Category Archives: Travel

Travel

Day 35: Mean Girls Guide to Oxford Tourist Identification (Pt. 2 of 2)

On “Day 34” I laid out my case for categorical identification of people I’ve spied on the sidewalks of Oxford.  It’s rather like bird watching, only with human beings.

Since then, I’ve become a local hero.  Well, actually I was just validated by the bartender at the college pub plus one other person…but it was a wholehearted validation, to be sure.

Well, they listened to my theory for about five minutes and then put in their own two cents for about 55 minutes.  But I think they agreed with me.  Yeah, I’m pretty sure they did.

I had just finished my EU Law final.  The professor says, “Hey lets go grab a drink before I go to Brussels.” So we go downstairs and start making small talk.  The entire rest of the class has had hours of pub time with this guy, but since I don’t frequent the pub I’m not exactly sure what to do.

The bartender chimed in with some banter and helped out a bit.  I asked the prof how many students he teaches each year.   And then – not knowing what else to talk about – I just sort of blurted out my tourist identification theory.  One hour later, the bartender and the professor were still talking about their own categories and having a jolly old time.

So, I suppose the moral of this little intro is that there is an audience for just about any type of writing.  And, I know at least two people now who have spent years of personal energy also fighting the mobs on the sidewalks.  Therefore, since I’ve now been personally fortified let’s finished this thing out, shall we?

We’re on category nine.  BTW – my brained is conditioned for life on the phrase “number 9.”  The Beatles and the 1970s backmasking scares have been imprinted my psyche for evermore.

9.  I threw this one in here because I’m still a “Friends” fan.  In honor of Joey’s famous not-so-manly man bag, here are the “Man Bag Dudes.” The big guys wear larger ones, the small guys wear smaller ones.  But most all the tourists, the male students and any dude with a Euro look falls into the “Man Bag Dude” category.

I actually think they are really practical, and can’t see how you would get around town much without them.  But I tell you true – there aren’t many back in Oklahoma.

Man-Bag Dudes
General tourist groups

10.  This next category earns the “Most Annoying Thing on the Sidewalk” award.  I’ve been a member myself, and I’ve struggled to get around them while NOT a member.  It’s the “General Tourist Group” category.  I could write an entire post on the behaviors indicative of this phenomenon.  But I won’t.  I want to stay in a happy mood today.

Women-wearing-hijabs group...

11.  Next on the list is the “Women-Wearing-Hijabs Group.”  I’m adding this category because it is a distinction I don’t see much in Oklahoma, even at our universities.  If you look at demographics from various geography websites, you’ll see that Oklahoma has such a negligible Muslim population it is listed as 0%.  In the UK, there are 2.4 million persons of the Muslim faith.  So, I thought my friends back home might be interested in seeing that pink must be the “in” color this year!

12.  This next category (see above) is another power group.  I call them a power group because they stick together so tightly that you just have to sort of flatten your back against the wall and let them walk on by.  These are the “female student groups.” Generally entrenched in a deep conversation, they represent a populous force in the sidewalk.  As genteel as the business crowd is, these are the opposite.  Spot them early, and look for exits in case of emergency.

13.  I’ve already written about the Oxford cyclists.  So I’ll just reiterate that they are many.  They are legion.  They are everywhere.

14.  We’re getting close to concluding.  However, there are two other groups I feel are noteworthy. In our EU class there has been a good deal of discussion about the still-ingrained class system within the UK.  My bartender conversation I mentioned earlier also included a discussion about what we in the U.S. call the “transitional year” – – or the first year at a university.  Like it or not, Oxford encompasses a student body who represent an enormous amount of wealth.  The joked that the students learn one thing during their transitional year: “Okay – you’re rich, but so is everyone else…so get over yourself!”  Along this line, I’ve noticed a sub-group around the streets that I’m classifying as the “Eurocratic Student Couples.”  It’s interesting in that those who seem the most richly dressed and stay to themselves are frequently “coupled up.”  I’m not sure why…but it is a distinction that I’m calling valid until proven incorrect.

15. I’m going to wrap up my groups with an outlier.  In research, an “outlier” is something that doesn’t fall within the larger groups of data.  There are a few around, but not many.  In general, they are the individual older male tourist, or perhaps professorial, sidewalk folks.  There is a female counterpart, but they are even more rare.  This last photo is of an outlier gentleman I first saw during the pouring rain on Day 24.

I have to tell you that he got my attention because he was so incredibly kind.  He smiled at every person in the room, tipped his hat as he did, opened doors for people, waved at people…he eked warmth.  I later saw him in the post office, and then again once walking into a clothing store.  If I see him again, I’ll just introduce myself and tell him he made it into my blog.  Who knows…maybe HE has his OWN categories of those he meets on the streets.  I can tell you one thing, though – I’ll bet he’s nicer to them than I.

As I end my Day 35 post, I am realizing I have a new goal.  Next time I walk out onto the busy sidewalks of Oxford, I’ll try and put my invisible touristy-professory hat on and be nicer to those I meet.

After all, I think being an outlier is a really good thing.

(Note: December 8, 2010 – when we transferred sites, several of our photograph links got broken.  I lost the photo of this man, unfortunately, so I don’t think I’ll replace it with something else.  I’ll just sit with the memory of him. RDK)

Travel

Day 34: The Mean Girls Guide to Oxford Tourist Identification (Pt. 1)

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Tina Fey once said, “If you want to make an audience laugh, you dress a man up like an old lady and push her down the stairs. If you want to make comedy writers laugh, you push an actual old lady down the stairs. ”  She attributes that quote to Catherine the Great.

She also wrote, “In Washington, officials from the National Rifle Association met with a group of high school students. There were no survivors.”

Fey penned quite a bit about her experience as an adolescent girl in junior high and high school.  This subject matter helped inspire one of her greatest big screen successes entitled “Mean Girls.”

A classic scene from the movie basically demonstrates the “great humor rule” that if you just say out loud what everybody already thinks, all of the sudden it becomes funny.  I’m talking about the “Cafeteria Seating Chart” scene.  In it, two students explain to a new girl from Africa why she doesn’t want to sit in certain places in the cafeteria.  They go to great lengths and detail about the sub cultures of their high school population.

I was thinking about this seating chart as I was walking down High Street on Day 34.  I realized that in my head I had started labeling people I saw, based upon my four week experiences of covering the same territory on a daily basis.  I also realized that when I started mentioning these categories to my friends in the program, they then became “reality.”  Not all are Tina-Fey-Funny, but most all ring very true.

In lieu of an indiscernable map I might scribble out, I’ve posted and labeled my “Mean Girls Guide to Oxford Tourist (and locals) Identification.”  That way, if you ever come here, you don’t have to do this yourself.  You’ll thank me later.  So…you’re welcome.

Oxford local business population...

1.  The first group is the local business population.  The men wear suits, the women generally wear suits and low-heeled shoes.  They walk down the sidewalk as if nothing really bothers them and are a minority population among the tourists and students.  These sub group is harmless; you can walk past without fear.

Walking designer label ads

2.  The second group is the “Walking Designer Label Ads.” Great numbers of the young male students wear Tommy Hilfigar, Abercrombie & Fitch, etc. on a daily basis.  The female students generally show their designers by the pattern or label on their handbags, but sometimes their shirts or jeans as well.  The only danger with this group is tripping over a cobblestone if you focus too much on trying to read a designer logo unfamiliar to your brain.  Viva la Labels!

3.  Next is a power group.  These are the middle aged tourist couples. Judging from the bags they carry around after all the shopping they do, Oxford loves these people.  I’d like to know whether they, or the students, contribute the most to the economy.  I have noticed American gender-specific behaviors such as the males standing with their backs against a wall in the shop, while the female peruses store after store.  If you know me, you know it pains me to write that observation, but it’s true.

Middle aged tourist couples

The picture takers

4.  Ahh…the picture takers. Things get really comical during the day when thousands of people are trying to dodge, duck or dive or dip (yes, those are the four D’s of dodge ball) out of the way of thousands more picture takers.  This task is impossible, of course, so I would venture to say that photos people take home from Oxford include people jumping out of their way, and many, many shots include OTHER picture takers.

5.  Consider now, the young lovers. Honestly, it’s pretty hard NOT to consider them, as they are generally making out quite energetically in the alcoves, in the alley ways, next to their college entrances or right in the middle of the sidewalk.  Kisses are more public here, I suppose…lots of them.  The older people just smile, nod and walk on by.  There’s probably a day dream with an Italian accent in the heads of the passers by…”Ah, l’amore, l’amore….”  Notice the people grinning in the photo?  That’s because the couple had just stopped practicing their kissing, right in front of the group.

Young lovers
The fashionistas

6.  The fashionistas – towering along on 5 inch heels, checking their hair, adjusting their designer shades or posing by the street signs.  People in Europe generally dress a step or so up from “us Okies,” but the fashionistas know it.  And, they want YOU to know it too!

7.  The next type are “student tourist groups.” Pictured here are a group of female students who can’t speak English.  They are practicing giving a passer-by their “I’m lost, can you help me?” card.  The yellow backpacks are Cambridge student groups, and the other is a common scene as well…the sponsor is barking orders, “Meet back here in 2 hours!  Two hours, okay? Got that?”

"Can you help me?" - Student tourist groups...

