Tea, Biscuits and Brontë

This is the last blog I wrote for the Stampede regarding my time in Oxford.

Tea, Biscuits and Brontë

Katie DeConto

Issue date: 12/7/07 Section: Features

To make things a little interesting, I decided to make this second and final installment of my Oxford blog, so graciously published by the Stampede, a sort of interview. Now, I know what you're thinking, "How is she going to interview herself?" Well, my dear Milliganites, I will show you . . .


Q: What were your biggest fears upon entering the Scholar's Semester at Oxford?

A: I actually had a few different fears, but two of the biggest and probably most applicable to those of you thinking about a semester abroad are as follows. I was afraid to leave Milligan. It has become my home, and I love my life there in a way which made it difficult to leave - I was afraid my experiences in Oxford would not be worth what I would miss at Milligan.

I was also afraid of the workload at Oxford. Academics have never really been the most important thing to me - I have, several times, gone to Applebee's without a second thought when I should have been paying attention to my classes. How was I going to succeed or even survive at Oxford?


Q: Did these fears come true?

A: Absolutely. In a sense, everything I was worried about actually came to pass. Now, before you finish filling out a sympathy card, let me explain.

I did miss Milligan. It would have been impossible for me to not have missed Milligan. Every time I opened one of Jess Carter's e-mails about things I could not attend, which happened several times a day, a little Milligan-shaped hole in my heart would ache. That being said, I have met more amazing people and done more amazing things in this semester than I ever thought possible. I cannot imagine having not gained friendships I now treasure, or enjoyed experiences which have shaped me. I can confidently say I do not regret leaving Milligan for a semester, which is a weighty statement from a girl who wears her MILLIGAN t-shirts as if they were going out of style (but they never will).

The workload was incredible. I have opened more books, written more words and spent more time in libraries this semester than in the whole of my collegiate career previous. I have a stack on my desk of all the completed essays, and it is approaching an inch thick! Because of these scary statistics, however, I now enjoy the feeling I could have only achieved by working harder than I thought I could to accomplish something incredible.

I have learned so much, and not just from my own studies, but also from living in a house with 42 people working as hard as myself but in completely different areas. The conversations I have been blessed to be a part of would never have happened if we were not forced to dive into this world of academia and let the genius of our predecessors wash over us. I cannot say I have fully defeated the demon of procrastination, as the two of us have had much fun this semester, but I can say I do not regret my performance here at Oxford. On the contrary, I am quite proud of myself, my colleagues and our accomplishments.


Q: How has your semester abroad changed you?

A: Wow, Katie. That is a loaded question. Well, I certainly feel more educated. I suppose that is something I should have expected, becoming an Oxford student, but it has really occurred in a bigger way than I anticipated. I could talk to you until you were blue in the face about Victorian literature, or some of the early church fathers, but education is so much more than an accumulation of facts. I now feel comfortable, if not confident, in the ways of higher academia. I have been presented with countless different ideas I had never considered before, and each was an opportunity to shape my own ways of thinking and understanding the world which surrounds me, its history and its future.

Having spent so much time in a different country has definitely changed me. I now have a greater understanding of how America is seen by the world, and how I, myself, see America. It seems that when you are removed from a community, your allegiance is immediately challenged. My allegiance to the United States was certainly challenged, and being able to view it from the outside was certainly enlightening.

Besides changing my view of academia, and of the USA, this semester has most definitely shifted the way I see myself. One of the reasons, I think, a study abroad is so powerful, is that it takes away everything outside of you, everything physical, which makes you who you are, leaving only you. It took a different country, a whole new set of relationships, and an entire semester for me to see things in myself I never thought I would find.


Well, there you have it. There is so much to say about life here that these two entries were quite difficult. If you have any further interest in the topic, feel free to visit my full blog (www.oxfordblunders.blogspot.com) or track me down at Milligan in the spring. Until then, have a wonderful week of finals and an even more spectacular winter break. See you in January.

how was Oxford?

Oh goodness, how this question haunts me. I don't talk about Oxford much, at least not near as much as I think about it. I feel like the the short, canned answer I have come up with to answer this question is an insult to the experience, but there is no way to express the importance in a way that honors the questioners who will not understand, and many of which don't care to hear the real answer. I will write it here for those of you who care to know. Know that, thought there is a mild frustration that accompanies the fact that no one in my pre-Oxford life will understand, it is also something I expected and I know to be typical of any such experience that many of us have enjoyed. No one understands, but that doesn't detract from what we have.

In any case, I have learned a lot about myself as well as about Victorian literature and early church doctrine. Through the initial isolation of moving overseas, and also through countless conversations with good people, God revealed things to me I never knew. I see now the depth of my own pride. I see how I motivate myself through feelings of guilt and failure so that I never really accept the grace of God. I try to better myself alone, finding my validation in my success, but never really letting myself enjoy it, believing the lie that none of it is never enough. This way, I am motivated to continue without ever having to ask for help. I am an island, a lonely, terribly unsuccessful island. If I never stop and realize that my failure is something to be celebrated, rather than an ever-crippling weight, because it allows me to be embraced by the grace of God, then I will never find lasting joy. Oh how this has haunted me, though I never knew exactly where I was going wrong.

In discovering this, other successes followed. I realized my own self-sufficiency was a hindrance in my own ability to build real relationships with people. I began to let go of my boundaries, to let people in, to let them know that I love them, rather than assuming they know. This too, I'm sure, contributed to the depth to which I felt love for these people. It is hard work moving an island to the mainland, but I'm now working on it.

I'm trying to love myself more, to cut myself more slack and to recognize those things I have accomplished, rather than hiding every good thing I have done behind the heaps of things I think I should have done. Trying to change my mentality from 'I have done nothing great on my own' to 'I have done much by the grace of God' is a hard transition to make, but I'm working on that too.

Now, I'm sure that at this point you're wondering about the academic side of things. I complained and complained about the work that I did, but now all I can talk about is self-evaluation. Well, let me tell you, there was plenty of academic learning happening. In my Victorian literature tutorial I read a lot of Victorian literature. Go figure, right? I studied Jane Eyre, Aurora Leigh, R. Browning poetry, Tennyson poetry, Oliver Twist, Dombey and Son, Esther Waters, Sherlock Holmes, Picture of Dorian Gray, Wuthering Heights and Mary Barton. It was cuhrazy but actually not particularly difficult - just time consuming.

