods. It was incredible. I've never seen recycling done so right. I purchased one of these to make Days runs with. I think it just screams York. Don't you? Distraction number two: a bookstore.
I walked in and immediately felt like every book in the place was soon to fall in on me and bury me in a mound of literature. Thankfully the crookedly shelved books stayed put as I wound through the narrow corridors absolutely crammed with pages, spines and bindings. I don't know how many floors the tiny shop had but it felt like a vertical stack of 6 rooms absolutely congested with novels, anthologies, compilations, volumes, manuals, treatises, storybooks, paperbacks . . . it was a wonderland. We got lost for over an hour and I emerged empty handed but with a sketchbook full of titles.
I stole a peek out the window.
Just a view from the here.
We snagged some gourmet burgers for dinner and then headed home after a tiring day of exploring. The YHA in York wasn't near the standard set by Edinburgh, but the company was better and soon her and I found ourselves snuggling in our bunk bed.
The wall.
The next day we decided that the inner city had nothing left to offer us. Instead we walked the entire length of the partially reconstructed medieval wall surrounding the city. The walk was beautiful and it made me vow to have a garden when I grow up. There was so much to feast on while we were walking I got distracted by the cracks in the walls. Sometimes my eyes spend too much time inching their way along I felt like I had to drag them to keep up with my pace.
We caught the 2:40 train home and arrived in London safely that night. It was a beautiful trip. And now we have to go to school again.
We found a pastry shop that although failed miserably in the meat pie department, excelled in the desert pastry department. Just think, 5 Yum Yums for only 99p! Could there be anything sweeter? We sat in a graveyard across the street from the pastry shop and made 3 consecutive trips inside to gorge ourselves once more on the flaky, buttery goodness.
After we tramped toward the York Minster but got distracted along the way. Distraction number one? A store full of environmentally friendly and fair traded goods. It was incredible. I've never seen recycling done so right. I purchased one of these to make Days runs with. I think it just screams York. Don't you? Distraction number two: a bookstore.
I walked in and immediately felt like every book in the place was soon to fall in on me and bury me in a mound of literature. Thankfully the crookedly shelved books stayed put as I wound through the narrow corridors absolutely crammed with pages, spines and bindings. I don't know how many floors the tiny shop had but it felt like a vertical stack of 6 rooms absolutely congested with novels, anthologies, compilations, volumes, manuals, treatises, storybooks, paperbacks . . . it was a wonderland. We got lost for over an hour and I emerged empty handed but with a sketchbook full of titles.
I stole a peek out the window.The bookshop was adjacent to York Minster so we headed over to the big site. Not wanting to pay to enter, we decided to go to Holy Communion to get free admission. Resourceful and educational. I think yes. We planned to meet up at a big, better known, impersonal and ordinary bookstore for a spot of hot chocolate and a comfy chair to read in. I got conned into shopping for a few hours before we finally wound up at a cafe. Half of us got kicked out so we moved down nearer to the shelves to read and eventually found ourselves situated neatly around a large table. We were there for almost 3 hours. It was gloriously relaxing.
Just a view from the here.
The wall.
We caught the 2:40 train home and arrived in London safely that night. It was a beautiful trip. And now we have to go to school again.
New
Day two in Edinburgh we decided to kick it in New Town and hit up a gallery or two. The day was much less engaging than the previous one, but it was hard to expect anything to hold a candle to the grand time we had the day before. The day commenced with a jaunt to the castle to watch the men in kilts play their pipes and hit their drums. It was entertaining. Cold.
I sat on the ground to get a front row view, not to look up kilts.
On our way there the day prior we spied a joke shop. The name alone got us chuckling. Aha Ha Ha. He bought a mustache. I bought a poo.
Both got quality reactions numerous times. (The poo has continued to float around the center for days. Sorry for using the word "float" I didn't think about it until after and now I think it's really funny).
We trekked to an exhibit that I really enjoyed. It made me think about my conceptual project a bit and got the wheels in my head turning about how I can work out my idea on paper.
Looking down a close at New Town.
Finding something to eat was an ordeal. After bouncing to a few options, getting kicked out of here and a wee headache we settled on some basics from the grocery store. I have never been more satisfied with lunch. Yum.
We visited the National Gallery after filling our bellies. The gallery is a lot smaller than the others that I have visited while in the UK, but it still had a few gems. I did some sketching and more drinking with my eyes before we decided to take a 45 minute walk to the outskirts of humanity and see what the modern gallery had to offer. Love, love, loved it. This was cool. This was moving. This blew my mind. The trip was well worth it. We left with our eyes and brains filled.
Edinburgh is pointy.
We walked to the other side the city to make a pilgrimage to the Disgrace of Edinburgh. There was a bit of balking on the way up, but we got there alright and the view was incredible. I was particularly impressed with the innumerable chimneys.
More chimneys please.
By this time our tummies were grumbling and it was time to head to a pub for the Scottish experience. Word had it that World's End Pub on the Royal Mile was the place to go for some good eats. Word to the wise, avoid that pub even if you have to get knifed for it. I wanted to end my world while eating there. We had to wait over an hour for a seat, almost as long for our food. The food was bad but I take part of the blame for that. I wanted the soup of the day but much to my dismay they were out so I resorted to the next thing on the menu: nachos. It is never a good idea to get nachos in Scotland. Period.
I sat on the ground to get a front row view, not to look up kilts.On our way there the day prior we spied a joke shop. The name alone got us chuckling. Aha Ha Ha. He bought a mustache. I bought a poo.
Both got quality reactions numerous times. (The poo has continued to float around the center for days. Sorry for using the word "float" I didn't think about it until after and now I think it's really funny).We trekked to an exhibit that I really enjoyed. It made me think about my conceptual project a bit and got the wheels in my head turning about how I can work out my idea on paper.
Looking down a close at New Town.Finding something to eat was an ordeal. After bouncing to a few options, getting kicked out of here and a wee headache we settled on some basics from the grocery store. I have never been more satisfied with lunch. Yum.
We visited the National Gallery after filling our bellies. The gallery is a lot smaller than the others that I have visited while in the UK, but it still had a few gems. I did some sketching and more drinking with my eyes before we decided to take a 45 minute walk to the outskirts of humanity and see what the modern gallery had to offer. Love, love, loved it. This was cool. This was moving. This blew my mind. The trip was well worth it. We left with our eyes and brains filled.
Edinburgh is pointy.We walked to the other side the city to make a pilgrimage to the Disgrace of Edinburgh. There was a bit of balking on the way up, but we got there alright and the view was incredible. I was particularly impressed with the innumerable chimneys.