8.  After the student groups come the “Local Blokes.” Blokes is a term not necessarily used for class or category, but I’m using it because when there is a group hanging out together after work, that word is one of the few that accurately describes the rowdy, rambunctious and infectious laughter.  The story telling really does get quite entertaining.  Pictured here are just a couple examples of the “Local Blokes,” or blue-collar locals I see every day.  The first towers over the heads of his peers and rides his bike to work.  The second is my height, talks very quietly (except during the after work fun) and looks tired all the time.

Tall, motorcyle-dude local bloke
Quiet, weathered local bloke

I’m going to wrap this entry here, because I am now halfway finished with my Mean Girl report on Oxford inhabitant typeologies.  Yes, there are seven more!  Day 35 will include the cyclists, the “Man Bag” dudes, the “Female Student Scarf Crew” and more.  Now can you see why I didn’t want to draw you a diagram??

Faith, Poetry, Travel

Day 33: God Created my DNA and He Reminded Me of the Code in St. Mary’s Cathedral

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As a young girl, my parents prepared my brother and I to seek an expansion of perspective beyond that which our own community had to offer.  Comprised within this family plan were experiences of art, travel and educational enrichment.  The mode of delivery usually meant we were loaded into the farm truck and driven to some event in Oklahoma City…despite any resistance on our part.

These “field trips” might have included a classical concert or perhaps a lecture from an archeologist who had discovered pitch clad shards of gopher wood on a limited time-window excursion in Turkey.  Sometimes, the evenings were capped off with an ice cream cone at Kaiser’s in the heart of downtown.  At the time, I’m sure the ice cream was my favorite part.  I do recall, however, feeling the hair on my arms lift as I touched the Lucite bound tiny pieces of what I thought might be Noah’s Ark.

My K-12 formal educational journey was also important in how I began to view the world.  I learned of fairness and the magic of discovery from the effective teachers, and of injustice and constriction from those less able.  The good must have outweighed the challenging, however, because every cell in my body seeks new understandings to this day.  It’s in my DNA, and God reminded me of this by giving me a gift on Day 33 that I’ll never forget.

This past Sunday I attended The University Church of St. Mary the Virgin. Expectations had already been set on my part simply knowing that C.S. Lewis had preached his “Weight of Glory” sermon in that very hall.  John Wesley spoke there on many occasions, and before the College system sprang up in Oxford, the church served as the location for the educational exercises such as group lectures or exams.  This was at a time in the 13th century when scholars actually lived with the professors to receive their education.  This church is central to how the entire educational context was set throughout Oxfordshire.

Eucharist began at 10:30 and I came in the door at 10:32.  I was handed a Hymn book and a guide to the service, was shown an available seat and sent on my way.  Being an evangelical, I’ve learned to watch the other attendees and the pastor carefully when participating in a service such as that offered at St. Mary’s.  There is standing, sitting, standing…and sitting.  And standing.  There is also a participatory portion that the audience reads by following the service guide.  All these machinations are unfamiliar to me, but easy to follow.  I’m glad, because it left much of my mental energy available to absorb everything else. Comments continued after the photograph…

I’ll not provide the entire sermon, nor all my thoughts during the service.  Indeed, some were too personal, too humbling, too set on the holiness of our Lord.  However I will share a bit of that for which I am grateful:

1.  I’m grateful for the chance to have heard the message delivered by the Reverend Canon Brian Mountford, Vicar of the University Church.  From the moment he began to speak, my rapt attention zeroed in on his outline and it was one of the best sermons I’ve heard in my life.  Scripture, poetry, philosophy, education, human suffering and regard – all these concepts and perhaps more were laid before those attending and asked to be considered on behalf of our Creator.

2.  I’m grateful for a greeting time wherein the only task was to reach out to those around us and utter this simple phrase, “Peace to you,” or respond, “And to you as well.”  This made me cry – the simplistic form of a gentle greeting and a gentle return. Wonderful.

3.  I’m grateful for a communion service where each person was reminded with one phrase, “The body of Christ,” that which they were taking as they were handed a piece of bread.  And I’m grateful to have been given the chance to drink from a community cup real wine, the edge of which was wiped with a cloth and given the person next in line.  I’ve never shared a cup with others, and it is a compelling experience.

4.  I’m grateful to have had the chance to sing all verses of the selected Hymns, generally written in Old English verse, accompanied by an organ whose song filled the highest corners of the cathedral.  I know the notes lifted up our voices and sent them to the Heavens.

5.  And, I’m grateful for the reminding affirmations for all who participated, each time we read along during the service. An example: “We are the body of Christ.  In the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body.  Let us then pursue all that makes for peace and builds up our common life.”  Another: “Great is the Mystery of Faith – Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.  Blessing and honor and glory and power be yours for ever and ever. Amen.”

With every affirmation stated by the audience, my faith was affirmed and deemed a righteous pursuit.

I don’t know if I’ll get to attend a service at St. Mary’s again.  However, for me, it was as if my spirituality had attended an inspirational conference – – a conferring or communion with God.  A renewal was given to me and for that I am grateful as well.

I’ll leave you with a poem that was read during the sermon.  The discussion was about how one person might say a leaf is green due to the chlorophyll, another because the evolutionary sea life was purple – so green was refracted, and another – a poet – might say “because it means renewal.”