My church doctrine tutorial, however, was much more challenging. I studied Justin Martyr, Origen, the Gnostics, the theological anthropology of the Nicaean Debate, and Augustine and Eusebius' views on church/state relations. If you don't know what any of that means, then you can imagine my own feelings when I was given the sort of syllabus. Eek. I didn't think I would survive, I was convinced that they would discover that I wasn't really supposed to be there, but every two weeks, I immersed myself the the subject and the question and every time I came up with a respectable paper. Imagine that, hard work paying off. It was a much different feeling than a cram session the night before an exam and still getting an A. I worked for the accolades I received and slowly began to believe that I wasn't a fraud.

There are some ways in which Oxford changed me that I think may manifest in negative ways. I am more skeptical now. Now that I know how much information is out there, a pessimistic light is cast over any statement made by someone who seems to think they have it figured out. I don't like doubting everything I hear, or assuming that other people just don't get it, but it's a real battle I have to face in the wake of studying with and reading some of the most brilliant minds in those particular fields.

Well, like I said, I can't really being to see all the ways in which I've changed, but I can say that there is a hole in my heart, and it's shaped like the spires of Oxford. When I see anything on TV that reminds me of England, my heart jumps as it remembers the warmth it felt, even on those chilly, rainy days I refused to bike to lecture.

sweet sorrow and table jug

Here it is, my last e-mail about Oxford, and I am essentially heartbroken, but to have heartbreak, there must first be joy, so let's start there . . .

I had grand plans of how I was going to finish my long essay well before the deadline. Per usual, these plans did not exactly come to fruition. On Tuesday, I woke up later than I should have, got ready for a day of studying in my room and then decided to accompany Mr. Ben to the Duke Humphrey Library at the Bodleian. It is supposed to be the most incredible part of the Bodleian, which means a lot. Actually, parts of Harry Potter were filmed there! In any case, I had never been and had ordered some books to read there, so I thought that to be as good a day as any. We made then lengthy walk into the city, and I entered a non-Camera Bodleian building for the first time (sad, I know). Getting into the DHL was quite a process. We emptied our backpacks, locked them up, put our laptops in the clear plastic shopping bags provided and stacked our books on our free hand. This position made showing my bod card (type of ID, not innuendo) a little difficult, but I did it and we continued the journey.

We reached the library and it was everything I thought it would be - amazing. I couldn't believe I was a student at the school it belonged to. Nuts. We showed our cards again, had our presence recorded in an intimidating notebook and then proceeded to the book counter. When we asked for the books we had ordered, the man behind the counter gave a little speech about how the DHL was for reading manuscripts, not regular books. We feigned ignorance and apologized. I expected such a situation. I had heard a funny anecdote about a classmate who had ordered Alice and Wonderland to the same library, for a lit tutorial, and endured the same scolding.

We set up camp and worked for hours. We were planning to meet Nick at the Turf Tavern at 7ish - both the DHL and the Camera, where Nick was, closed at 7. He came to visit us at one point, and actually spent the last hour in our little isle with us. Ben had purchased candy mid-study session and gave Nick some M&Ms. Soon a candy-rolling-on-a-desk sound echoed throughout the definitely-not-to-be-eaten-in library. I stifled laughter as he pushed a few over my way. I didn't get as much done as I wanted to, mostly because there was far too much to do, but it was quite fun.

We couldn't handle it anymore, so we left before closing - heading to the Turf around 6:30. It was just around the corner, so it was about 6:34 when we were told they stopped serving food at 6:30. Darn. Famished we were, but sometimes other things can satisfy hunger, like chips, irony and good friends : ) We walked home, stopping at a corner store, and ate some food before returning to the books.

By the end of Tuesday, I had a lengthy outline for my paper, and so Wednesday, all that remained was to write the paper - not so hard, right? That's what I thought, which is why I decided that it would be a good idea to go sight-seeing with a group of friends. Sure, I had a paper to write that would determine the entirety of a grade for a 3-credit class and it was due the next day, but I also like to have a good time. You see, I had this list of things I wanted to do before I left, and seeing some of the beautiful colleges of Oxford was one I had yet to do. A group was going and I was not about to miss my opportunity. We set out, into a city we had dwelt in for over three months, but had had little time to explore. It was our last few days in Oxford, and it felt like the first few had - everyone full of excitement and wonder as we explored the city, except this time, we knew the people around us, and loved them.

We visited a few colleges, all beautiful, took lots of pictures. Trent even batted his eyelashes at one of the guards to let us into one of the colleges early and it worked like a charm :) Okay, maybe he didn't bat his eyelashes, but he did ask nicely. At one point the sky opened up and rain fell as if it had been waiting for years. We were caught in an archway in one of the colleges for a few minutes with a group of strangers equally plagued by the rain. We waited a bit, but then decided to run for it - there were papers to be finished for some, and not a moment to waste waiting for the rain to subside. We ran to the next college and the rain tapered.
We saw deer parks, old trees, an ordinary-looking room named for Oscar Wilde and then made our last stop at the Eagle and Child, the pub wherein I had spent my first night in Oxford.
After the pub, we all took a classic photo in a red phone booth across the street and then parted ways. Abby and I headed back to the Vines, as I was the one most in need of paper-writing.

As I said before, I didn't expect the writing of the paper to be so difficult, but it turned out to be a challenge, mostly because Justin Martyr, Origen, Judaism and Ancient Greek Philosophy aren't the easiest things to write about, especially when one isn't exactly a classicist. By the time I finished writing, it was near midnight. I didn't actually have a conclusion written, but I couldn't write anymore, so I printed a copy and gave it to Abby to read. She read it while I tried to comprehend the looming completion of my academic work in Oxford. The house had a bizarre energy about it. Most of the papers had been completed and people didn't quite know what to do with themselves. When she finished editing, I addressed her remarks and then decided to sleep instead of writing a conclusion.

I set my alarm for 9. The paper was due down town at 12, so I figured I'd have enough time to edit it myself, write a conclusion and take a shower. 9 came too soon. I shut the alarm off and, without really choosing to do so, went back to sleep. Johannah woke me up at 11. Arg. I knew I wouldn't have time to do everything I wanted to do - it was a 40 minute walk! I wrote the conclusion and tried to print it, so Jo could bring it to Frewin for me. Our printer was out of ink. Wonderful. I met Nick on that stairs. He offered to have me e-mail it to him so he could print it at Frewin (where it was due) and turn it in for me. I took him up on the offer. Ben ended up forging my signature. What friends!