More chimneys please.By this time our tummies were grumbling and it was time to head to a pub for the Scottish experience. Word had it that World's End Pub on the Royal Mile was the place to go for some good eats. Word to the wise, avoid that pub even if you have to get knifed for it. I wanted to end my world while eating there. We had to wait over an hour for a seat, almost as long for our food. The food was bad but I take part of the blame for that. I wanted the soup of the day but much to my dismay they were out so I resorted to the next thing on the menu: nachos. It is never a good idea to get nachos in Scotland. Period.
Smartcity
Youth hostels have the reputation of being dingy and grimy, raucous and cramped. I'd say my experience at Smartcity YHA was the antithesis of all those things. The shower was amazing (hot water and everything) the bunks were cozy, the whole hostel was surprising clean, well lit, relatively nice smelling . . . the only question I have is why do youth hostels always have to be such labyrinths?
Our first day in Edinburgh was deemed a wild success full of local cuisine, interesting people, cool sights, sounds and smells, and to boot, no knifings. We ended our evening sitting in a park looking across the gulch into New Town: the next days destination.
We played a bit of cards, watched a bit of this, and then I hit the sack before the clock struck twelve. Amazing.
Our first day in Edinburgh was deemed a wild success full of local cuisine, interesting people, cool sights, sounds and smells, and to boot, no knifings. We ended our evening sitting in a park looking across the gulch into New Town: the next days destination.
We played a bit of cards, watched a bit of this, and then I hit the sack before the clock struck twelve. Amazing.
Collegiate
We passed the University of Edinburgh shortly after dinner and I prodded the group to pause a moment to explore. There was only one building and it was seemingly deserted. The campus has buildings strewn all over Edinburgh and we happened to stumble upon Old College. We walked inside the quad and passed countless locked doors, closed windows and then the library. I wanted to see inside so I ran up the stairs and opened up the large door only to find a small foyer with a security guard. I asked if visitors were allowed in the library and he nodded yes as he got up out of his chair and walked around to let us in.
Old College. University of Edinburgh.
The guard acted much more like a tour guide and was obviously proud of U of E. We struck gold. He told us a bit of history, pointed out a few famous professors and let us in the library after turning on the lights and unlocking the door. It was set up for testing and I thought I had been transported to Hogwarts and was about to start my O.W.L.S. before the hour was up. It was an incredible room and really put the ol' testing center to shame. At the end of every row of shelves was a bust of an outstanding alumni or professor among whom I recognized Sir Walter Scott, and Robert Jameson. The shelves were enclosed with gold gates locking the old books away from grubby fingers and inattentive hands. The molding was exquisite rivaled only by the ceiling . . . If I got to take exams in a room like that I might be more partial to studying. After I got over my Hogwarts daydream another soon ensued in which I was whizzing about on those tall ladders attached to the top row of shelves and singing about my favorite book. You know, like she does in the movie.
He was anxious to show us the other rooms downstairs so we followed him through the halls lined with stately portraits and pictures of alumni (two famous of note: Gordon Brown and J.K. Rowling). The lower rooms were filled with work by Sir Henry Raeburn. I loved this portrait the most.
After getting a personal tour of the library in the Old College we stayed and chatted with the gem-of-a-security-guard about Scotland and politics particularly. We asked him how he felt about the proposed succession from the United Kingdom and he replied with a chuckle and said, "Well I'm a Scottish Nationalist so I want Independence!" It was an incredible experience standing there getting a real look at how people live and taking a closer inspection at the ramifications of proposed independence.
I realized yet again that people are why I love traveling. Yes the sights are beautiful and learning is amazing when it's so much a part of your daily routine, but the people, the human connection and the glimpses of another's way of life is what makes me yearn to step on foreign soil as often as circumstances permit.
Old College. University of Edinburgh.The guard acted much more like a tour guide and was obviously proud of U of E. We struck gold. He told us a bit of history, pointed out a few famous professors and let us in the library after turning on the lights and unlocking the door. It was set up for testing and I thought I had been transported to Hogwarts and was about to start my O.W.L.S. before the hour was up. It was an incredible room and really put the ol' testing center to shame. At the end of every row of shelves was a bust of an outstanding alumni or professor among whom I recognized Sir Walter Scott, and Robert Jameson. The shelves were enclosed with gold gates locking the old books away from grubby fingers and inattentive hands. The molding was exquisite rivaled only by the ceiling . . . If I got to take exams in a room like that I might be more partial to studying. After I got over my Hogwarts daydream another soon ensued in which I was whizzing about on those tall ladders attached to the top row of shelves and singing about my favorite book. You know, like she does in the movie.
He was anxious to show us the other rooms downstairs so we followed him through the halls lined with stately portraits and pictures of alumni (two famous of note: Gordon Brown and J.K. Rowling). The lower rooms were filled with work by Sir Henry Raeburn. I loved this portrait the most.
After getting a personal tour of the library in the Old College we stayed and chatted with the gem-of-a-security-guard about Scotland and politics particularly. We asked him how he felt about the proposed succession from the United Kingdom and he replied with a chuckle and said, "Well I'm a Scottish Nationalist so I want Independence!" It was an incredible experience standing there getting a real look at how people live and taking a closer inspection at the ramifications of proposed independence.
I realized yet again that people are why I love traveling. Yes the sights are beautiful and learning is amazing when it's so much a part of your daily routine, but the people, the human connection and the glimpses of another's way of life is what makes me yearn to step on foreign soil as often as circumstances permit.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Dragon
From the top of the crag you could see the dragon on whose back Edinburgh is situated. The castle is resting on its head, formidably built on an outcropping of jagged volcanic rock. The parliament building and the Queen's Scottish residence is nestled at the base of its tail. Along the spine runs the main road, The Royal Mile, off of which shoot little narrow pedestrian roads called "closes" which act as the ribs of the beast.
After descending off Arthur's Seat we began our ascent up with spine with a quick stop by the Scottish Parliament. Had I not been told that the modern, eclectic building I was passing was the new Scottish Parliament Building, I would not have known what is was. The irregular angles and modern shapes, the jutting corners and strange pieces, the seemingly patchwork of a building. Nothing about it speaks "Strength, Unity, Order, Freedom, or Justice" to me. It is more MOMA than HofREP however, upon traversing inside I found that I am much more partial to the architecture than I was initially.