Peace to you.

~~~~~~~

The Trees

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too.
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

Philip Larkin

Oklahoma culture, Travel

Day 32: “Well Done!” Day vs. “Congratulations!” (aka Oxford v OSU)

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I was thinking this morning about translation.  If I have to spend this much energy translating American English to Britain English, what must international students be doing?  I say this because yesterday was the “big day” for many Oxford students; the day of graduation exercises.  For the most part, emotions expressed by the graduates and their families were the same as I witness at OSU every Spring and fall.  The words and the traditions with which they express those emotions, however, are slightly different.

For example, the academic regalia throughout all the colleges here is stepped up considerably.  There are strict regulations about what you wear underneath your gown, as well as what you wear on top of your regular  clothes (which are regulated by the previous regulations, on a regular basis).  This girl has done a nice job at following the required standards – dark skirt, white blouse, and her BA robe trimmed in white rabbit fur.

I won’t make this entire essay a comparative piece, but I will say that the variety of what our students at Oklahoma State University (OSU) wear under their robes covers a broader range of selections.  I know this because our students usually put their robe on right BEFORE graduation, and take it off right AFTER.  I’ve seen graduates traipsing around Oxford in theirs, now, for the last three days.

Family of the graduates in Oxford have to work a bit harder as well.  Because of the limited space for the grand halls used for commencement exercises, they have to order tickets for each person.  Oxford will “do its best to accommodate as many as possible on a first come, first served basis.”

Okay, this IS a comparative piece.  At OSU, our general attitude is, “Bring everyone!  It’s Gallagher-Iba Arena, for Pete’s sake! We hold several ceremonies just so everyone can attend..the more, the merrier!” (Was that too many exclamation points?!)

Many of the ceremonies at Oxford are conducted in Latin.  At OSU, we speak Cowboy.

In Oxford, the graduate celebrations and receptions include a full table of chilled champagne.  OSU is an alcohol-free campus.

And, in Oklahoma we usually greet a graduate with a hearty, “Congratulations!”  Here, the standard greeting is, “Well done!”

At OSU, the atmosphere inside Gallagher-Iba tends to be celebratory, and sometimes quite loud (drums and bagpipes, air horns, large group yells as a family hears their student’s name).  At Oxford, most of the ceremony is really very quiet.  Here is a video of the matriculation (entering the university for the first semester) ceremony.  You can see how quiet the proceedings are.

Matriculation at Oxford – running time, 1 minute, 29 seconds

And here is a 30 second video of part of the Latin graduation ceremony, illustrating the bowing in respect to the faculty tradition…(fondly referenced among the students as the “Sheldonian Wave,” – Sheldonian Hall being the place where the ceremony is held).

The Sheldonian Wave

I don’t have to tell any of my Okie friends how something like the Sheldonian Wave might be viewed by the student body at OSU.  I think you know.

We may simply not have the patience for this kind of pomp and circumstance in the U.S.  Certainly not in Oklahoma.  I recently served as a “name reader” during our commencement ceremony and the key concept was, “Keep them moving along.  Read loudly, articulate each syllable, and as quickly as is comfortable for you.”  One of my friends said in jest after the ceremony that “it’s sort of like listening to six game show hosts read a thousand names, where everybody won.”

The faster paced process in Oklahoma, however, has it’s advantages.  For example, here is an excerpt from Oxford’s policy on sending students their diplomas:

“Your award certificate will be sent to your home address (as recorded on the university’s student information system) within 4 months of the date that the award was conferred (ie the examination committee date).”

And…here is OSU’s:

“Diplomas are available to students approximately 6 weeks after their graduation date.”

Yeah, buddy!  I’ve also learned that students here received their grades for a regular examination approximately six weeks after they take it, due to the exams being sent through three reviewers.  The professors here exasperate over how wonderful it would be to teach in the U.S….for very reasons such as this.

So what is the same?  The sense of family.  The sense of accomplishment.  The look of pride on a parent’s face and the beaming jubilation that a goal was achieved on the part of the student.

Regardless of American English OR British English…or, I would venture to write, any language found, the emotions associated with graduation are by and large exactly the same around the world.

So…if you’ve ever experienced graduation as a student or a family member, and are asked some day if you speak another language, just tell ’em: “Yeah.  I speak Graduation.”  It will be true.

Above, a picture of a proud “mum” walking by her graduate son in case you have any doubt left.  You can’t tell it by looking, but she’s pointing out to the family of another graduate that, “…this was where my son lived for four years.  We’re here to celebrate his graduation!”  By the look on the son’s face, I think he’s just fine with that little bit ‘o mama pride.

I walked by them to my dorm room, ducked under a few cameras taking pictures, looked at the proud mama and whispered, “Well done!”

She beamed.

One more thing…You know OSU wins, right?  If I’m writing, OSU ALWAYS wins.  I wouldn’t trade the OSU Alma Mater, singing “Oklahoma!” and cheering like crazy for our students for anything in the WORLD.  The WHOLE world.

Travel

Day 31: “Elderly People,” Elephant Man Trees, Foraging in England and The Maze

A friend in the program mentioned she would be going to Blenheim Palace on Saturday and asked if I wanted to go.  At that point, I thought my day trips were over due to the need for intense study time.  However, when I learned the palace was in Woodstock, just 20 minutes outside of Oxford, I was in!

I got to ride in my first double-decker bus.  So, of course Nicole and I get on the top level and in the front!  Here’s our view: (this is BEFORE the windshield got covered with 4 million bugs in 20 minutes…who knew this beautiful view would be traded for a liberal dose of bug gut spackling?)

As soon as we began reaching the outskirts of the city we saw two funny signs.  I’m not sure this first one would pass the “political correctness” muster in the U.S.  Do you?

I just really didn’t know what to think about it.  I can’t imagine any of the “elderly people” in my family coming to the conclusion that: a) Yes, we definitely need a sign to warn traffic we are running around outside; or, b) and PLEASE be sure to characterize us stooped over with canes.  That’s essential.

The second sign caught my eye because it’s election season back in the states.  I was thinking, is this like a straw poll?  Do they practice first, then do the real election later?  What the heck? Here’s the sign…

It turns out that in spite of the word “Mock,” this is an actual election for their real mayor.  I looked up the event when I got home and here’s what happens:

This ceremony is known to date back to 1786. A mayor and corporation for Old Woodstock are elected with ‘mock formality’ and then ceremoniously pitched into the River Glyme…

So, there you go.  In case you’ve ever wanted to throw your local politician into the river, you can actually get your chance if you live here.

Blenheim Palace is going on my list of “must see locations” for anyone who asks for advice about the area.  If you are a history buff, a Winston Churchill fan, a landscape or outdoors person…then this place is for you.  They don’t allow photographs inside the house, but the grounds will keep you and your camera busy for a long time.  By the way, there is a jousting competition this upcoming Saturday…cool!  Here is a picture of me in the Palace Chapel, pretending to give a sermon to all the family and servants (there was generally an average of four or five family members and between 50 and 95 servants).

Thou shalt not wear thy corsets too tight for fear of fainting!

Once we finished the historical “reality” tour, then were guided around the first floor by an older gentleman who must have pledged his loyalty to the family forever and ever by the way he praised their name.  We then took a little train out to the play area and “The Maze.”

The Maze was incredible.  Shaped out of ewes, it was comprised of a highly complex design with dead ends, curly q’s and two lookout decks (so you could look down to see where you were going and where you had been).  It took us about 25 minutes to get through the whole thing.

Here’s our emotional journey: Oh, this is neat.  Wow, how interesting.  Are we lost?  Which way did we come from? You lead, I’m lost. Geez, how long does this thing take…hey, there’s a lookout! Okay, that was cool…NOW I’m sure I know where we’re going.  I’m feeling lost again.  This is getting long.  Okay – this is really taking a lot longer than I thought – oh, hey! There’s another lookout tower.  Um, what time is it? Do you think they’ll close the gate if we don’t get out of here?  AHHH!!!! We’re free!

Here are a few shots of The Maze…

I’m not even going to talk about what happened after we left the maze.  In a nutshell, we went out of the back of the property rather than the front, and we walked around the entire estate.  45 minutes later, we made it back to the front just in time for the next bus.  It was a modern day miracle.

I will talk about the fact that on our walk we saw thousands of blackberry bushes and a cherry tree or two.  Both were loaded with fruit and I ate some.  Nicole kind of freaked, not knowing whether they were poison, had weed spray on them, etc.  I told her that blackberries were not poison, and that there were tons of weeds around the bushes, so I was taking a chance.  Then I told her that we should probably watch out for large bears who would also want the berries.  This is how I thanked my traveling partner – scaring her to death while we looked for the front of the property.

Right after the “death by poison berries” scare, we were met with an actual creepy image.  There in front of us was “Elephant Man Tree,” and his mouth was open in a permanent horrific moan as if to say, “Why? Why did this happen to me?!”  I have no idea if this is a tree disease, if this is a particular strain of tree that is supposed to look like this (I doubt it), or if there is another explanation.  These trees had extra funky trunkies.  I’ll sign off this post by leaving you with the images of the tormented trees.  Don’t scroll down if you get creeped out by trees that look like people screaming (well, one looks like an elephant or octopus face).

Relationships, Travel

Day 30: Belle Conversation. Conversación hermosa. Beautiful Conversation.

Today I needed comfort food.  I was tired, a bit worried about my upcoming exams, and strongly considering whether or not to take a hotel room here in Oxford for two or three nights so I could get some rest before finals.

Since my arrival, I have both appreciated the lovely view of High Street, and cursed the never-ending foot-traffic noises of said thoroughfare…sometimes on the same day.  Sometimes simultaneously.  After three weeks, the continued lack of a complete night’s sleep was wearing me down.