Many of us had planned to meet at Frewin at 4 to make a celebratory trip to the Trout Tavern. The Trout is quite far away, but supposed to be world famous and, according to friends who had already gone, pretty amazing. I got ready, cleaned my room etc, and left around 3. Luckily I met Johannah on Pullins Lane. She told me that plans had changed and that we were not meeting at 5 to go to the Turf. I decided to go into town anyway - do some shopping or something. I didn't actually accomplish much besides buying a giant bar of mint-filled chocolate. I was satisfied with one piece but knew I would have no trouble getting rid of it once I joined the group. I went to Frewin.

Some people were downstairs watching a movie. This seemed quite strange to me, as movie-watching, save desperate procrastination, or rare slow nights at the Vines, were not a common accurance - I interrupted and distributed chocolate. We waited a while for people to show up and then headed to the Turf. So began what might stay on the list of greatest nights of my life forever. It was dark and sprinkling, but the wetness made our beautiful city shine and no darkness could dim the joy we felt at finally being free to enjoy ourselves, without looming essays.

There was a great turnout at the Turft - maybe 25 or so people, all but one from the Vines. We gave poor Katherine, the lone Crick representative, a hard time about the Vines being family and Crick hating each other, all in jest, of course.

The excitement that I felt that night, at that pub is something that I can hardly describe. I may be that excited again on my wedding day, maybe. I had done it. I conquered Oxford. I worked harder than I thought I could to accomplish more than I thought I would, and it felt good. We ate and drank and laughed and made toasts, all in an effort to comprehend what we had done. We had written close to 45,000 words, we toasted to that, among other things. It was as if 25 prisoners who had served a life sentence were suddenly released and given back their youth. I could hardly remember life before the stresses of Oxford academia, and all of a sudden it was lifted, and I was left with a few nights in a city that I loved and people that I loved even more.
I could write and write about the feelings of that one 'pub night', but I don't think I could ever do it justice.

Slowly, people began to leave - there was a caroling event going on. I was raining harder at this point, but, as I said, our spirits could not be dampened, even if our clothes were. A small group of us decided to walk the long way to the Vines. Nick's bike had broken that day, and he wanted to throw it off a bridge into a small river we crossed daily. We walked in the rain for a long time. The entire way there, the guys expressed their own sense of victory by committing violence against the bike. It was thrown high into the air, against trees, against brick walls, into the street, straight into the ground. It was thrown countless times, occasionally surrendering a piece of reflector or, one time, its seat to the efforts of the victorious scholars. Even Hilary and I each took a turn on the bike, finding it to be surprisingly fulfilling and not only an arbitrary act of destruction. We finally reached the bridge. Everyone took one final throw, leaving the poor vehicle looking more like ball of scrap metal than anything else, before Nick hurled it into the swollen current. It was glorious.

We finished the walk home, forsaking any hope of being even partially dry. What a sight we must have been upon entering our home. The first order of business was to get in dry clothes. Check. Then I went downstairs to explore the wonderful array of sweet things in the living room. I learned that they were for the carolers so they would be available for partaking when the festive singers returned. I'm not sure what happened then, my memory skips forward a little to mince meat pies and a viewing of Elf, and what a wonderful combination it was. *disclaimer* mince meat pies do not have meat in them.

When we were still at the Turf, Scot took it upon himself to announce that later that night Ben and Johannah would perform. Everyone was pretty excited. As soon as the movie ended and the living room cleared a bit, the bashful musicians prepared. While they prepared, trusty Bryce played a set. Bryce is always ready and willing to perform on command. It was funny because as he played and Ben and Johannah readied themselves to play, many of us were reminded of that time, in the early days, that a small group of us sat outside of the lodge and played music. I wished hard in my head that we had done it more.

Bryce finished and the dynamic duo hi the stage, or pair of chairs. I joined them for the first couple, adding little to their original heartwarmers, but feeling grateful to be called to participate. It was both joyous and heartbreaking. I loved it, but I knew that it would be the last time.

After the musicians were reluctantly allowed to desist by their adoring fans, we would not let the night end, but instead put on a movie and made the couches home. When the movie ended, another was begun - Cast Away. A few of us resisted, but we could feel it ending, and there was nothing to be done but prolong it by denying ourselves sleep. Eventually I succumb to the call of my bed, knowing that watching Tom Hanks endure grueling isolation would not prevent my own separation from a newfound family.

The next morning there was a tea at the Vines, beginning at 10, followed by a chapel service to begin the debriefing. Johannah woke me at about 10:20. We dressed quickly and ran downstairs in just enough time to make some tea and find a seat. The chapel service commenced, followed by farewell speeches by the administration, our own reflections in small groups and some final paperwork. Then, over snacks and tea, we bid farewell to our faithful leaders. They taught us much and encouraged us more. It is profoundly sad to say goodbye to someone who has changed you when you know you will never see them again, but it had to be done.

The rest of the day was filled with wonderful nothingness. People packed, people played, people busily distracted themselves from thinking about the fast approaching farewells. I knew my mom and sister were in town, but didn't actually talk to them until the early evening. They made it to the hostel okay, but had been there for a while. I walked into town to fetch them back to the Vines, not wanting to miss too much time at what had become my home. I found the hostel in a part of town I had never been to, reminding me further of how I regretted having to leave so soon. The hostel was a bit circus-ish and so I felt bad for booking for my mom, but what was done was done. We walked through town a bit, I showed them around city center as much as I thought their jet-lagged heads and legs could bear. We meant to take the bus to the Vines, but decided to find a place to eat, and by the time we found a place, we were practically there. Well, I thought we were practically there. Walking distances are put in a different perspective when walking/biking are ones only form of transportation. We stopped at a nice little kebab place where the owned was happy to tell us of his adventures in Boston.
When we arrived back at the Vines, it was hectic, to say the least. Everyone was packing and cleaning and crying. The kitchen was completely filled with leftover food that had been emptied from the refrigerators and cabinets. Ruth was there to say goodbye to everyone. I felt like a bad host, but I really wanted to enjoy the last hours with my house-mates as well as entertain my new guests. They stayed for a couple of hours, then I walked the to the bus stop, made far too tentative plans for the next morning (no cell phones, remember) as the bus doors were closing and then walked back to join a curb party on the street.