We watched a bit of banter in the debating chamber before walking the halls and doing some snooping about the gift shop. It was interesting listening to the representatives and even more interesting to think about the possible implications of this while sitting in the chamber where the eventual outcome will be determined. Every person I talked to that day was a Scottish Nationalist and was all for a succession.While walking down the Royal Mile earlier that day we saw a fudge shoppe boasting free tastings. Tempting. Very tempting indeed. So we moseyed back up to the fudge shoppe where the workers wore green suits and little green bowler hats. Amazing. (As was the fudge). We asked for directions to the best "chippy" in town and they pointed us up a block and around the corner to City Restaurant, a local favorite.
The men in green suits didn't lead us astray one bit and soon we were all squared away with tummies full of fish and chips and a plate of haggis staring us in the face. Earlier that day I stumbled upon a haggis recipe in cookbook from a gift shop. I wished I hadn't when it was a reality on my plate. I seriously had to muscle up some mind power to muster a bite. To my pleasant surprise it tasted loads better than it looked and the only real problem I had with it was the strange filmy, thick, greasy texture that coated every surface of my mouth as it rolled around waiting to be wolfed down my throat. As we were finishing up our meal a young couple slid into the booth behind us and soon my ears perked up when I heard them use the word "Americans." Soon enough the guy whipped around and abruptly asked, "Are you Americans?" We told him we were and proceeded to have a pleasant conversation.His name is Steven, 20, and he was out on a date with his girlfriend (who didn't seemed to thrilled by the fact that her boyfriend was having a better time chatting away with 6 American strangers than with her). He was eager to tell us all about Scotland and was sure to warn the only boy at our table to avoid eye contact with anyone on the street because he could get knifed. Easy. We had been warned by a professor before we headed out that Scotland was at a record high for crime (especially knifing) but it wasn't until Steven told us he's had 10 friends stabbed to death in the last 6 years that I realized just how serious it was. He gave us a few must-see sights and got and email address so we could keep in touch (weird) and then we were on our way once again roaming up the spine of the dragon.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Freedom
At 4:15 am on Wednesday I meandered down two flights of stairs while sleepily braiding my hair and zipping up various compartments of my backpack. We had to leave at an unholy hour to get the deals and in retrospect I'd say sacrificing the shut-eye was worth it. My talent came in useful and I swiftly drifted to sleep for a few hours before I woke up to a feeling much like being shanked repeatedly in the gut. I ran to the toilet and puked up the poison, whatever it was.
The rest of the rail ride was much more pleasant; full of stories and stifling our giggles. (I think that trains may very well be my favorite mode of travel). There are so many who I love to be around, who I love to spend time with. I thrive on the company and companionship of others. This is good seeing as I have 15 roommates and live withing a floor of nearly 25 more.
Yellow Canola fields on a passing train.
We arrived in Edinburgh in the late morning and were surprised at the windy chill that accompanied our footsteps to the hostel. I have always considered myself as a prepared person, often to boyscout extent, but it seems like my packing skills have somehow severely suffered as of late. I packed too warm for London (swapping out a few t-shirts for a sweater last minute) and too cold for Scotland. I brought 4 shirts. I wore 3 each day, rotating the outer most layer and mixing up the compilation I piled on my body to keep out the cold. Basically, I looked amazing for 4 straight days.
We took a brief walk down the Royal Mile to familiarize ourselves with the area before being set free to scale the rocky crags of Scotland. It had been a while since I had hiked and I had forgotten how much I love it. Without my dad, however, it just wasn't the same. I wasn't constantly struggling to keep with his pace, I wasn't getting to see little things pointed out to me or share the views with someone who I know appreciates it like me. I realized on that sharp escarpment just how much I love being at his side. He waits patiently for sketching and rather than complain opens his eyes instead to the wonders I attempt to get down on paper. He sees me and understands.
Looking down off Arthur's Seat at Edinburgh.
I felt like William Wallace up there with the Scottish wind at my back and the vast landscape below. I bellowed Freedoooooooooooooo(hold vowel sound for 8 minutes)m! countless times while venturing to and from the top of the crag (and if that's not one of the most Scottish words I've ever heard I don't know what is). The walk down took a fraction of the time and soon our feet were set to the city for exploring.
A fence to keep us safe of course.
The rest of the rail ride was much more pleasant; full of stories and stifling our giggles. (I think that trains may very well be my favorite mode of travel). There are so many who I love to be around, who I love to spend time with. I thrive on the company and companionship of others. This is good seeing as I have 15 roommates and live withing a floor of nearly 25 more.
Yellow Canola fields on a passing train.We arrived in Edinburgh in the late morning and were surprised at the windy chill that accompanied our footsteps to the hostel. I have always considered myself as a prepared person, often to boyscout extent, but it seems like my packing skills have somehow severely suffered as of late. I packed too warm for London (swapping out a few t-shirts for a sweater last minute) and too cold for Scotland. I brought 4 shirts. I wore 3 each day, rotating the outer most layer and mixing up the compilation I piled on my body to keep out the cold. Basically, I looked amazing for 4 straight days.
We took a brief walk down the Royal Mile to familiarize ourselves with the area before being set free to scale the rocky crags of Scotland. It had been a while since I had hiked and I had forgotten how much I love it. Without my dad, however, it just wasn't the same. I wasn't constantly struggling to keep with his pace, I wasn't getting to see little things pointed out to me or share the views with someone who I know appreciates it like me. I realized on that sharp escarpment just how much I love being at his side. He waits patiently for sketching and rather than complain opens his eyes instead to the wonders I attempt to get down on paper. He sees me and understands.
Looking down off Arthur's Seat at Edinburgh.I felt like William Wallace up there with the Scottish wind at my back and the vast landscape below. I bellowed Freedoooooooooooooo(hold vowel sound for 8 minutes)m! countless times while venturing to and from the top of the crag (and if that's not one of the most Scottish words I've ever heard I don't know what is). The walk down took a fraction of the time and soon our feet were set to the city for exploring.
A fence to keep us safe of course.Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Backpack
I'm still shaking and it has been 15 minutes since I stepped out of the most bone-chilling, arctic shower I have ever endured. The water heater broke. By the end my head was throbbing from the frosty water nipping at my scalp and my limbs looked blue. It was a most unfriendly and near-glacial experience. Hyperbole aside, I'm cold.
I went to the here with her today. I didn't make it but 20 yards in the entrance before I found myself following line and shape with my eyes and hand simultaneously and doing my best to recreate the form in my little sketch pad. We stayed there until the hordes of grade school children started breathing down our necks and scrutinizing our drawings. They encroached and created a positively claustrophobic space. I did, however, get called "a lady" by a teacher instructing her class to "leave the lady alone." I felt grown up. It was a fun change.