Hence the comfort food run.  For me, this meant my favorite restaurant, only a hundred yards from the entrance to Brasenose College.  It is a small establishment in the back of St. Mary’s Church called “The Vaults and Garden.”

The place really does deserve it’s very own post.  Everything organic, vegetarian and vegan friendly, free trade engaged – something for everyone.  The food is magnificent, the staff are collectively warm and friendly, the setting is divine…and if you sit there for very long, you’ll be entertained by all sorts of “storylines” taking place at each table.  For example, yesterday I went there for afternoon coffee and saw two young sisters dressed in darling outfits hopping around on the ancient gravestones and vaults, shouting out little British girly notices to each other:

“Let’s go to the shop and buy some sweets!”  “Yes! Let’s buy some sweets!”  “Let’s pretend we’re bees and buzz around.”  “O-KAY!   Buzzzzzzzzzz!”

Hip, hop, look for a spot, jump! – – they cautiously jumped from vault to vault in their brightly colored clothes.  I chuckled thinking of the saintly skeleton only a few feet beneath them and thought the old body probably never had it so good as to entertain these toddlers during their play.

There is certainly a nurturing feeling about the entire venue.  I’ve already adopted it, and I will miss the feeling I get while there after I go home.

Today my comfort food consisted of a roasted vegetable medley with lentils (onions, sweet potatoes, chunks of goat cheese, red peppers, tomatoes…yum); steamed English peas with baby onions, fresh crusty bread with butter, and lemon pound cake with just enough lemon filling to make you want more and more.  By the time I had added a bottle of my favorite sparkling water to the tray, I was already feeling better – – and I hadn’t even begun to eat!

I headed outside and looked around for a table.  “Yes!” I thought as I spied one vacant, usually a rare occurrence.  I sped up my steps to try and get there before someone else snagged it.  The weather was too beautiful and the sun too bright to waste the day eating inside.

Approximately half-way into my meal I began to realize another “storyline” at the table next to me was revealing itself.

Sometimes certain words or phrases familiar to a listener can sort of punch through even the most dense gray fog of introspective thoughts.  That’s what happened to me when I heard…

“…you cannot do that.  No good will come of it.  If you push and push, the only thing he is left to do with all that inertia is either run away or push back, don’t you see?”

The voice was just about as close to Kevin Klein’s “French Kiss” character as can be found.  My ears began to radar in on the subject matter.

“I know this, but I cannot just Turn Off all that I am between the hours of eight and five, then go right back into a conversation with all that emotion.  I cannot just leave all of my life at the door! I must do something…something with all (she gestures by balling up her tiny fist and placing it on her heart) of me!”

The best way I can describe her voice was Penelope Cruz, only with slightly less heavy of an accent.  As she continued, I made the connection that she was probably Spanish.  She sounded like most of the Spanish folks I’d met during my trip.

He listened to her with intense focus, as did she to him when he responded.  He thought out loud, she considered his remarks.  She thought out loud, and he disclosed some of his struggles.  Volley, think…volley, respond.  Their conversation went on for 20 minutes.

He suggested to her that “you can’t understand why something is until you understand how something is….you need to break it down.”  She responded, “I think about these things.  When I first left home, I used to wish people would rescue me…I would call my mother.  I wanted her to solve my problems.  But over time I am working on myself.”  He reflected, “I know what you mean.  I have done that too.  I discover sometimes that when I think myself out loud with someone like you, I see myself anew.”

What was I doing while this beautiful conversation was taking place?  Honestly?…I was cursing the fact that I didn’t have my camera.  I wanted to capture their relational dialogue in some way.  I made a snap decision, left my table, ran back to my dorm room and grabbed my camera.  Halfway across the public square on my trip back to the restaurant I spied them.  They were still talking.

I waited a moment upon arriving, then approached them.  I asked them if perhaps I could take their picture, and that their conversation had moved me.  They looked at each other, smiled and then began talking to me.  “Who are you? What was it we were saying that touched you?  Have you had some of these thoughts?  How do you solve these problems?”

I introduced myself and rather briefly I told them that I thought they were doing just fine.  I told them that as long as they had friends like each other to share intimate struggles with, then they would overcome whatever they set out to find.  The young man seemed intrigued that “somehow something they say has touched something in me,” and she told me, “I have thought about becoming a marriage and family therapist myself.”

He was doing his doctorate in nuclear fission.  She was a philosophy student.  The Frenchman and the Spaniard were extremely warm, generous and open.  They asked if I wished to join them, but I declined – asking rather, for a photograph.

They agreed to let me take a picture and told me they would have not even asked for permission.  However, he said, “Could you let us resume our discussion for a few minutes THEN you take the picture?  It would be difficult for me not to pose if I knew of your intentions.”  I agreed, and went to get coffee.  Later, I peeked around the stone corner of the castle and took their picture.  In less than a minute they got up and walked away….

Side by side, she would talk then he would respond.  Then he would state an issue, and she would respond.  Volley, think…volley, respond.

The rhythm of human kind, solving their problems without therapists, eventually walked out of site…around a corner and down an alley.  I was comforted by the interaction, by the storyline at the table.  Perhaps by these thoughts even more than by the food.

Nah…the food was amazing.



Travel

Day 29: The Shared Territory of a Christian and a Hedonist, or, “Inside Ben’s Head.”

Hedonism:

Democritus seems to be the earliest philosopher on record to have categorically embraced a hedonistic philosophy; he called the supreme goal of life “contentment” or “cheerfulness”, claiming that “joy and sorrow are the distinguishing mark of things beneficial and harmful” (DK 68 B 188)

The first time I recall interacting with Ben, we were sitting at dinner. Someone around us was helping along introductions among the group. “How would you describe yourself?” was the question. Some responded in terms of their goals. Some related their places of origin or where they attended school before entering the law program.

“Brown. I’m brown, with curly hair, ” Ben responded. His face conveyed someone who was fairly comfortable with himself, and as he looked around the group those who heard his retort laughed readily. He laughed too, and the conversation moved on to other things.

The second time I spoke with Ben, I was walking across campus through one quod to the next. I greeted him with a congratulatory comment: “Hey – I really appreciate your questions in EU class. They’re helpful and they make me think.” Ben’s smile broke out showing grand rows of straight white teeth, and with a twinkle in his eye, he raised his hand for a high five.

So, I responded by giving him a rather resounding high five. We exchanged a couple more sentences then went our separate ways.

The third time I spoke with Ben was based upon the prompting of his peers. I strolled into the dining hall toward the end of last night’s diner, approached the first group I saw and asked, “If I were going to interview someone in the program for my blog, who would you suggest?”

“Ben,” they immediately responded. “Definitely Ben.”

“Well, that was pretty easy,” I thought.

I located Ben at the next table, proposed the idea, and he agreed. “Right now?” he asked. “Sure,” I replied. “Now is as good as any other time.”

We walked to our lecture room. Ben filled his glass from the plastic bottle of Cabernet Savignon he had purchased for dinner, kicked his feet up and said, “All right. What do you want to know?”

After I had covered the, “Do you want your name in the post? Is it okay to identify you?,” business I then began a comfortable volley of questions, responses, follow ups, and insights. Twenty minutes later a few friends wandered in. “What are you doing?” they asked with curiosity. They joined the group, filled in a bit of the conversation on their own, drained the glasses they had in tow, and headed to the pub to refill them.

Fifteen minutes later I was done. I took Ben’s picture, and we then headed down to the pub for “Quiz Night.”

Why did I want to interview someone for the program for my travel journal? I think I wanted to get another perspective. I’m a minority demographic. I’m a 46 year-old doctoral student. The majority demographic is a 25-30ish student between their first and second years in the program. I wanted to see what “they” thought. I’m usually pretty clear on what “I” think.

Here are a few things I learned about Ben:

He’s a self-described Hedonist, raised by his mother who is a medical doctor. Much of his family is in the D.C. area, so when Obama was sworn in last year, “all he needed was the gas money to get there.” He ‘wasn’t going to miss that for the world.’

He and I talked quite a bit about the “drinking culture” of the law community. Our professor had mentioned, during a discussion about equal rights, how it might be difficult for a working mother picking up her child from an early learning center to be included in the “deals and decisions” made in the pub after she left. I asked Ben if he agreed with the opinion I had heard from one student about feeling occasional pressure to participate in the drinking so as to be included in the networking and the camaraderie seemingly endorsed and even encouraged by the faculty. He said he could definitely understand their opinion, and then told me that lawyers have the “highest suicide rate, the highest alcoholism rate, and the highest divorce rate,” of any other profession. We broke that comment down for a while, then moved on.

I asked Ben if he was glad he decided to come to this particular summer conference. He said yes, talked about his rationale for financing the trip, and then we talked about student loans and Graduate Plus loans for a bit. It seems that most of the students tried to get a loan of approximately 8-10,000 for this particular trip…and when it gets down to it, some of their thinking might be, “Well – it’s 80,000 for law school, OR 89,000 for law school plus the Oxford trip. In the broad scope of things, that doesn’t seem to make a lot of difference.”

Initially Ben responded to the question, “Why are you in law?” by answering, “For the money.” But a bit later, I could see an activist brewing under his law student fascade. He wonders about statutes that don’t seem fair and wishes that there were opportunities to rally a group and go lobby the legislative branch to change things. And, although the standard form of instruction in a typical law school is the Socratic method, our EU class has raised his interest a bit because the majority of class isn’t spent on the readings, per se, but on a discussion that enhances or exemplifies the readings.