We didn't sleep that night. There was no time. The first batch of people left at around 2am and then more groups every hour or so. We played table jug for a long time, and then death jug, except the death jug had to be ammended because of the large group of people - the table could not hold them. The jug was different too. Somehow the original jug was disposed of, and so a much larger one was used, making things more interesting. For death jug, the table was removed and we stood on the chairs. It was outrageous. I've never seen that kind of team spirit from a real sports team, let alone a group of sleep deprived scholars playing a made up game. I believe Nick even exclaimed at one point "I can't believe we're sober". I was an appropriate comment. We gathered a crowd at the doorways, most likely pulled from their rooms by the deafening cheers, intending to request quiet, as it was the very early morning at this point. Once they saw what was going on, however, no one could bear to ask us to be quiet, and many decided to join.

When the game was ended goodbyes had already been made. We each signed the jug, planning on leaving it in our house for the next generation to find and enjoy as we had, though it may not be impossible for anyone to enjoy anything as much as we enjoyed that empty milk jug.
The goodbyes kept coming and it couldn't be stopped. We watched The Goonies. Jo left at about 4. She spent her last few minutes wedged between Ben and I on the couch. When she left I cried. I was surprised. I told the boys later that I usually try to cry at goodbyes because I feel like I should, because everyone else is crying. Not this time, there was no stopping those tears as that taxi drove away with my roommate.
I went upstairs to Nick and Ben's room to watch them pack, but after seeing Nick smoosh his entire wardrobe into a suitcase unfolded, I resolved to help Ben by folding his shirts. Oh boys. Be selected some depressing music on his ipod as only he can. When our recording of The Advocate began, the tears came again. Had I gone soft? I tried to figure out why I was so heartbroken. It had, afterall, only been 3 1/2 months. Why were these people so special to me? We decided that it was like we had been to war together. We lived together, ate together, worshiped together, played together, and endured some of the most challenging obstacles together. Only we know what fall 2007 SCIO was, only we. We had seen each other happy, sad, depressed, elated, angry, frustrated, apathetic - you name it, we felt it that semester, together. It was as if we had experience years of friendships concentrated into that one, short time period. That was why I felt more like I was graduating and leaving my roommates of years than like I was leaving some people I had known only for a few months. It's a hard thing to explain, and I wont see most of those people again, but we'll always have Oxford. It was real.
Anyway, back to the story. They packed, more people left. We sat in the dark room and watched the skylight illuminate with the rising sun. More people left. We went outside and stood on that curb. More people left. I cried more and more people left. Ben and Nick finally left together for the bus stop. It was raining. I meant to go with them to see them off, but the thought of walking back up Pullins Lane in the rain by myself was unbearable and I hugged them at our door. I cried more and more people left. I watched as almost the entire house walked out of that front door, rolling giant suitcases behind them.

When the morning came, I had some jobs to do before I could leave. I started to pack. I became delirious for lack of sleep. I felt my age as I proved incapable of functioning after a night of not sleeping. The 'all-nighter', a tool I had used many time before, was failing me. When it became a decent hour, I called the hostel and told my mum and sis that I would be there sometime, I probably needed a nap and definitely had more work to do. I napped for an hour or so and then set to taking down shower curtains, one of my tasks.

I finally finished everything and had all my bags in the hallway. I was the last one to leave our room and so it was empty, so empty. It reminded me of the day I moved in - so absolutely clueless of what was about to happen. Dear, sweet Abby helped me with my things. I had planned on making the 45 minute walk to the hostel with all of my things. This would have been absolute hell/impossible by myself and miserable even with Abby's help. I decided to, instead, pay for both of us to take the bus downtown and was instantly pleased with my decision. It was still a rainy and unpleasant trip, but much shorter than I would have been, had I not opted for the bus.

So, that was it. That is how SCIO life ended, not with a bang, but with a whimper. I am changed. I can't even begin to tell all the ways in which I am changed. I know I will discover it more and more as time goes on, though I can see much already.

false freedom and windy wales

It is Wednesday night. I was supposed to write on Sunday, night. I apologize, to myself and to my avid readers. I was doing so well there for a while, and then things just got a little crazy . . .

Last week was 8th week. What that means is that it was the last week of tutorials. I attended my final tutorial on Monday at 11:30.  Well, I actually didn't attend the tutorial until closer to noon because, to my dismay, as I walked my bike up the driveway toward the street, I noticed that my front tire was as flat as could be.  I ran back inside, sent an e-mail to Katy, the trust administrative assistant, asking her to tell my tutor I would be late, and started on the long walk.  Lovely Miss Beth Palmer never got the message, so my arrival was slightly awkward, but I wasn't in an easily perturbed mood, nearing the end of my final tutorial.  It went rather well, though I was so excited that I could hardly have interpreted it otherwise.

Every day there was a new set of elated scholars, having written their last tutorial paper and willing to momentarily forget the dreaded ‘long essay’ due, well it’s actually due tomorrow, but last week, tomorrow was oh so far away. For this reason, I watched a lot of movies last week, and generally did not so many productive things. My days will filled with relaxed study of Origen and Justin Martyr (both early church fathers), and my nights were filled with pub nights, movies and spending time with my fantastic house-mates. One night, a bunch of us even enjoyed an enthralling game of Balderdash at the Angel and Greyhound, which supplies and interesting supply of board-games. The game was, evidently, American and Matt even found a quarter in the box!

Friday night, too, we went to the pub, inspired by Nick's sad story of wrong buses and delayed flights that made it impossible for him to make it home for his grandfather's funeral. When we got back to the vines, I may have tried to study. I should have. I definitely studied Saturday morning - all day until about 3:15 when my rental car was leaving for Wales.

I know what you're thinking: "Why did she go to Wales when her long essay was due in a few days and she had been not-working all week?" Well, I suppose it was for the same reason that I often do fun things instead of much-needed-to-do school work. It's just how I do.

So, there were 7 of us, so we had rented 2 cars, for lack of an available mini-van. The Brits don't think much of large, non-environmental vehicles. Anyway, we piled in, much more comfortably than the last time - to Canterbury. The people on this trip were exactly the people from Canterbury, with one glorious addition: Ruth, our British friend! It was actually her family's cabin that we were driving to. The dive there wasn't too eventful. The other car (Scot, Nick and Ruth) thought it would be funny to pelt our car with pistachio shells occasionally, and Nick lost his hat when he stuck he head out of the window.