I feel like I am constantly carb-loading for lacrosse games. I keep telling myself that it's okay, after all, grains are the bottom and largest tier of the food pyramid, but I have never eaten this much bread and pasta in my life. After a spot of lunch I did a few errands and then headed out with her and her to Westminster. We opted to see Parliament in action after dinner and instead mosied along the Thames river watching street performers and popping into galleries. It was a perfect day to mosey.
I just put the last pair of socks in my mustard-yellow trimmed backpack and zipped up all the sides, readying my things for 4 days in Scotland. 1 backpack. 2 pairs of pants. 3 extra shirts. 4 days. 5 hours on a train. I'm not taking Mr. Apple but rest assured that I'll do a bit of catch up when I get back Saturday night.
Grab ye tartan, I can't wait.
I went to the here with her today. I didn't make it but 20 yards in the entrance before I found myself following line and shape with my eyes and hand simultaneously and doing my best to recreate the form in my little sketch pad. We stayed there until the hordes of grade school children started breathing down our necks and scrutinizing our drawings. They encroached and created a positively claustrophobic space. I did, however, get called "a lady" by a teacher instructing her class to "leave the lady alone." I felt grown up. It was a fun change.
I feel like I am constantly carb-loading for lacrosse games. I keep telling myself that it's okay, after all, grains are the bottom and largest tier of the food pyramid, but I have never eaten this much bread and pasta in my life. After a spot of lunch I did a few errands and then headed out with her and her to Westminster. We opted to see Parliament in action after dinner and instead mosied along the Thames river watching street performers and popping into galleries. It was a perfect day to mosey.
I just put the last pair of socks in my mustard-yellow trimmed backpack and zipped up all the sides, readying my things for 4 days in Scotland. 1 backpack. 2 pairs of pants. 3 extra shirts. 4 days. 5 hours on a train. I'm not taking Mr. Apple but rest assured that I'll do a bit of catch up when I get back Saturday night.
Grab ye tartan, I can't wait.
Waste
Mondays always set my mind reeling through time and space as I sit in English and listen to my professor rattle off memorized passages of poetry, obscure facts, unforeseen connections, and incredible stories. I think that he is Wikipedia. Somehow, he just knows everything. I want to be like that when I grow up. I think I'd better read more to get there. . .
This poem is becoming increasingly more fascinating to me as we discuss it and it wrap my mind tightly around ideas and phrases and hold them there until they assimilate in my brain. This sort of literature is illuminating, moving literature that sticks with you, warms you, begs re-read after re-read. Some literature is like a firework, brief and beautiful, surprising for a flash but gone before it settles. You can't warm yourself by a firework however. This is not like a firework, but a roaring fire that keeps you close and pulls you closer as the embers burn down and the heat is transfered into your frame. It's beautiful in its own right, and it takes patience to discover.
I feel like my patience is finally paying off in more realms than just the literary ones. A friend told me the other day that you just have to move on, having patience that things will work out, and eventually the feelings will flee as fast as the seemed to come. Maybe distance is aiding in healing over the bitterness, maybe the pollution in the air is leaving no room for anything else to be breathed in, but whatever the case I feel myself finally reaching a state of clarity. It's clearer here in the wide open air of a city packed so tightly and richly that it's hard to believe there is room enough for me.
This poem is becoming increasingly more fascinating to me as we discuss it and it wrap my mind tightly around ideas and phrases and hold them there until they assimilate in my brain. This sort of literature is illuminating, moving literature that sticks with you, warms you, begs re-read after re-read. Some literature is like a firework, brief and beautiful, surprising for a flash but gone before it settles. You can't warm yourself by a firework however. This is not like a firework, but a roaring fire that keeps you close and pulls you closer as the embers burn down and the heat is transfered into your frame. It's beautiful in its own right, and it takes patience to discover.
I feel like my patience is finally paying off in more realms than just the literary ones. A friend told me the other day that you just have to move on, having patience that things will work out, and eventually the feelings will flee as fast as the seemed to come. Maybe distance is aiding in healing over the bitterness, maybe the pollution in the air is leaving no room for anything else to be breathed in, but whatever the case I feel myself finally reaching a state of clarity. It's clearer here in the wide open air of a city packed so tightly and richly that it's hard to believe there is room enough for me.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Clever
Clear mornings and sprinkling afternoons. Cigarettes and sporadic showers. Charming streets and swarming markets. Conversations and a stamp vendor. Crisp basil leaves and steaming bread with fresh mozzarella. Clever undergrounds and missing sandwiches. Cheese and a seemingly endless baguette. Candlelit churches and silence after a run of notes on a violin. Claps of hands and stunning brilliance. Chuckles in the tunnel and singing on the tube. Love London.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Snoring
Here I sit, typing away in the bottom bunk whilst sonorous snores imped every orifice of my skull. Darn it.
IQ
I have watched this phenomena for years now: when boys are with other boys, the average IQ drops about 15 points and all of the sudden they turn into brutes chugging chocolate milk or seeing just how much paint thinner and magnesium it takes to make a light bright enough to burn your eyes.
Today I realized that I am not immune to the group IQ decrease. Is it as simple as peer pressure?
I have hung out with these two a lot on this trip and today found myself buying indoor soccer cleats (I had to use a random sock he found in his pocket on the way to the Tube. A little sketchy? I think so. . .) then eating a steamed pork bun while spilling juice down my shirt (because I lack the proper walking-while-eating-form). After dinner I challenged Z to an eating contest. One chimichanga as fast as you can. I won and after walked up to my room wondering, why did I do that?
Truth be told, I HAVE NO IDEA and what's worse, IT WAS FUN, and I realized NO ONE IS IMMUNE TO PEER PRESSURE. And I think if IQ points were tangible, a few of mine just slipped out my ear.
Today I realized that I am not immune to the group IQ decrease. Is it as simple as peer pressure?
I have hung out with these two a lot on this trip and today found myself buying indoor soccer cleats (I had to use a random sock he found in his pocket on the way to the Tube. A little sketchy? I think so. . .) then eating a steamed pork bun while spilling juice down my shirt (because I lack the proper walking-while-eating-form). After dinner I challenged Z to an eating contest. One chimichanga as fast as you can. I won and after walked up to my room wondering, why did I do that?
Truth be told, I HAVE NO IDEA and what's worse, IT WAS FUN, and I realized NO ONE IS IMMUNE TO PEER PRESSURE. And I think if IQ points were tangible, a few of mine just slipped out my ear.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Context
It's all about context. I thought a lot about this today and it seemed like it kept coming up in conversation. Context. Context. Context.