Ben seems to be empathetic to his group. He’s encouraged his classmates to speak out in class, and muses about the, “What if people other than the eight that always comment starting opening up and adding to the discussions?” idea. This thought process is inherently democratic and shows he feels for the group, and wants them all to benefit from the experience. And…it may show that he wants the professor to hear as many different voices as possible…in essence, showcasing the group’s acumen.

Finally, when I asked him how he would describe his program, he produced these three comments: 1) It’s a fairly socially conservative program; 2) They focus on getting you a job; and 3) the community is fairly tight-knit…there are 600 in law school and by the time you finish your three years, you basically know most all who are there.

When I reflected back to him that it seems that he was describing the State of Oklahoma as much as anything, he agreed….community, stability and socially right of center. I think at that point, we had sort of a “meeting of the minds” that you get what you ask for, and you take from it what you can.

Although Ben emphatically stated that he’s not all that great of a writer, he also mentioned with a certain sense of pride that his Moot Court team came out 7th place of the 200 students who entered the competition. He wants to be a litigator; he wants to convince someone of his case by oral argument.

I would say that if Ben stays positive like he is right now, if he keeps his optimism and smile, and if he gives the jurists or the judge an occasional resounding “high five,” he’ll have all the money he wants…and he’ll make quite a statement in the courts of the future on behalf of his clients.

I’m kidding, of course, about the high fives. But I’m not kidding about his ability to persuade.

After all, last night during our interview, Ben persuaded me to appreciate who he is and what he stands for, and when I think about it – there’s not a whole lot that we really have in common at all.

Except, for the fact, that maybe we like to raise questions of the professor in class.

Travel

Day 28: It Was So Loud, I Couldn’t Hear Myself Praying

My brother travels outside of the continental U.S. quite a bit, and every once in a while he mentions something along the lines of, “It might be good if you go see that place soon, before the tourism footprint destroys what’s there – or they close it to keep the place preserved.”  These conversations were regarding various places in South America, India and few other destinations.  Based upon my experience here, however, I would say they hold true for areas within the UK as well.

As I’ve walked around Oxford on my daily strolls, I sometimes hesitate as I begin to take a stair case or a step into a building.  When I look down to place my foot in a solid position, I consistently notice that there is a sagging dip in the stone or concrete.  This isn’t a design flaw and the steps aren’t sinking…they’re worn down from millions of other footsteps walking in the same place, day after day.

The sidewalks of High Street in Oxford are so crowded that it seems like you are occasionally swimming upstream to go somewhere when all others you meet are headed in the opposite direction.  It was this way in London as well.  And in Bristol.  And in Bath.  And at Stonehenge.

I think there are a combination of factors in play: it’s summer, it’s “backpacking season,” it’s sporting event season (World Cup, Tour de France, Wimbledon), etc.  However, the locals say that it’s like this most all the time.  Everywhere you turn, individuals, couples, families, groups of students…are all weilding their cameras, taking the same pictures of the same places.  They get the shot ready…wait for one, two, ten or twenty people to walk by, and then…”click!”  They get it, right before a tour bus drives in front of their view….or not.  I’m sure there are many a shot that end up looking sometime like this (the side of a tour bus):

Here is a little movie of a street entertainer who was in a public square in Bath.  I don’t know if you can tell, but there’s quite a crowd.  That crowd was there before the entertainer started, and remained after he was done….

This particular day in Bath, I had just about had it with crowds as it was the day after I was kept up until 3:30 a.m. with the noise on the street below my window in Oxford.  I went into the Abbey there in search of a bit of peace and quiet.  The line to see the Roman Baths was going to require a one hour and forty-five minute wait, so I thought, “Hang the baths – we’ve got two hours so I’m going to try and find some peace.”  As I walked into the Abbey, I was met with a full choir of local women singing a concert.  Normally, I would have enjoyed this little surprise.  At that point, however, I was thinking, “Quiet!  Everyone just go home, already!”  Here’s a peak at the choir and the inside of the Abbey:

I watched them perform one song and then looked around for the exit.  As I was headed out of the Abbey, I noticed a small chapel area.  These are common in the Abbeys around here – the one in York had a chapel, a prayer area, a reading area…several places to have quiet time.  A sign on the entrance to the chapel said, “Quiet please.  We ask that you respect those who have stopped to pray.”

Ha!  I thought, “Okay – I’ll go in the chapel, pray, and enjoy the quiet.”  This is what my face looked like with two hours of sleep after a long day while attempting to pray in the chapel…

I was sitting there in the corner, with my head leaning back against the wall, eyes closed and hands folded in prayer.  The women were singing pretty loudly.  I concentrated harder.  The next thing I hear is:

“Oh, here’s the chapel!”

“Shh – we’re supposed to be quiet in case people are praying.”

“I don’t think she’s praying, I think she’s resting.”

“Do you think we should ask her?  You know…whether she’s praying so we can know if it’s okay to take a picture of the chapel?”

I got up, left the chapel and tried my best to take in the beauty of Bath and the interesting architecture, Masonic mysteries, the beautiful bridges, etc.  Flash forward two days…

Tonight I was sitting at dinner with other students and I heard them complaining about the mounds of people in Oxford, and how they were having to give directions to “the tourists” all the time.  I thought it was funny because we’re students, but we’re also tourists.  I’ve felt the same way, and I wrestled for a bit with conflicting emotions thinking, “People here are thinking the same thing I’m complaining about others.”

My brother is right.  We “tourists” have to do the Earth right and try to avoid impressing upon her face footprints that are irreparable.  So, what have I done to find a peaceful place where I CAN hear my prayers in my mind as I send them to God?  I decided to go on a search tonight for that elusive prize.

I walked out of the college stopping at our Brasenose Chapel.  I peeked in, but the large brass birds of prey looking down on those entering gave me the creeps.  I walked outside the college and for a moment saw a beautiful light in the sky just over St. Mary’s Cathedral.

It disappeared quickly, however, and the noises of those on the street at night took over.

As I went back inside and headed toward my dorm room, I saw two students whom I’ve befriended on the trip.  One was having a discussion about being a ‘big believer in meritocracy…if people are nice to him, he’s nice to people…’  Another had broken her toe and was going to the doctor’s office tomorrow.  I traded one a ten pound note for ten pounds in change, went to get a bottle of water out of the machine and returned to my room.

I think for me, I’m going to find my quiet when I get back home.  However, I noticed that in the short time the two students and I had our short discussion, I had relaxed.

I guess, sometimes, it takes interacting with people to find “a point of stillness in the heart of the city.”

Travel

Day 27: An “Advert” Equally Cool as Toy Story? Perhaps. See for Yourself.

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My first week here, I took a train to Bristol and noticed something not unlike the Willy Wonka Factory (circa – Gene Wilder) across a field as I neared my destination.  I inquired about the factory while in a meeting, and was told it was an older Cadbury Chocolate Factory.  I love it when things look like what they are.  It was recently purchased by Kraft, and the locals wonder what will become of the outdated factory and previous ways the employees were treated.

I wasn’t aware until I began speaking with friends before I left that there are Cadbury treats galore simply unavailable to us in the states.  One of these requested was the Crunchie bar.  Another mentioned was the Cadbury Flake bar. Flash forward two weeks…

I ventured to the local cinema today and watched Toy Story 3.  Prior to the show, the audience was graced with a bunch of commercials and the standard previews, suitable for children ages 4 and older.  One of the commercials, or “adverts” as they call them here, was so artistic it still has my attention in spite of the wonderful movie.  And…it was for a Cadbury Flake Bar.  Go figure…


See for yourself by clicking here.

“Sweet” dreams…Kelly

Travel

Day 26: Know When to Hold ‘Em, and Know When to Fold ‘Em + “The Wall”

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I feel like I’m beginning to find a rhythm.

Monday through Thursday, I study with a purpose.  Fridays, I catch up on personal chores; things that didn’t get accomplished during school days.  Then Saturday or Sunday I explore.

Today I visited the “Cotswold,” a geographic region of southeast central England known for it’s 400+ year old stone cottages, serene farmland views and a few other little dittys like Bath and Stonehenge. 

The entire area is absolutely endearing and while I was looking for a way to do justice to this national treasure, I happened upon this excellent video.  It tells the story better than I ever could, thus the “know when to fold ’em” title.

CLICK HERE FOR A TRIP THROUGH ALL FOUR SEASONS OF THE COTSWOLD

In case you’re looking around one day and I seem to have disappeared, it may be that I’m here.  I’ve decided to buy this one.  Hope you like it, and please come to visit me when you’re in the area.

Okay, I’m buying this cottage just about as much as I’m buying my favorite ski chalet in Crested Butte and my favorite adobe beauty in Taos.  But at least dreamers keep themselves entertained, right?

There was something else I learned about while driving down miles and miles of winding roads today.  I learned that “back in the day,” when farmers had live-in help, they had these peasants build scads of the stone fences we now see everywhere there are farms in England.  However, over the last 50-75 years or so, they’ve fallen more and more into a state of disrepair.  Simply put, it’s an economy issue.

To properly build the traditional stone walls, or fences, they are dry stacked with local stone.  They’re wider on the base (two stones wide) , laid on a bed of stone chat, and are gradually moved to a density of one stone wide (or two much smaller stones) toward the top of the wall.  Then, stones are laid on top narrow-wise, so that “if someone were to crawl over them, which they SHOUDN’T be doing, they’d knock off the top-stones and theoretically it would then hit them in the shin on the way down the other side.  Local courtesy is to put it back the way you found it.”

There is a certain length of wall that IS being rebuilt, in spite of the cost.  We drove by it today.  The wall is approximately 3/4ths of a mile long and will take the team of masons approximately two years to rebuild the entire thing.  It will cost an estimated 500K GBP, or $750,000 US dollars.

One man works an entire day and gets approximately three meters finished.  The reason for this is because: a) it’s hard work and takes a long time, but also; b) they’re deconstructing the old wall for materials at the same time.