We stopped for dinner at a rest stop place. Nick and I enjoyed a meal of cheese, apples, bread and peanut butter - staples of the poor traveller. We shared with Ruth too, though she wasn't too fond of the peanut butter. I'm not sure what it is about Americans that makes us love peanut butter so much, but the Brits don't have it.

When we finally arrived, 5 or so hours later, to the town that held our beds, we stopped first at a giant Tesco. Now, Tesco is a grocery store, and we have them in Oxford, but the only one I've ever been in has been, well a lot smaller than this one. It felt suspiciously like I was entering a Wal-Mart. We shopped. We bought lots of food to sustain us for the next couple of days. Ruth was particularly bothered by a gigantic bag of 'crisps' (potato chips) that was purchased. My first inclination would be to say that Americans like crisps more than the British, but then I remember how many more flavors there are here (ham and apple, prawn(shrimp) cocktail and other similarly disturbing titles). I guess it's a subject for debate.

The cabin was adorable. Before we had left Oxford, Ruth's parents had gone to great lengths to explain to us how ridiculously cold it would be. Ruth explained later that they have the idea that all Americans are used to big, warm houses. Whether that's true or not aside, we have been living in the UK for months now, so when their emphatic warning reached our ears, we made a trip back to the Vines and filled the cars with all the bedding we could find. So, when we got to the cabin and found it to be quite comfortable, our fears were put to rest. I think that each of us had the picture of all 7 of us piled in one bed to survive - the conversation even turned to cannibalism, who we would eat if need be, and if we were willing to eat anyone at all. The latter question concerned me more. I just don't think I could do to.

We didn't need to eat anyone, luckily. We passed the night in general relaxation. Matt lit a clove on the toaster, we played a funny little board game much like catch phrase, had a pillow fight and talked about the Christian's duty to society - suburbs or slums? It was a nice night, blissfully void of any academic work. Margaret and Ruth went to bed, but I stayed up and watched to boy play hearts for reasons unclear to me. I guess I just have a really hard time going to bed when things are going on. I eventually did go to bed, and as soon as I closed the door of Margaret and I's bedroom, I realized that she could hear every word spoken in the living room. I immediately felt bad and wondered how she was sleeping at all. After lying in bed for a few minutes, I heard a weird sound coming from right outside the door - something sliding against the door frame. I assumed to boys were up to no good. I opened the door from my bed and saw that one of the big cozy chairs was on its side and up against our door, then heard them all dart in to a hiding place, as if I wouldn't know who it was. I closed the door and the noise persisted. I got up and opened the door, leaned over the chair and asked Nick, who would be sleeping on the couch, if he needed any more blankets because we had some. They were all giggling and he said no.

They told me not to tell Margaret, but as soon as we woke up and she made for the door, I warned her. At that point the pile had completely covered the doorway and Margaret was not happy. She whined a little, our only weapon, really, and they removed the blockade, quite pleased with themselves.

After we were released, we all decided that, before we made the giant breakfast we had purchased to prepare, we would trek to the beach - the weather was nice and we didn't know for how long it would last. I rolled up my jeans and put on some 'wellies'(galoshes/rain boots) borrowed from Ruth's sister - it was going to be muddy.

We walked and walked - through the woods, through a field, in which we met a friend friendly and beautiful group of highland horses who followed us for a bit, and finally onto the beach.

As soon as we neared the ocean, the wind was incredible. I may not spend much time talking about the wind, despite it's important role in this trip, mostly because there's nothing I can say to make you understand how ridiculously strong it was.

The beach was beautiful - the whole area was beautiful. We played in the water a bit. Actually, I think that maybe the water played with us. We ran into the ocean, being all spontaneous and adventuresome up to our ankles, and then it attacked, soaking us to our knees. I didn't expect such beauty from Great Britain, rain, accents, tea, all these things I expected, but not such beauty. We hung out on the beach for a while, made a stop at the little general store, where I bought an 11p pack of matches with a 20 pound note. The kid was a good sport.

We returned to the cabin by a different way than we had come - through the woods. That was fun because there was an abundance of much in which I could wade with my boots, and we came upon a little rope swing, also a good time.

When we got back to the cabin, Margaret and I commenced the making of the meal - many pancakes, many eggs and much bacon. It was an interesting experience with the two of us and then several other occasional visitors in the tiny little kitchen. Nick found a way to make coffee - straining it through a dish-cloth-type thing. It worked pretty well - I had some.

We finished cooking and ate. It was lovely. We didn't have maple syrup, which made me sad, but what we did have was something called 'Golden Syrup', which, we decided was mostly just sugar, probably a lot of corn syrup too, but it was much better than your typical fake syrup. It wasn't as good as the real stuff, but a not-so-close second.

Being banished from clean-up as the cooks, Margaret and I found other occupations. I took a shower and tried, somewhat in vain, to undo the tangle-damage the wind had done to my hair. Then I tried to do some school work. I didn't get much done, but the fact that I brought it and tried means that I have grown in my academic dedication.

The weather cleared up again, so we decided to take another excursion to a different place. Ruth led the way. This walk was longer, and windier. Once again, the wind was out of control. The walk to beautiful, it was basically along the top of cliffs overlooking the Irish Sea. Pretty nuts, right? We know that we would most likely be making the journey back in the dark, but on we pressed. (If I haven't mentioned it before, it gets dark here around 4 in the winter.) When we reached our destination, it was a beach below a lovely inn. I went into the inn to use the bathroom and felt like I was interrupting a family get-together. I guess it's just one of those sorts of family-run, laid-back kind of places. I used the bathroom, re-adjusted my sock/welly situation without being asked a question or looked at funny, so I was grateful.

We descended onto the beach - it was bordered by giant black cliffs. We played for a bit, but, to try and avoid someone falling off the path on the way back, we made for home. This trip back stick out in my mind as the windiest. I know that there was one place that I couldn't walk forward and kept getting blown into the bank of grass on the side of the path. Nick, necessarily, came back for me. We linked arms and braved the wind together. It was crazy. We finally reached the cabin just as the final glow of the sun was fading at the horizon.