We finally started art classes today and I felt like my insides were going to burst when I finally got there. It's not a typical class, very much the antithesis of what I experienced here last semester, but I am already enthralled and almost obsessed with the objectives and assignments. The class is a conceptual one where it's focused on the idea and then how to translate that idea into the context of some sort of visual representation. I want to explore this more, maybe incorporate it into my final project. I'm still trying to snake my neurons around the whole thing. What I really need to do is just jump in and see where I end up. I have been thinking less about the void and more about the perspective that more windows offer, both from the inside out and the outside in. There is some sort of connect between the two that is provided from experience. Windows. Perspective is all about context.
We went to a show where we discussed the context of how the artist solved a certain problem. The ways and means to do so are as varied as the people doing the problem solving, but the interesting thing was that certain means are much more acceptable within certain contexts. This is equally as true for social interactions, laws, reactions, human nature in general. We are constantly being controlled by the context in which we find ourselves. To what extent can I react in this context? A goal I have for the trip is to be less reactionary and more instigatory.
Our discussion about context really moved Abkins as she has been putting serious thought into questions about the church. Things just make more sense in context and sometimes, that's all you have to go on: an ounce of faith and a whole lot of context. If I sit still for too long I am bombarded with how's and why's that are simply unanswerable right now. I'm not saying that we should keep moving so we don't have to think about it. Avoidance isn't the answer either, but sometimes being content with contextualized answers tides us over until we can put serious work into obtaining one more rock for our spiritual wall.
Art so much about context. They why's of art. The who's the where's, how's and when's all fit into context niches that bring clarity and order that, at a cursory glance, can seem completely absent from the modern art scene.
Can I go make art now? It's all I want to do.
We finally started art classes today and I felt like my insides were going to burst when I finally got there. It's not a typical class, very much the antithesis of what I experienced here last semester, but I am already enthralled and almost obsessed with the objectives and assignments. The class is a conceptual one where it's focused on the idea and then how to translate that idea into the context of some sort of visual representation. I want to explore this more, maybe incorporate it into my final project. I'm still trying to snake my neurons around the whole thing. What I really need to do is just jump in and see where I end up. I have been thinking less about the void and more about the perspective that more windows offer, both from the inside out and the outside in. There is some sort of connect between the two that is provided from experience. Windows. Perspective is all about context.
We went to a show where we discussed the context of how the artist solved a certain problem. The ways and means to do so are as varied as the people doing the problem solving, but the interesting thing was that certain means are much more acceptable within certain contexts. This is equally as true for social interactions, laws, reactions, human nature in general. We are constantly being controlled by the context in which we find ourselves. To what extent can I react in this context? A goal I have for the trip is to be less reactionary and more instigatory.
Our discussion about context really moved Abkins as she has been putting serious thought into questions about the church. Things just make more sense in context and sometimes, that's all you have to go on: an ounce of faith and a whole lot of context. If I sit still for too long I am bombarded with how's and why's that are simply unanswerable right now. I'm not saying that we should keep moving so we don't have to think about it. Avoidance isn't the answer either, but sometimes being content with contextualized answers tides us over until we can put serious work into obtaining one more rock for our spiritual wall.
Art so much about context. They why's of art. The who's the where's, how's and when's all fit into context niches that bring clarity and order that, at a cursory glance, can seem completely absent from the modern art scene.
Can I go make art now? It's all I want to do.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Sponge
O that I were a sponge and could have the wish of mine heart, that I might go forth and absorb everything beautiful and lovely, and remember everything I have learned!
Impressions from Canterbury:
- It was so meticulously designed and built. I was stunned by the intricacies and the sheer magnitude of the structure.
- There were so many side chapels and different places for congregations to sit. It was massive and complex, gaudy and foreboding. It made me appreciate the building for the beauty, but made me love our gospel and churches for the plain and simple things.
- Henry VIII will surely roast somewhere for whitewashing the interior of churches, smashing statues and basically defacing Christianity. Although, I did find a little chapel in the crypt that seemed to somehow evade his iconoclastic violence.
- I was impressed with the interconnectedness of church and state in the cathedral. Not only were there memorials and graves of archbishops and priests but generals and lieutenants from the British Army. Interesting considering the people in the states who want to wipe church out of everything secular.
- My journal is filled with notes of names and factoids that I want to research later. Learning here is so meaningful because I'm right in the action. We learn about something, and we go see it. The experience isn't comparable to anything I've ever done before.
Impressions from Rye:
- The city was quaint and beautiful, but not breathtaking or moving.
- There's just not a whole lot of history there so it seemed like my experience wasn't as deep or central to my experience here.
- I still contend that Meissen kicks Rye trash. That village is amazing^to the tenth power.
Impressions from Beachy Head:
- I have never been more wind blown. All I wanted to do was fly a kite and I was so bummed I didn't think to pack one . . .
- It was beautiful. The white chalky cliffs that guard the Souther Coast of England seemed like a banner announcing your arrival to an incredible place.
O that I were a sponge . . .
Impressions from Canterbury:
- It was so meticulously designed and built. I was stunned by the intricacies and the sheer magnitude of the structure.
- There were so many side chapels and different places for congregations to sit. It was massive and complex, gaudy and foreboding. It made me appreciate the building for the beauty, but made me love our gospel and churches for the plain and simple things.
- Henry VIII will surely roast somewhere for whitewashing the interior of churches, smashing statues and basically defacing Christianity. Although, I did find a little chapel in the crypt that seemed to somehow evade his iconoclastic violence.
- I was impressed with the interconnectedness of church and state in the cathedral. Not only were there memorials and graves of archbishops and priests but generals and lieutenants from the British Army. Interesting considering the people in the states who want to wipe church out of everything secular.
- My journal is filled with notes of names and factoids that I want to research later. Learning here is so meaningful because I'm right in the action. We learn about something, and we go see it. The experience isn't comparable to anything I've ever done before.
Impressions from Rye:
- The city was quaint and beautiful, but not breathtaking or moving.
- There's just not a whole lot of history there so it seemed like my experience wasn't as deep or central to my experience here.
- I still contend that Meissen kicks Rye trash. That village is amazing^to the tenth power.
Impressions from Beachy Head:
- I have never been more wind blown. All I wanted to do was fly a kite and I was so bummed I didn't think to pack one . . .
- It was beautiful. The white chalky cliffs that guard the Souther Coast of England seemed like a banner announcing your arrival to an incredible place.
O that I were a sponge . . .