What level of love and commitment does it take to endorse a project like this? How about fund it?  How about BUILD it?

It this comparable at all to the love or commitment it took to work over a period of more than three hundred (by some estimations) to build Stonehenge?  How about the 250 years to build the Abbey in York?

I guess my question for you, and for myself tonight is this:  Do you plan and commit to projects or to life missions knowing full well that they’ll never be finalized in your lifetime?  If so – – why, or why not?

Have a great Saturday night…Love, Kelly

Travel

Day 25: Song Time! + Inspiration for Aslan

On Day 12 I wrote a song as my entry to provide something different than the usual photos, links, videos and commentary. 

Thirteen days have passed since I posted that masterpiece, so I’ve decided to grace the internet with yet another installation of  my Red Dirt Kelly Compositions.  If you would, please, sing this idyllic poetry set to the tune of “Oh Mah Darlin’, Clementine.”

*clears throat*…Okay, here we go:

In a cabinet,
In a dorm room,
Crumpled iiin a wrinkled mess –
Lies my laundry,
Dirty laundry,
Much in need
Of wash n’ press.

Bagged it nicely,
Grabbed the soap flakes,
Got my key and headed out
Down the staircase
‘Cross the campus
Wishing for
A can of Shout

Got it started,
Then I parted,
Lookin’ for a bit of lunch.
Watched the street cart
Lady make a
Perfect crepe’-uh
Munch, MUNCH!

ATM, then
Bought a notebook,
Back to ca-a-am-pus in a rush,
Didn’t want my
Washer emptied
By a stran-ger,
I would blush.

If you didn’t
Get the former
Verse I’ll spe-e-ll it out just now
Bra and panties in the laundry
Not for public
Holy Cow!

Then I had a
Facial at a
‘Roma-theeera-py boutique
Now my face looks
Like I may cook
At an oil
Re-finer-ique’

Yes it’s greasy,
Really shiny
Think I’m blinding those I see
On the sidewalk
I make idle talk
As I wait
To cross the stree (t)

Hope I never see
Them I did see
While the talking did commence
Probably think I
Slicked my face down
Lacking any common sense.

Now I’m typing,
Fingers sliding,
Cross the key–board
As I work
Guess this facial’s
Become glacial
Hands are greasy!
Don’t you smirk…

(Wrap it up now! – – 1/2 time) Guess this facial’s, become glacial, Hands are greeaaazzy – don’t you
smiiirrrrkkkk.

** ** **
P.S.  The photograph is of the door that inspired C.S. Lewis’ “Aslan.”  I had to throw in something credible after that ridiculous song.

Cheerio!

Travel

Day 24: It Rained in Oxford and in my Soul ~ Eulogy for Joe E. Skimo

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Determined to find the yet elusive cows in Christ Church Meadows, I headed out after class to go “farming.”  Farming is a word we used to use for what my Grandpa Frank did when driving while paying more attention to the pastures, farms and associated scenery than to the road.  When the large white Lincoln’s right tires would catch the edge of the road he would usually pop out of his farming-mode and correct the car quickly enough to avoid danger.  I guess it was up to those in the car with him to heed the warning should he be looking at the crops on the LEFT side of the road.

As I left out on my journey, I noticed the clouds were extremely dark and heavy.  However, after hearing the locals complaining about the lack of rain for three weeks I quickly thought, “Oh – it won’t be that bad.  A few sprinkles won’t hurt me.”  I then set out for the Meadows.

I believe I wrote at one point about choosing a running path so that I would have the chance to spot the cows.  I didn’t see them that day.  All I found were big, round, fresh bales of hay in the Meadows.  My  motivating thought was, “I refuse to leave Oxford without seeing the cattle!”  However, after two tries now under my belt I may have to change my tune to, “I TRIED to find the cattle in Oxford and those sneaky bovine eluded me!”

The walk down to the Meadows and along the fenced off area was beautiful.  The weather was cool, there were very few tourists, and the further along the path I got the more people disappeared.  When you walk down the road alongside the Meadows, it is lined with enormous trees that must be several hundred years old.  They go on for about five city blocks, so I had quite a nice little daydreaming stroll.

To my left the whole time was the Meadows, sans the cattle.  I could smell an occasional manure whiff and saw several farm vehicles.  One large truck rolled by with a sign on the side reading:  “Oxford Area Estate Maintenance Company.”  The back was loaded down with fencing.  I wanted to chase the truck and beg, “Please, sir!  Wherefore art the COWS?!”

Have I mentioned that by this time it had begun to sprinkle?  By the time I reached the Thames it was raining.  And, by the time I took a couple pictures of the ducks and the boats, it was raining fairly heavily.  I ran toward the nearest pub, squeezed through a wrought iron gate, went up the back way and almost fell into the door as the thunder started pounding away.

For the first time since I’ve been here I had one thought in my head: “Hot tea.  I need hot tea.”  I was fairly soaked, as were the other groups falling into the door in sets of twos, threes and fours.  They all had a “I need hot tea” look on their faces, and most of them ordered that very thing.

As the rain began to come down in droves so loudly no one could hear each other talk, I began to take stock of what I was doing there.  Every person who visits a place and has “free” agency gets to choose their path.  The only limits are the choices afforded them by their time, the area, their money and their physical ability to move around at will.  Twice now, I have chosen to seek out the cows.  It’s because they are familiar to me.  I wanted to see something here in Oxford like I have there at home.

By the time I had tea, my lunch, and had people-watched for a while in the pub the rain began to break up and the sun finally came out.  Little did I know that as I headed back to my dorm I would soon be experiencing a different rain; one self-inflicted of sorts.  That is, the rain of my tears as I spoke with my husband later that day and found out that our family dog passed away.

Joe E. Skimo was a really sweet Alaskan Malamute who had been showing signs of age, heart failure or some other doggy malady for a few months now.  Joe E. was very loyal.  So loyal that he would kill anything that came into our backyard that wasn’t human – included three cats that belonged to our young female neighbors (cripes).  His physical ailments were exacerbated, I’m sure, by the extreme heat Oklahoma has been experiencing of late, and my husband had been detailing his efforts to keep Joe E. cool with water in various ways.  One method was to create a “doggie mister” by hanging up the garden hose under the patio roof and setting the nozzle on a light spray.

I wish the cool rains of Oxford could have kept Joe E. cool, but I doubt they would have been healing rains.  He was sick and I’m glad he’s not struggling anymore.

As I searched for something comfortingly familiar in Oxford, I have to believe that Joe E. did found some physical comfort as he passed.  However, the personal rain down my cheeks for our sweet dog may come and go a bit more than what spews from the Oxford sky around here during my visit.

I’ll miss Joe E….miles and miles more than I’ll ever miss having not seen the cows in Christ Church Meadows.

Rest in peace, Joe E. Skimo.  You were an extraordinary family doggie.

Travel

Day 23: Harry Potter Served Me Soup

It’s midnight in the UK and I’m completely worn out.  However, I wanted to share a 2:30 minute video with you showing highlights of our Harry Potter Theme Night here in Brasenose College.

By the way – the owl you see in the video is something I made at the last minute to enhance my costume.  We wrote “mail” at the table and sent it, via the owl, down the row until it reached its destination.  The owl was quite good in accomplishing its job.

In the past, there has evidently been a James Bond Theme Night but it seems the lightening bolt-scarred character has taken over.  The staff did a great job preparing the grounds, the menu, dressing up in character and helping us have a nice break from all the studying.

Hope you are having a very good day, wherever you are and with whatever tasks you may be undertaking at the moment.

**CLICK HERE FOR HARRY POTTER THEME NIGHT VIDEO (Tune is The Potter Waltz from the HP Soundtrack)**

“Splendus Daius!” ~ Love, Kelly

Travel

Day 22: If I Go Missing, Just Check the Line at the Post Office + The Man Who Tucks His Pants in His Socks

As I began to write tonight, the first thought I had was for you to “close your eyes, and imagine that you’re in a line that never ends…”

Well, that doesn’t work in written post, now does it?

So my SECOND thought was to begin with, “Imagine, if you will, that you’re standing in a line that never ends….”  Are you with me now?  Standing in that line that never ends?  Perhaps – – oh, let just say for the fun of it – – that you’re in a Post Office line in the United Kingdom.

You begin to get very sleepy…lulled to the point of your eyes going in and out of focus, fighting the urge to doze off as you hear a very British, very proper and very robotic voice say, “Cashier number Two, pleezzz.”

Pause.  Head begins to nod again.  Pause.  Look around and begin to take note of what everyone is wearing, what everyone is holding to take to the window and mail, and what everyone else is doing to manage their own dozing-off behaviors.

More time lapses.  More time.  “Cashier number Four, pleezzz.”

Fifteen minutes later your head jerks up from nodding off to sleep.  You look around sheepishly and think, “Oh well, I may have made a fool of myself but at least it’s probably my turn,” only to focus again on those standing in line with you and realizing that you haven’t moved an inch.

The story I have begun to set before you is not imagined.  Only the characters have changed.  Okay, no they haven’t.  It’s me – and thirty or forty other people in the Post Office line.  Waiting.

I’m not exactly feeling like Dorothy.  I mean, I’m not standing there in the Post Office, clicking my little New Balance beige tennis shoes together saying, “There’s no place like home…there’s no place like home….”  Rather, I think that each time I go to the Post Office my head is more filled with thoughts such as these:

1.  Why is the “AVAILABLE 24 HOURS FOR YOUR CONVENIENCE!! Automatic teller machine always broken?”

2.  Why is it that people who don’t place importance on personal hygiene are the ones that seem to populate the Post Office lines?

3.  Why is it that we’re (the US) the country who came up with the phrase “going postal” and they’re (the UK) the ones with bullet proof glass between the service providers and the public?

4.  Why is it that when I have a package I’m sending to the US that weighs more than two kilos, that the service provider looks at me while shaking their head up and down (as if to make me nod in sync) say, “Well, you KNOW, if this package contained BOOKS (looks at me with wider eyes), then your PRICE would be GREATLY re-DUCED!”  Do they THINK I’m going to lie to the Post Office of the United Kingdom and risk the souvenir that I searched for over a three week period be confiscated?  Really?

These and other thoughts are what occupy my head whilst (Don’t you love that word? Whilst?) visiting the Post Office.

But here’s a new thought I had today.  The UK Post Office literally forced me to just stop, look around, wait, and think.  And, for that – I was actually grateful.