That second night, like the first, was filled with wonderful nothing-academic. We played a lot of spades. Ruth made us a lovely dinner, we played a lot of cards and listened to music. Nights of food, cards, music and conversation are the greatest, and this was no exception. Fortunately, when we woke up in the morning there were no chairs in front of our door. I made french toast and bacon, we ate and then cleaned up the place. It's funny how messy a place can get after only a couple of days. We packed and cleaned and loaded the cars.

When everything was finished and the door was locked, we wished our temporary home goodbye and drove away. We drove to the black-cliff beach we had been to the night before. The drive was much quicker and less dangerous, but also less fun. We took fun pictures and played on the beach.

We piled back into the cars, stopped at Tesco for some petrol and candy and then made for home. I like car rides, and even more here, because they're so rare, we napped and listened to music. We stopped once to eat, although only a few of us ate; the manly men who need a lot of food. Nick and I bought the giant candy-cane things in one of the little shops at the rest stop and ate them. I regretted the decision on the way home. It was sort of like the time I thought it would be a good idea to drink Fanta and eat chocolate for a meal after my trip to Barcelona. I felt sick and guilty for doing that to my body. Anyway, the last leg of our trip quickly commenced and less quickly ended. We entered Oxford. It was a nice feeling. The closer I get to leaving, the nicer the feeling is when I think about the great city.

As soon as we pulled up and emptied the car, I was determined to do some paper-writing, but it just didn't happen. In fact, I'm pretty sure I watched 4 episodes of Seinfeld that night, amidst lots of e-mailing and facebooking - that stuff seems to accumulate after a couple of days of hiatus.

sharp glass, feminism and holiday cheer

I brought my glass to the kitchen sink to wash it. It was a new glass - the house has consistently been running out of various dishware, and so Clint and Jackie bought a whole new set. I ran the water and sudsed up the glass. It slipped, I tried to catch it, but it shattered right on the edge of the counter. As I tried to catch it I sliced my finger. Not fun. Jackie took me upstairs for a band-aid and some neosporin. I guess they don't carry it here. I asked if they had seen the commercials about how fast neosporin helps cuts heal. I guessed they hadn't.

I may be a feminist.

I am an easygoing person. I don't often get upset about anything, and am usually far too concerned with everyone else being happy, or at least appearing happy, to be argumentative. Now, I think I might be a feminist because I recently put up a fight when a man got up on a soap box on how women ought to dress and carry themselves. Now, I'm not a man, nor do I try to pretend like I know what struggles men generally face, and so I expect the same from them. I'm not trying to say that women are some sort of suppressed minority, I know we've come a long way in the past 100 years. I just get irritated when men think that they understand the social pressures and obstacles women face, or even pretend they don't exist. They do. I don't doubt that men endure unique difficulties of their own and all I ask is for the same courtesy.

Alright, I had a tutorial on Monday - pretty good, and then I worked until Thursday, when I had another paper due. This one was a theological essay comparing Eusebius and Augustine in terms of their view of the state. My tutor said it was the best paper I had written all semester, and that I had definitely progressed. I was happy, as it was precisely those words I was looking to earn.

I talked in my last essay about having a set schedule to complete the remaining essays. It was supposed to be 4 days per paper. I did the first one in 5, the second on in 5 and then had 2 days, actually little more than 24 hours to read a 325-page novel and write a 2-3000 word essay about whatever it is that I wanted, concerning the novel. Goodness gracious. I got it done, incredibly. I was actually so excited about e-mailing that last tutorial essay that I sent it first without a bibliography and had to send it again. At that moment, I was the most academically free that I had been all semester, or at least since the first few weeks. You see, I had written 3 essays in that first week, and so now I get to reap the benefit of that madness, by having nothing else to write except the dreaded 'long essay' due Dec. 6th. I was ecstatic, needless to say.

After I e-mailed the paper, I took a nice, long nap to help compensate for the previous few nights of little sleep. I was wakened by a knock on the door from Scott, asking if I wanted to go to Ruth's house, my British friend, for a thanksgiving dinner her parents were throwing for some American graduate students. Her parents wanted to meet those of us who are going to be staying in their cabin in Wales next weekend. I was in. The day before, actual thanksgiving, I had done nothing festive, only read Wuthering Heights in its entirety. In any case, 4 of us left to make the walk to Ruth's house. Interestingly enough, after walking very fast as to not be late, Scott had read the facebook message wrong and we were an hour early! It was funny, thought he was pretty embarrassed. We hung out with Ruth, which is always fun. When people started to arrive, we greeted them and chatted about where in the states everyone was from, and what we all think of Oxford. Then, the food. It was amazing. I think that they tried so hard to make a great thanksgiving, that they actually made something better than regular thanksgiving :) It was wonderful. Unfortunately, Margaret and I had a mashed-potato-making appointment back at the Vines - we were all split into groups to help cook for the big SCIO thanksgiving the next day. We had to leave before dessert, but I think that was okay, because I may have just popped.

We walked back and were a little late to make potatoes, but were given the delightful task of assembling the 'puppy chow'. It was good fun. When we finished with that, we helped another group peel some sweet potatoes and then, what else, headed to the pub! Back to the Angel and Greyhound it was, and another great time had by all, and, in fact, by a larger group. Bryce's sister, Kelsey and Trent's 'lady friend' (as he introduced her), Shelby were among us and so, in the spirit of showing them a good time, it WAS a good time. The walk back was silly, lots of involuntary piggy backs and shenanigans of the like. When we got back, unwilling to let my day of glory pass, I popped in High Fidelity and kicked off the weekend with a bang.

Now, my poor alarm clock has nearly disintegrated into complete inoperationability (real word?) and so I woke up by myself around noon the next day on (SCIO) Thanksgiving! It felt like a festive day. I took a shower, did some laundry and found a festive outfit, which actually included a nice neck scarf that Shelby insisted I wear because it went with my fun gold flats. I delightedly accepted and felt oh-so-sophisticated all day. I watched some of the (American) football game outside, played some rummy, and generally enjoyed the house full of happy people. The Crickers were there, and the faculty/staff with their children. It was great. The food was great, the company was great. There were musical performances, and carols around the piano. I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

The beautifully British Baigent family became a lovely accompanied string ensemble, for our enjoyment, and the youngest even played us a hoe-down! Simon also played for us on his cool electric cello - a little Gershwin, a little REM - it was lovely. It just felt like a family party - so many people, so much food, so much noise, it was amazing.