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Victoria
Most of my afternoon was spent here sketching and letting my eyes crawl all over the eclectic collection it offered. It was overwhelming, at times, to be so bombarded with SO. MUCH. STUFF. but there were gems hidden amongst it all that really captured me.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Alive
Classes have begun and the reasons why I came to London were reaffirmed as we commenced with the study of this, this and this. Our teacher talked about the poet's lives and the richness that London offered men of up and coming aspirations. Eventually their paths crossed, culminating at a literary revolution. We were instructed to take a short break from class and come back "shod" so we could take a brief walk. We showed up here, looking at the very place where Frost, Thomas and Pound would visit. Frost knocked upon that door. Thomas walked upon that ground and suddenly I found myself retracing steps of greatness. And to think this was just five minutes from where I sleep every night.
London is incredible because of the richness, the spectral connections between past and present. There have been so many people here; people living, breathing, and creating, just by going about their day. They each leave something, adding one more layer to this vast, living, archaeological site we call London. Walking down the street causes me to get catapulted from one century to another and then back again as I encounter so much diversity, history and activity. All of this makes me feel alive. I just can't be indifferent as I pass by.
After class I grabbed my book, pencils, and bag, slipped into something cooler and walked a few blocks to Hyde Park. Forgetting it was a holiday, I was stunned at the absolutely swarming park. The number of children were rivaled only by the number of ice cream cones that everyone seemed to hold in their right hand, and the balls of ice cream stacked high on cones were only outnumbered by soccer balls. It was incredible. The sun woke up the whole population and they all bounded outside to take advantage of a break in the clouds and rain. The day was entirely spectacular--sunshine and a slight breeze--a perfect day for the park.
I settled down under a tree so big that it fit my back like an arm chair and I spent 3 hours reading and studying this for class next Monday. As I read I couldn't help but be impressed with the eidetic images I had of the city that were spurred by lines of prose. It was completely marvelous that a day before I had crossed the Thames and that a few days earlier I saw hyacinth growing in Kensington Garden. This is why I came to London. Learning made living in a city that seems to be in a constant resurrection.
London is incredible because of the richness, the spectral connections between past and present. There have been so many people here; people living, breathing, and creating, just by going about their day. They each leave something, adding one more layer to this vast, living, archaeological site we call London. Walking down the street causes me to get catapulted from one century to another and then back again as I encounter so much diversity, history and activity. All of this makes me feel alive. I just can't be indifferent as I pass by.
After class I grabbed my book, pencils, and bag, slipped into something cooler and walked a few blocks to Hyde Park. Forgetting it was a holiday, I was stunned at the absolutely swarming park. The number of children were rivaled only by the number of ice cream cones that everyone seemed to hold in their right hand, and the balls of ice cream stacked high on cones were only outnumbered by soccer balls. It was incredible. The sun woke up the whole population and they all bounded outside to take advantage of a break in the clouds and rain. The day was entirely spectacular--sunshine and a slight breeze--a perfect day for the park.
I settled down under a tree so big that it fit my back like an arm chair and I spent 3 hours reading and studying this for class next Monday. As I read I couldn't help but be impressed with the eidetic images I had of the city that were spurred by lines of prose. It was completely marvelous that a day before I had crossed the Thames and that a few days earlier I saw hyacinth growing in Kensington Garden. This is why I came to London. Learning made living in a city that seems to be in a constant resurrection.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Control
I'm one that likes control. I like rows of things placed just where I put them. I like containers. I like schedules and routines. Goals.
I don't like how there isn't a manual setting for my heart. It does what it wants and I just stand by and feel it tear at my visceral lining. Every beat makes me wonder why I can't force it to do what I want.
I one that likes creating. I like starting with blank nothingness and transforming it into something with meaning and beauty. I like colors. I like pencils and pens. Paint.
I don't like how I can't create my future just the way I want to. It takes its own course, directed to some extent by the choices I make, and I just stand by and watch it fly. Every day makes me wish I could contrive the external forces to channel me where I want.
I don't like how there isn't a manual setting for my heart. It does what it wants and I just stand by and feel it tear at my visceral lining. Every beat makes me wonder why I can't force it to do what I want.
I one that likes creating. I like starting with blank nothingness and transforming it into something with meaning and beauty. I like colors. I like pencils and pens. Paint.
I don't like how I can't create my future just the way I want to. It takes its own course, directed to some extent by the choices I make, and I just stand by and watch it fly. Every day makes me wish I could contrive the external forces to channel me where I want.
Buses
The bus system and I are now well acquainted. I may even go so far as say that we are friends. To make our 10:00 meeting today we left on the 148 Line just after 8. You always hear about the stories of saints that travel for hours to get to church and I have been looking forward to going to church since we got here. I just can't wait to be part of a ward outside of Utah, see what the church is like outside the clear, plastic, iridescent walls of "the bubble."
80 percent of the ward is black, most from Ghana, a few from Nigeria...There is the classic old man that every ward has who's a little off, but lovable all the same. It just felt like home. We meet in an old train station that has been converted into a church. Getting to the chapel is a bit of a labyrinth. The meeting was moving, a great way to get a little exposure to quite a few ward members.
After the first block we got our callings. I am going to spend the next 5 weeks working in the Primary teaching the 8 - 11 year olds. I can't wait. They are total pests; constantly poking and prodding about "opening your scriptures proper!" and "he's hitting me with his hanky again!" It's going to be a fun ride.
The bus ride home was interesting. Soprano decided to jet off the bus on the wrong stop and like brain-dead, trained-to-follow-in-a-line-since-kindergarten sheep we all hopped off with her thus commencing a 30 minute meander to find the right stop with the right line running through it. Eventually we found one and just our luck! the bust driver got lost so we wound through back streets and all around some hospital until we finally got to our stop. From there we scurried onto the tube and I promptly fell asleep. Bad idea. Lost my Oyster Card. Wanted to die after finding out my iPod magically got erased and almost had a melt down when I found out that the line headed back to where we came from was closed because of some incident on the platform.
Church is an 8 to 4 ordeal, but will provide ample time for study and reflection.
80 percent of the ward is black, most from Ghana, a few from Nigeria...There is the classic old man that every ward has who's a little off, but lovable all the same. It just felt like home. We meet in an old train station that has been converted into a church. Getting to the chapel is a bit of a labyrinth. The meeting was moving, a great way to get a little exposure to quite a few ward members.
After the first block we got our callings. I am going to spend the next 5 weeks working in the Primary teaching the 8 - 11 year olds. I can't wait. They are total pests; constantly poking and prodding about "opening your scriptures proper!" and "he's hitting me with his hanky again!" It's going to be a fun ride.