And, when I turned and finally strolled out of the Post Office, I had given up my struggle to make the line move.  I had laid my stress of reading assignments aside for the moment.  And because I wasn’t preoccupied with these thoughts as I had previously been before entering the Post Office, I spied a man pushing his bicycle with his pants tucked into his dress socks.

Then – I giggled and smiled at the postal employee just past the exit because he was taking his SWEET TIME unloading the letters from the deposit box outside.

As I walked back to the college, the very proper British robotic voice played over in my head, this time talking (in my head – not out loud!) to those I walked by on the sidewalk: “Step aside and move out of the Way, pleez.”  “Guess it’s time for some Lunch, pleez.”  “How about Panini, pleez…”

And, to all my friends in the U.S.  “Have a very good Evening, pleez…”

** ** ** Here’s a treat for you.  If you look through the middle of the crowd in this last picture, you’ll see the man with the balding spot.  Look down, and then see his pants tucked into his socks.  Hee hee hee!  Practical (for cycling) AND funny to look at! A two-fer!

Travel

Day 21: Crop Circles, Stretch Pants (Eew!) & Getting “Knocked Up” is a Good Thing? Oh, and Hen Parties.

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I thought today I would just write a short blurb about some of the things I see noted as cliches about the Brits in the U.S., some of the cultural observations I’ve made while here, and how sometimes phrases in the UK can mean something completely different in the States.

First, this past Friday I spied my first actual “Crop Circle.” It was a small one, but definitely in England nevertheless…the typical “sighting grounds.”:

And, as cool as I thought the crop circle was, I have formed a very strong opinion about something completely uncool: I HATE stretch pants.  And, unfortunately here in Oxford, they are prolific.  I see several pair on women of all sizes and shapes each time I leave the college and go into town.

Eww.

To further enhance my point, I did a quick internet search and found that Lindsay Lohan started wearing them again (I say again, because we-who-are-40plus all KNOW this is a fashion faux pas repeat) in fall of 2007.

Here’s my proof – CLICK HERE FOR PHOTO OF LI-LO + STRETCH PANTS

I would share pictures of those I’ve seen around here, but trust me…you don’t really want to see them.

However, if you must go against my emphatic fashion advice, then you can order your new stretch pants here, in a rainbow of colors, for only 4.58GBPs!!

Alright, enough poking fun at stretch pants and the unfortunate people who wear them.  I’ll just close with two brand new pieces of Great Britain information I’ve recently heard.

Evidently, if someone says to you that they’ll “knock you up at 6:30 a.m.” it means they’ll wake you.

Here’s an example of someone announcing that they’re going to take a nap: “I’m going to have a lie-in, knock me up when you’re ready to go.”

Finally, I don’t know if it is England in general, or just perhaps because I tend to wax philosophically about gender equality and respect whenever I have the chance, but something really surprised me this past weekend. While in York, we spied approximately four or five groups of women on Saturday evening making their way down the street. What was interesting was that they were dressed up in brightly colored, conspicuous costumes or matching t-shirts with over-the-top make-up.

My distant cousin told me that they were “Hen Parties.” Well, immediately I think I got my own “feathers ruffled (smile)” because to me, “hen” or “cackling hen” is a derogatory term for women. He told me that they were like our bachelorette parties.

So – I guess that’s fine. But I just didn’t like the term “Hen” party. Here’s a picture borrowed from the internet to let you know how they look:

I don’t know.

I just don’t know if I could swallow the notion of one of my daughters having a Hen Party – – it feels sort of 1950s-cliche-women-are-ridiculous-and-the-weaker-sex-ish…

I guess I like to think of women as women, and not Hens. I will say, however, that when I found out about the custom I wanted to squawk. But then that’s the sound a hawk makes, not a hen, right?

Good night. I’ll WAKE myself up in the morning.

Travel

Days 18, 19 & 20: Fight as Though You Were Defending the Very Gates of Paradise

Potatoes 20 different ways.
Mushy peas.
Beetroot.
Yorkshire pudding.

And…the pub.  These are the food and drink of the local yokels in England.  But more than any other meal, my friends kept asking, “Have you had the fish and chips?”

Well, I can finally answer “yes” to that question.  And it really was quite good.

Friday, Saturday and Sunday of this week were spent with distant relatives in Wakefield, England.  We climbed some castle ruins, spent time in “a pit” (a coal mine) at the National Coal Mining Museum, took a “War of the Roses” grand tour of York and the surrounding areas, and spent time in the pubs getting to know each other.

AND…we had fish and chips.  Yes, I love haddock.  Yes, I’ll eat them again.  And no, I can’t eat all the chips!

But should I ever have a friend come to England, one of the first things I’m sure I’ll ask them is…”Make sure and eat the fish and chips!”

And, with that comment I’m signing off.  I’ll fill in the gaps of the weekend, post a video I put to Celtic music and talk about the idiosyncracies of speaking two languages while both English in my next post.  For right now, however, it’s time to get back to the books.

Cheers…

P.S.  I had a pretend battle with some children on the Castle wall ruins in Wakefield.  They were Roman Soldiers and challenged me, and I couldn’t just back down now…could I?  I hurled a stone at their wall and took them down a notch, but in the end they killed me with a spear.  Below is a picture of me and the young soldiers atop the wall.

I saw a War of the Roses quote this weekend that really hit me.  It was, “Fight as though you were defending the very gates of Paradise.”  I think those girls were pretty darn close…touche’, young ladies, touche’! (See P.P.S. – late addendum, next day – after the jump)

P.P.S.

Here is a video of my time in a coal mining museum, Wakefield and York (as well as surrounding areas).  I realize this is Celtic music which is more suitable for areas northwest of this region, but I just liked it.  Enjoy!

CLICK HERE FOR VIDEO OF TRIP


Travel

Day 17: Jonathan L. Black-Branch – European Union Law & My True Confession

Okay.  It’s time for a true (and embarrassing) confession.  When I first looked at the choices for a second class at this Law Conference I’m attending and saw, “European Union Law,” well…yes.  I thought the class was over organized union and labor laws in Europe.

And, yes…I immediately began thinking of Billy Elliot’s father and brother in the coal mines.

Then I thought, “Okay – rule that one out.  There is no way I could really ever take anything from that class and apply it to what I do in any given shape or form.” (Unless I wanted to go back and watch Billy Elliot for the fourth time and have a greater appreciation for the strike they were going through….nah).

So, then something in the back of my brain started wrestling with this thought and FINALLY a light bulb turned on.  OOOHHH, yeeeeahhh….European Union (EU).  The EURO…The “Community of now 27 members who recognized each country within the group as sovereign.”  And, today I also learned that “Europe” actually has it’s own flag.

And, the EU provides four freedoms to its members:
1) Free movement of people;
2) Free trade of goods;
3) Free trade of services; and,
4) Monetary (capital) trade, free of restrictions.

I also learned today that Denmark has a tax rate of about 69%, and their tax rate on new cars is 219%.  They also, however, send all their children to school free, including college, and while their students are in college they are provided a monthly stipend of about $1,000 dollars.  And, they recently gave all their citizens $35,000 dollars to start a retirement account.  And, the CEOs of large companies are taxed at approximately 90%.  And, they don’t really want anyone to move into their country, but they have made allowances of approximately 40 apartments at a very high price.  And, if you visit there and can’t speak their language, they all speak English quite fluently.

My point to all this random information is this…I came here to learn, and LEARNING I AM.

I’m immersed in Oklahoma Family Law right now and feel privileged to have such a good professor.  OU really has an asset in Professor Spector.

And, I’m loving my EU Law class.  Professor Jonathan L. Black-Branch has so many positions and teaches for so many colleges (he has six university degrees), that just sitting in the room is like listening to NPR on steroids every minute of the lecture.

CLICK HERE TO SEE WHAT Professor Black-Branch looks like.

CLICK HERE TO SEE HIS VITAE
(The vitae is about 2 years out of date, but you’ll get the idea just by review it…since this publication he’s been appointed Dean of the AVT Business School in Copenhagen).

I hope I get permission to take pictures or video of my professors.  But if not, just avoid me when I get home because I’ll probably be babbling about what I learned for a long, long time.

Travel

Day 16: Bicycles Rule, Cars Slobber Just a Little Bit….(For Bicycle Lovers Everywhere!)

When taking a walking tour this past Sunday, the guide stopped us twice as we approached some alleyways.  She wasn’t looking for cars.  She was concerned that we might be clobbered by a high speed bicycle screeching around the corner.

Photo credit – click here.

If you love bicycles and “bicycle culture,” then you might need to take a pilgrimage to Oxford.  I say pilgrimage because there really is a “home base” feel when it comes to the two-wheeled transportation in this city.

Bicycle polo, bicycle bell orchestras, biker mechanic competitions.  This video gives you a quick idea of the culture…it was made from the 2009 Bicycle Festival:

Click here for an idea about how bikes ARE Oxford…

It’s not just Oxford, however.  When I was in London, a bicycle whizzed in front of a cab that was taking me to a meeting.  The cab honked, and the cyclist slowed down, pointed her finger into the open cab window and yelled, “Are you beeping at ME?”

(Cab driver doesn’t respond).

“HEY – I SAID…are you beeping at ME?”

Cab driver, “Yeah…you cut in front of me now..”

And…THEN came the rant about how cycles are environmentally clean, how they had to use the same road, and on and on.  She clearly felt she was an advocate for cyclists against cab drivers everywhere.  I tried so hard not to laugh.

There are probably 2-3,000 bicycles parked within a square city block of where I’m staying.  A couple of them I walk past every day have been there for a long, long time.  Their tires are sort of folded over and bent, as if they “gave out.” One is being recycled (recycled – get it?) for a sign:

The rumors here are that there is “literally NO crime in Oxford.”  The rumors here are also that “you have to buy the oldest, worst looking bicycle that’s actually in the best shape you can find because if you bring a nice one in, it will just get stolen.”

Somehow the locals are at peace with both of these statements being true.

All I know is that I’ve learned how to look twice when walking past alleyways, and I’m getting a real keen sense for hearing those little bike bells.

Travel

Days 13-15: My Brain has Rewired…I Can Only Hear in “British.”

Day 15: How Oxford Got it’s Name…It’s Kind of Like the “Poteau” Urban Legend

So, if you’ve been in Oklahoma for a few years at some point you’ll hear the joke about Poteau and how the town was named. Not from Oklahoma? Well, it had something to do with someone tripping over the town hall steps and yelling, “Oh – my po’ toe!” (Groan away…please).