During dinner, I had asked Kelsey, a real hair stylist, about what I should do with my hair. We both agreed that I needed bangs, as well as a funchunktastic trim. After dessert, I wet my head in the sink and she went to work. I must say that I was a little unnerved, but I trusted her, as I should have. It came out very fun, I feel quite like an underground European rock-star....excellent. So, what did we do as soon as my eyeliner matched my new hair? The pub, of course! We actually walked all the way to the Eagle and Child (C.S. Lewis/Tolkien pub), aka 'Bird and Baby'. It was a long walk, but worth it, as pub nights always are.

When we got back, people were making Christmas ornaments out of flour/salt/water mixture, baking and painting them. I joined them and then a bunch of us watched Transformers. As we were watching the movie, I looked around at our Christmas tree, decorated with ornaments we had made (good and bad), the lights and greenery on the mantle, and just the general holiday cheer and decided that I didn't want to be anywhere else for Thanksgiving weekend. I realized that the holidays are about being with family, and that we had all been blessed with a new, bigger family, which made the holiday quite cheerful, warm and joyous. I would like to, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, take this opportunity to say that I am grateful for my Oxford family.

This morning, I, partly due to my inoperational alarm clock, partly due to my having gone to sleep past 4, I did not make church. I wanted to go shopping, and then go to the evening service, but then I decided that, after the pleasant day before, that I just wanted to stay in. I was feeling like a home body, brimming with appreciation for my freedom from academics and wonderful housemates. I did some e-correspondence, watched Shakespeare in Love, did some planning for my mom and Suzanne's trip over her in a couple of weeks, made more puppy chow, watched The Family Stone and then commenced writing this blog. I forgot how great that movie was. I recommend it to anyone who loves families, Christmas, laughing and crying.

On the whole, it was a great weekend. I am loving the lack of stress. I am loving the people I live with. I am loving thinking about my trip to Ireland with my mom and sister, and I am just loving my life and thanking God that I am so ridiculously blessed.

mary barton and augustine

It's funny how I often fret about not having enough time to accomplish things, and yet I end up wasting half of the time I do have and still getting whatever it is I was fretting about done. That is the story of the past week.

On Monday, I went to my tutorial and it went well. That usually indicates that I will not slip into a deep depression the following week, so I was pleased. I decided that I was going to be incredibly disciplined for the remainder of the semester, so that my final papers will clearly show that I have improved. You see, it is on our improvement that we are given grades. So, after my tutorial, I went straight to the English Faculty Library and got a copy of Mary Barton, the next Victorian novel on my agenda. The week before I had read The Picture of Dorian Gray. It thoroughly creeped me out, and so I was happy to return to the emotive soap boxes of non-Gothic Victorian literature. Mary Barton did the trick - the age old story of the poverty-stricken, passionate, but devoutly Christian girl led into sin by illusions of love and then left to be severely judged and rejected by a hypocritical society. In any case, I spent that night reading, annotating and researching Mrs. Warren's Profession, a play that I also needed to read and which I had to borrow due to limited copies in this great city. The next two days were spent reading the novel. I was on track - all that was left was to write the essay on Thursday, which I was more than capable of doing.

Side note: Wednesday I needed to go to a lecture at my college. It was a SCIO lecture, so I would have felt uncomfortable missing it, though I have no trouble skipping every other lecture I was supposed to have attended over the past three weeks, but that's another story. Anyway, after the lecture, my friend Bryce and I found a lovely little coffee shop, I got a latte and we both studied until it was time for mass at St. Mary Mags. Our good friend Adam was reading one of the scripture passages, and so we were going to support him, and because Mary Mags is pretty cool. It is a high Anglican church, and neither Bryce and are that well versed in the liturgy, but usually, in those sorts of situations, there's a 'blend in and follow the crowd' mentality. There was a bit of a problem with this because, besides the priest, the assistant, Adam and us two, there was only one other person in the room. It was comical. We stumbled over a few things, spoke when we weren't supposed to, and I, personally fumbled through a few other things, but overall it was an enriching experience. I've decided that I have no denomination. I really don't know what to claim. I think there is great value in every denomination, and none of them seem to me to be the best. This may change, but I don't think it necessarily has to. I will be a part of any church that I believe is doing the work of the kingdom, and in which I can become a part of that work, undistracted. That is all that really matters to me in a church. What the baptismal looks like, or what is said at communion, not so much, though I must say that I will miss real wine at church.

Okay, back to Thursday. I woke up, constructed an outline, and then avoided my paper for about 12 hours. It was ridiculous. I've never been so unable to do work in my life. It wasn't even a difficult paper. I knew what I was going to say, I had all of my quotes picked out. I just couldn't do it. The complete lack of focus, accompanying guilt, and all-day confinement to the house eventually drove me mad. I also had no food, and my dinner consisted of honey a raw oatmeal. Thursday was supposed to be salsa night, too, but not many people wanted to brave to cold, and I was in not mood to convince them. I was one grumpy, hungry, guilty, frustrated girl.

Bryce said he was walking into Headington to go to Somerfield, a grocery store. I knew that I needed to go with him. One of his destinations was Blockbuster - he and Johannah were going to watch a movie. We began to walk, and I instantly felt better. It was freezing, but the fresh air and distracting environment were just what I needed and the grumpiness was left at the Vines.

We arrived at the store, I picked up some apples and brie. Then we went to Blockbuster and rented Blades of Glory. At this point, my paper had completely fallen from my mind and I was preparing for a night of thoughtless amusement. As I tried to offer Bryce some money for the rental, he suggested we stop at the petrol station and pick up some movie snacks. I bought some very dark chocolate, to compliment my relatively sugar-free lifestyle, and we also bought a chocolate 'yule log'. It was kind of like a giant swiss cake roll with chocolate cream. It looked Christmasy, and Johannah has been in the Christmas spirit for weeks, so we thought she'd enjoy it. We walked back home, and presented the yule log, along with a stirring rendition of Good King Wenseslas(sp?). The fact that I knew only the first line made the comical situation even more ridiculous, but Johannah was delighted and so we were pleased.

We sat around the kitchen for a while, chatting. There were people in the living room watching King Kong, so we weren't sure where out Blades of Glory party was going to happen. Word had spread and there were about 10 people interested in the viewing. I decided that that night, in the interest in my own well-being, I was taking a break from my sugar fast and enjoying some of the yule log. It was yuleriffic, and I don't regret it one bit.