The bus ride home was interesting. Soprano decided to jet off the bus on the wrong stop and like brain-dead, trained-to-follow-in-a-line-since-kindergarten sheep we all hopped off with her thus commencing a 30 minute meander to find the right stop with the right line running through it. Eventually we found one and just our luck! the bust driver got lost so we wound through back streets and all around some hospital until we finally got to our stop. From there we scurried onto the tube and I promptly fell asleep. Bad idea. Lost my Oyster Card. Wanted to die after finding out my iPod magically got erased and almost had a melt down when I found out that the line headed back to where we came from was closed because of some incident on the platform.
Church is an 8 to 4 ordeal, but will provide ample time for study and reflection.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
A
Today:
- a grilled cheese sandwich at Burrow Market (I know, travel here and get a grilled cheese, but you just don't understand how incredible it really was)
- a thought about art
- a lost hour
- a baptism
- a walk (last one!)
- a sit to gaze for a while at this
- a Thai noodle meal at Tuck Tuck's
- a cup of brown water
- a mazement
- a grilled cheese sandwich at Burrow Market (I know, travel here and get a grilled cheese, but you just don't understand how incredible it really was)
- a thought about art
- a lost hour
- a baptism
- a walk (last one!)
- a sit to gaze for a while at this
- a Thai noodle meal at Tuck Tuck's
- a cup of brown water
- a mazement
Passion
I finished up my last standardized, scantron bubble sheet in the winter of my senior year of high school and felt completely defeated. I had been beaten down by countless well-meaning tests set to measure my mental aptitude, check on my teachers, stack up my stats next to the next kid. I wanted to throw my hands in the air, wave a white flag and proclaim that I was done. Is this all education is? I believe many students face this wall--the wall of dark dots marking rows and rows of lettered circles, seemingly endless patterns of graphite on paper--and wonder what for? Is this all I go to school for?
This is well-meaning, no doubt, but do they fail to realize that students aren't motivated solely by tests? What happened to the passion? Where did the motivation beyond the score go? I refuse to believe that simply paying teachers more would somehow reignite them with the passion they once had for their discipline. If money was the goal, teaching wouldn't be the means. It's that fire, that passion that must drive them to sacrifice and toil as they do. But somewhere between jumping hoops and managing the menaces the vitally passionate flame diminishes to embers and soon public schools are filled with brilliant-minds-left-dormant without the once vibrant passion to heat up their cerebrum.
No, it's not more tests that we should be concerned with, but more mentors; teachers who are there to do something beyond get all their students to score well on the ACT or get a 5 on an AP test. We need people. Passionate people. We are here to help each other, lift inspire, and motivate each other, not simply aid one another in merely getting by. Is there a way to reform? Is there a way to infuse? Is there a way to make the means match the end? I don't buy the argument that going to school is only to become educated. School should be to transform us into hungry learners anxious to absorb more, more and more. It's to light an insatiable flame inside us to carry us through a lifetime of, what should be, gathering knowledge, refining ourselves and honing in on our purpose of igniting others with our passion and zest for learning and life.
This is well-meaning, no doubt, but do they fail to realize that students aren't motivated solely by tests? What happened to the passion? Where did the motivation beyond the score go? I refuse to believe that simply paying teachers more would somehow reignite them with the passion they once had for their discipline. If money was the goal, teaching wouldn't be the means. It's that fire, that passion that must drive them to sacrifice and toil as they do. But somewhere between jumping hoops and managing the menaces the vitally passionate flame diminishes to embers and soon public schools are filled with brilliant-minds-left-dormant without the once vibrant passion to heat up their cerebrum.
No, it's not more tests that we should be concerned with, but more mentors; teachers who are there to do something beyond get all their students to score well on the ACT or get a 5 on an AP test. We need people. Passionate people. We are here to help each other, lift inspire, and motivate each other, not simply aid one another in merely getting by. Is there a way to reform? Is there a way to infuse? Is there a way to make the means match the end? I don't buy the argument that going to school is only to become educated. School should be to transform us into hungry learners anxious to absorb more, more and more. It's to light an insatiable flame inside us to carry us through a lifetime of, what should be, gathering knowledge, refining ourselves and honing in on our purpose of igniting others with our passion and zest for learning and life.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Shimmery
Instead of a run to start off my day I saved my legs for a quick game of soccer in Hyde Park after breakfast. I scored two and a half goals (according to one of the professor's sons who only counted one of them as a half goal?) It is still so incredible to me that I am in London. We can don our trainers and head out the front door, cross a few streets and end up in Hyde Park where little boys in red and white are playing cricket and many others are climbing all over the Peter Pan Park. Then hours later jump on the tube and find ourselves in front of the Tower of London. How is it so?!
I bought conditioner for 44p. I was impressed with myself seeing as the girls came back from Tesco yesterday bragging about 2 for £4. Take that! My favorite purchase of Z's? His 5 pack of these. It's unfortunate, however, that I discovered them so early in the term.
A Happy Hippo about to make a happy mouth.
We finished my second to last walk today and upon returning met up with Viomind to head back to Hyde's Park. The sun was shining. I love it here. The sun is such a rarity it feels like the sky opens up just so everyone will drop what they are doing to catch a few beams on their skin. The drizzles, though frequent they may be, seem to be fleeting and often the sudden showers are dried up as fast as they came.
The park is wonderful and green; lush by every description. I brought my sketchbook along for the journey but the rain got in the way (as did trying to hold an umbrella) so I just let my eyes do the feasting and my mind the recording. I want to savor every moment, imprint them, emboss them, keep them crystalline in my head so I can pull them out like fresh photographs for days when the rain isn't as magical and the air not as clear. Maybe writing it down will help. My eyes felt dense and weighty as they sucked in every form of visual stimuli available. Already things seem to be slipping. I have a retention problem. . .
Swans in Hyde Park.
I don't know how it's done but somehow everything here seems to shimmer in the mist of the atmosphere. It all looks magical, shining.
A puddle in Hyde Park.
Dinner, a walk around Piccadilly and a bit of reading came next then at 9 we frolicked to the Tube and wound up at the Hyde Park Chapel for the singles ward's 80's dance. Rockin'. Lemme tell ya. Glitter, shimmer, and shine, we partied hardy until we could barely stand and ventured our way back after a few deliberations about which way really lead us home. Z was right. Again. but I still don't trust him.
I bought conditioner for 44p. I was impressed with myself seeing as the girls came back from Tesco yesterday bragging about 2 for £4. Take that! My favorite purchase of Z's? His 5 pack of these. It's unfortunate, however, that I discovered them so early in the term.