If you follow that logic, then you can guess how Oxford got it’s name, right? Evidently, the locals used to drive their oxen across the ford. True story.

Where was that body of water?

Well, it’s still there, and is a feeder river to the Thames, in south central Oxford.

How do I know this? Because I stood on Folly Bridge and read a sign.

Where did Folly Bridge get it’s name? I don’t know, and neither does Wikipedia.

I can tell you that it’s nice…standing on the bridge and looking over the river. The boats floating there now don’t really give you a mental image of peasants driving oxen across the way, but this is the 21st century, eh?

I can also tell you that there’s something about Oxford that we won’t have in the US for a long, long time. A sense of permanency about the place. When they build a building, it’s there for ages. The building becomes an institution in and of itself. From my view, it seems that when we build a building in America, there’s a predisposition about the fact that in 50 or 100 years, it must just get torn down and a new one built in its place.

The US has contributed great things in the name of Progress. On the other hand, I think that Oxford and its accompanying history have contributed great things in the name of Institution.


Day 14: Are you a Narnia Fan?  If so, this post is for you…

I mentioned in Day 13’s posting that I would share a bit more of the Literary tour information with you. This particular information is fun. Downright dandy fun.

If you are a Chronicles of Narnia fan, then you might recall that when Lucy goes through the Wardrobe to enter Narnia, she passes by a Lamp post and a tree. She then meets Mr. Tumnus.

This particular part of the story was influenced by St. Mary’s Passage, adjacent to St. Mary’s Church where C.S. Lewis attended quite frequently and delivered his famous “Weight of Glory” sermon there from the cathedral floor to the parishioners.

Well, little did I know that every day at least twice I pass by the lamp post and the beautiful tree that provided inspiration for Lucy’s passageway to Narnia in the Chronicles of Narnia children’s book series.

This first picture shows St. Mary’s passage with the lovely tree.

The second picture shows the enchanted lamp post.

And the third picture shows a carving on Brasenose College that provided the inspiration for Mr. Tumnus.

Finally, I’ve attached a fun little video to remind you of the tree, the lamp post and Mr. Tumnus from the movie set to the tune: “Leaning on a Lamp Post.”  What fun!

Above – here’s the lamp post.  You can see the tree and Mr. Tunmus in the background.

And…there’s our dear Mr. Tumnus.  He was just waiting around for someone like Lewis to create a character on his behalf.

And…HERE’s your video!  Enjoy!!

Day 13:  J.R.R.Tolkien & C.S. Lewis by the Skin of My Teeth

There are so many community events going on within Oxford on a daily basis, I have had to monitor their tourism website at least every other day.  And while I can’t possibly DO all the things I would like, I MUST DO some of the things I’ve marked most dear to my heart.  One of these “most dear” choices was the Tolkien & Lewis Literary walking tour.

It only takes place once a month.  You purchase tickets for the tour at the visitors center on Broad Street.

And…it just so happened that the gentleman from Australia just in front of me in line bought the last one.  The tour was full.

I had encouraged him get in front of me just prior to this knowledge because he couldn’t seem to find where the line actually began and ended.  I did my best to keep the disappointment from my face, and thought to myself: “Karma…All good things…It was the right thing to do – – he looks 75+ in age and I’m sure he wanted to be here just as badly as I…”

Perhaps this is where growing up on a farm and getting the job done in “way #2, #3 or #4 if necessary” was helpful?  When I had verified that they would indeed not sell any more tickets for this tour, I decided to purchase one for August the 7th…a Saturday.  My last day in Oxford.  It would be taking place immediately after my last course final and I knew I would be physically zapped.  But I also knew that there was perhaps a fleeting chance someone might not show up today.

I said a tiny prayer and bought the ticket.

I stood around outside and watched those who had the correct tickets for the tour begin to gather.  I started counting warm bodies as they showed up and wondered what the cap on the group might be.  Every once in a while I made eye contact with the man from Australia.  I didn’t see any particular emotion register on his face, and he frequently looked away.  I wonder if HE wondered why I was standing around?

Pictured above – “The Randolf Inn,” where royalty and many historical figures have stayed.  The scene in “The Shadowlands” where C.S. Lewis met his future wife was filmed here, in the dining room.

When the tour guide arrived, I walked up to her straight away and said, “Hello there.  I’ve purchased a ticket for the August 7th tour, but that is my last day in Oxford.  May I please wait around and see if perhaps someone doesn’t show up so that I might take their place?”  She seemed to take the request in stride and answered, “Yes, yes…of course…that often happens, doesn’t it? Someone neglects to show?  Just wait here and perhaps you’ll get in.  We’ll see now.”

Pictured above – “The Eastgate Hotel,” where C.S. Lewis ACTUALLY met his future wife in the dining room.  Evidently, the makers of the film thought it wasn’t glorious enough for the big screen.

Okay, hurdle number one cleared.  Time for hurdle number two: body count.  They were only allowed to take 20 on each tour.  20 per month in a town where C.S. Lewis & J.R.R. Tolkien spent the majority of their lives.  Go figure.  16 currently stood in the group and had their tickets checked (including me).

It seemed that the time between 1:28 and 1:30 passed excruciatingly slowly.

Two people showed up at 1:31:30…they said, “Hey there, we’re not too late are we?”

“No, no.  Of course not!” the guide responded.  She then began to provide orientation information to the group about how we had to pay fifty-pence when we got to Merton College, but if we weren’t on the tour we would have had to pay two pounds.

One more person showed up.  “What have I missed?” they asked.  My stress level increased just a bit.  We were at 19 including me now.

As the tour guide began repeating everything she just said, I began talking to her in my head:  “Go!  Just go…it’s 1:34…go now!”  The lady next to me leaned over, and with a kind smile she looked at me and said, “It’s sort of like waiting to get on a plane using the stand-by method, eh?”  I smiled back.  Yes.  That’s exactly what it was.  Exactly.

Pictured to the right – the town home where J.R.R. Tolkien lived after his wife passed away.  He admitted to being very lonely after her death, but still made time to spend with the students in tutorial, and still taught classes for quite some time.  The students seemed to help take his mind off his wife, he admitted, but at this point in time most of his literary friends from the club had died as well.

The tour began.  Halelujah!  We got indoctrinated into more history about the Eagle and the Child, the Lion and the Cross and a few other pubs the “Inklings” club used over the course of twenty or so years between the 40s and 60s.  We saw the hotel where C.S. Lewis met his future wife for the first time as mentioned in “The Shadowlands.”  I found out that the Church of St. Mary Magdalene (prounounced Moglin) right by Brasenose College is where Lewis delivered his, “Weight of Glory” sermon…one of my favorite essays by him.

And then the guide’s cell phone rang.  Evidently the last two people who had purchased tickets had been waiting at the Eagle and Child Pub for 1.5 hours for the tour to begin.  They had printed material from the internet showing that this was indeed the place where they were supposed to be.  She hung up the phone.  As she told the group that we would be waiting on them for five minutes to join us the man from Australia looked at me.  I looked away and bit my lip.

The two tourists arrived in good spirits, waving their “proof” around for everyone to see.  I leaned over to the tour guide and asked, “Do I need to go back now?”

“No,”  she replied.  “I told them that we would have one extra and they called ahead to Merton College.  It’s all just fine.”  Yea, yea, yea!  I know my face lit up.  The man from Australia turned to me when we began to walk again and said, “You got lucky, now, didn’t ya?”

“Yes,” I replied.  “Very lucky.”  Then he smiled and began walking beside me for the rest of the tour.

Perhaps he was relieved as well.

*****  ***** *****
See below for a few photos of today’s tour…

The five windows and door on the bottom two floors pictured here are where Tolkien taught.  There was a bedroom there where the door was, as academics would travel great distances for tutorials.  The accommodations were so that they could spend the night while studying there, or a few days if needed.

This is one of the oldest buildings in the Oxford colleges.  It was built in the mid-13th century.  It is the Merton College Library.  Each College has a Church, a Dining Hall and a Library.  The books were all kept in the upstairs floors due to danger of flooding and mold, and the shelves were built at right angles to the windows in order for any breeze possible to blow through and keep them dry and in good shape.

This is the Lamb and Flag pub.  The “Inkling” club moved here after the Eagle and the Child (nicknamed the Bird & the Babe by the locals) enforced a no-smoking policy.  The Literaries could not see giving up their pipes as inspiration for their discussions.

I have more pictures, but I’ll save them for another time…suffice it to say, I saw where the idea for Mr. Tumness originated, the Lamp Post and Tree whereby Lucy entered into Narnia, and all sorts of other sights to see.  Nite.

Travel

Day 12: Housekeeping – Literally & Figuratively

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Rather than my usual entry style, this time I wrote a song about my day for you since it was rather boring and basically consisted of chores, homework and exercise.  Please sing it to the tune of “America the Beautiful” in your head.  I chose that particular tune since we’re still in the Independence Day general area on the calendar.

Oh, and if you have a webcam or a microphone and want to sing it – then send me a recording, I’ll bring you a souvenir.  And if there’s more than one submission, I’ll pick the winner and double what I would have normally spent. AND – if you’re REALLY good, I’ll put it on my blog with a spiffy little write up.

Otherwise, instead of singing “Oh beautiful for spacious skies…,” give this a whirl….

V 1.
Oh, help me now
It’s morning time
My mattress is a rock

I try and move
Then pop my back
And grapple for my clock

It’s ten a.m.
How did I sleep
So late when it’s so hot?

I guess it’s due
To such a great
Relaxing, quiet dorm – NOT!

V 2.
First laundry time
Then breakfast time
Then dryer takes my pounds

There’s no one here
To hear complaints
I know, I’ve searched the grounds…

I then decide
to a-ir dry
The entire wet load

But just as I
Walk out the door
The drier changes modes.

V 3.
I turn around
and glare at it
And wonder if it lives

I think I heard
It chuck-el-ling
I scream at it: “What gives?”

It silently
relented to
My loading all the stuff

And then it nicely
Dried my clothes
And acted normal ’nuff.

V.4
I then bought plastic hangers and
a desk fan
for my room.

I donned my reading
glasses and
read stacks and stacks past noon.

I stood and stretched
I donned my shorts
And ran into the Park

I then ate soup
And strolled a bit
And now it’s nearly Dark.

– G’Nite, then.