I made tea, and emptied my very mini milk jug. I ate one of the apples, and put the core, and the plastic wrap from the yule log into the empty little jug. For the next hour or so, about six of us found unbridled amusement in trying to keep the jug airborne. We called it 'table jug' and were quite pleased with ourselves. Adam became 'rooks' because he joined the game last, and we dubbed one area the 'corner of death' because it always seemed to foil or efforts. We even, upon recommendation of Nick, tried a variation called 'death jug'. This game involved anyone clearly guilty for dropping the jug curling up on top of the table. In about 10 minutes, 5 of us were on the table being pelted with the jug. Ben, a very new-comer, was the champion of death jug, but we all, especially those of us on the table, favored the original table jug.

Eventually, constructed our own little living room-type situation in the foyer, and started the movie. It was glorious. When it was over, I went to my desk, doubled my work count from 300 to 600 words and went to bed, fully satisfied with a night full of memories, rather than paper-writing.

Friday, there was no escaping it - it needed to happen. I wrote the paper, and a pretty good one too, I think, though I wont find out til tomorrow morning. After the paper was completed, I took a shower and got ready. Ruth, my one and only British friend, picked my up at 5:30 on her tandem bike and brought me to her house. I chopped vegetables and chatted with her and her sister for a few hours until people began to arrive for the dinner party. I spent the entire evening with only British people and it was brilliant. Dinner was great - I was grateful for food beside raw vegetables, laughing cow cheese and oatmeal with raisins. There were about 15 people there, and none of them knew everyone, so it was quite easy to make friends. It was one of the best evenings I've had here, mostly because of how different it was from the rest of my life here - so British! One of my new friends drove me home, and I was happy to relive my evening for them.

Saturday morning I woke up in just enough time to throw on some clothes and ride my bike to Frewin Court. A group of us met and then walked over to the Gate House. It is a soup kitchen. I am sad that I never became more involved there, because I think soup kitchens are a ministry that I especially enjoy. I made sandwiches for a couple of hours and was glad to do it. Although, it was quite freezing, and I was a bit afraid that I was going to mistake my numb fingers for ham and put them in one of the sandwiched. That would have been unfortunate. We had a lot of fun, buttering bread (it's a sandwich spread here!) and adding various fillings, thinking about the people who were going to eat them. After we were done with our work, we all had tea and talked to the man in charge. He told us about some interesting projects that have had to help the homeless of Oxford. There is an organization that puts together a periodical publication called the 'Big Issue'. I've seen homeless people selling these all over Oxford, but I never knew what was going on. Apparently this organization prints the sort of edgy, liberal news paper and sells it to the homeless people, so that they might sell them to the public for a profit. In essence, the salespeople are regular newsies! That was exciting. The also have published a book comprised of creative writing projects of homeless people, produced right there at the Gate House, and sold them to raise money. It was all very interesting.

I ran from the Gate House to make it to the Theology Faculty Library before they closed, picked up more ridiculous books, including Augustine's 'City of God', which is far too long, if you ask me. I then went to the Radcliffe Camera, dodged the tourists, picked up 'Church History' by Eusebius, and began reading. I think I actually fell asleep at one point, as Eusebius isn't exactly en enthralling author, nor is church history, often times, an enthralling subject. I stayed for as long as I could make myself work, and then found freedom once again on my bike.

I went to this little store called Benny's to buy a phone card and then forgot the phone card on the counter. I didn't realize this until later in the day and am still quite irritated about it. I also went to the mall to go grocery shopping. An interesting idea, I know, but it was my best option at the time. As soon as I entered the building, a smile came to my face. There were hundred of strings of white lights hanging from the ceiling, and a giant Christmas tree. Christmas is commercialized, I get it, but even contrived, and ill-motivated Christmas spirit is Christmas spirit, right? The place was mobbed, per usual on Saturday, but I used my ipod to create a soundtrack for the experience, so it way okay. I gathered what I needed, stood in line for about a half hour and then chatted with my friendly neighborhood cashier. It's funny how the locals know instantly what I'm about. I talked to him for about 30 seconds and he had already asked me what I was studying and for how long was I there. I felt transparent, but was glad to surrender any attempt to seem like a local, although I did throw in one 'quid' to try and fit in. Quid is the British slang for a pound. Buck is to Dollar as Quid is to Pound. I doubt you'll see that on the GRE, but moving on...

I put my food in my basket and went home, to a warm, bustling house, as usual. I unpacked everything, rested for a bit, and then joined the whole wheat crust pizza making party my food group was having. We made little pizzas, they ate ice cream, and then a bunch of us settled down to watch the Emperor's New Groove - excellent. When the movie was over, seven of us headed back into the cold for an official pub night, of which we are all so fond. The Angel and Greyhound was the destination, as they boasted fireplaces and we were quite chilled. We stayed there for several hours, talking, drinking, laughing. It was probably the best pub night so far. A good pub and good friends is an unbeatable combination. We played 'two truths and a lie', which, in my opinion, is one of the greatest get-to-know-you games ever and accordingly made for some great fun.

When we got back, we weren't ready yet to forfeit our beautiful Saturday, so we popped in a movie and I made some tea. It was finally time for bed, as I had every intention of going to church in the morning. Church didn't so much happen. I shut my alarm off with the intention of getting up, but it didn't happen and before I knew it, the clock said noon. I got up and started working. I worked a lot today, sort of. I worked, and ate, and talked. Ben, Johannah and I failed miserably at writing a Christmas song and decided that all of us were a bit mellow, indifferent, grumpy, depending on the harshness of language one wishes to use. We ended the night on Ben's bed watching Flight of the Conchord videos on youtube. This effectively lifted everyone's spirits.

I didn't get enough done today, and I'm slowly but surely falling behind in the fool-proof schedule I set for myself, but I'm creating great memories at the same time, so I'm not stressing. What I am stressing about is leaving this place, and these people. It's sad because when this ends, I will not see most, if not any of these people again. It will be the end of something I will never experience again and it has already begun to break my heart.

*makeshift footnote* all of the beautiful pictures of Oxford featured in this blog were taken by none other than my talented friend 'Thew Bert' (Matt). His work has been featured here before, I thought I would give him credit this time, as it is hit work alone that I have stolen. Thanks Matt!