A Happy Hippo about to make a happy mouth.We finished my second to last walk today and upon returning met up with Viomind to head back to Hyde's Park. The sun was shining. I love it here. The sun is such a rarity it feels like the sky opens up just so everyone will drop what they are doing to catch a few beams on their skin. The drizzles, though frequent they may be, seem to be fleeting and often the sudden showers are dried up as fast as they came.
The park is wonderful and green; lush by every description. I brought my sketchbook along for the journey but the rain got in the way (as did trying to hold an umbrella) so I just let my eyes do the feasting and my mind the recording. I want to savor every moment, imprint them, emboss them, keep them crystalline in my head so I can pull them out like fresh photographs for days when the rain isn't as magical and the air not as clear. Maybe writing it down will help. My eyes felt dense and weighty as they sucked in every form of visual stimuli available. Already things seem to be slipping. I have a retention problem. . .
Swans in Hyde Park.I don't know how it's done but somehow everything here seems to shimmer in the mist of the atmosphere. It all looks magical, shining.
A puddle in Hyde Park.Dinner, a walk around Piccadilly and a bit of reading came next then at 9 we frolicked to the Tube and wound up at the Hyde Park Chapel for the singles ward's 80's dance. Rockin'. Lemme tell ya. Glitter, shimmer, and shine, we partied hardy until we could barely stand and ventured our way back after a few deliberations about which way really lead us home. Z was right. Again. but I still don't trust him.
Anthropologists
Last night as I listened to the resident director talk about his background in anthropology and mention briefly his life of travel and study. How amazing would it be to get paid to go and learn about people? People! Just people. Just amazingly diverse, intricate, individual and yet amalgamated groups of people. Politicians should be anthropologists first. Understanding others makes better leaders and teachers, counselors and friends. To understand is to think beyond your own skull for once and make that scary jump through another's dura mater. If the people calling the shots for our country were more concerned with people rather than calling shots maybe we could make this whole government thing center around what really matters. People.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Walking
Today my shoes were once again set to pavement in an earnest attempt at completing more walks. After a brisk morning run, a bit of breakfast and a quick shower we hoped on the Circle Line and rode to the Westminster stop. I let my feet carry me up the stairs and my eyes were drawn in a similar direction. Big Ben greeted us as we surfaced from the belly of the city and I wanted to kick my heels. Westminster was busy, crowded, bustling, thriving, pulsating with activity. . . I want a briefcase.
We did our walk which circled all around the famous sites, Trafalgar Square, Buckingham Palace, St. Jame's Park and others. We ended back at Westminster Abby and didn't leave sandwiches on the fence. Someone else, however, thought it was a grand idea. I hope they aren't still hungry.
The afternoon was filled with over-hyped waffles, riding on the tops of buses and finding Primark. A.Maz.Ing. I bought a bag. It was a necessity.
We came back for dinner and a meeting to go over rules and other house keeping items that they spared our severely jet-lagged bodies and minds a few days ago. Also at the meeting was a bishop from the area who gave us our ward assignments. I am so excited to fling myself into the ward here and really get into the people and culture. One of the reasons I believe that Germany was so edifying last summer was because of how close I got to the individuals there. I can't wait to have similar experiences. I want find a quiet old man in a pub and talk to him for hours, or join in on a "football" game in Kensington Garden. There is just so much to do I sometimes feel paralyzed about where to start.
We went out again after the meetings, this time South of the Thames River. I sometimes feel bad for people on the tube with us. The doors open and suddenly a gaggle of chortling Americans with cameras, loud laughs and red boots swamp the car. I have tried to lay low, talk quietly and not become too obnoxious, but when I found out that they are having this while we are here, I was momentarily oblivious to the fact that there were 20 other people within arms length.
The walk was incredible by night. The river was aglow with all the surrounding ambient light reflecting in from every direction. Every time I took a breath deep enough to fill my lungs it made me smile to think I am finally here. Here, where I can rebuild, find, lose, learn and fall in love with something much bigger than myself. London is already capturing my heart. Bit by bit I am finding my passion again. I talked to VioMind for hours as just her I ambled our way back from the inner city and discussed where we want our passions to drive us. I didn't have a straight answer, but as I told her about the fervent burnings and stirrings that light my ardent love for art I felt so motivated and ready to devote myself wholeheartedly to whatever it takes to get me there. I sketched for myself today for the first time in months.
Lights on the Thames by night.
We found our way home by way of the Millennial bridge and I made a mental note to spend hours exploring the Tate Modern. I have a feeling I'm going to become a museum rat and I like it. I can't make my mind quit spinning.
We did our walk which circled all around the famous sites, Trafalgar Square, Buckingham Palace, St. Jame's Park and others. We ended back at Westminster Abby and didn't leave sandwiches on the fence. Someone else, however, thought it was a grand idea. I hope they aren't still hungry.
The afternoon was filled with over-hyped waffles, riding on the tops of buses and finding Primark. A.Maz.Ing. I bought a bag. It was a necessity.
We came back for dinner and a meeting to go over rules and other house keeping items that they spared our severely jet-lagged bodies and minds a few days ago. Also at the meeting was a bishop from the area who gave us our ward assignments. I am so excited to fling myself into the ward here and really get into the people and culture. One of the reasons I believe that Germany was so edifying last summer was because of how close I got to the individuals there. I can't wait to have similar experiences. I want find a quiet old man in a pub and talk to him for hours, or join in on a "football" game in Kensington Garden. There is just so much to do I sometimes feel paralyzed about where to start.
We went out again after the meetings, this time South of the Thames River. I sometimes feel bad for people on the tube with us. The doors open and suddenly a gaggle of chortling Americans with cameras, loud laughs and red boots swamp the car. I have tried to lay low, talk quietly and not become too obnoxious, but when I found out that they are having this while we are here, I was momentarily oblivious to the fact that there were 20 other people within arms length.
The walk was incredible by night. The river was aglow with all the surrounding ambient light reflecting in from every direction. Every time I took a breath deep enough to fill my lungs it made me smile to think I am finally here. Here, where I can rebuild, find, lose, learn and fall in love with something much bigger than myself. London is already capturing my heart. Bit by bit I am finding my passion again. I talked to VioMind for hours as just her I ambled our way back from the inner city and discussed where we want our passions to drive us. I didn't have a straight answer, but as I told her about the fervent burnings and stirrings that light my ardent love for art I felt so motivated and ready to devote myself wholeheartedly to whatever it takes to get me there. I sketched for myself today for the first time in months.
Lights on the Thames by night.We found our way home by way of the Millennial bridge and I made a mental note to spend hours exploring the Tate Modern. I have a feeling I'm going to become a museum rat and I like it. I can't make my mind quit spinning.
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