I love coffee.
Psychologists have concluded that one of the best ideas for a first date is to go out for coffee or tea. This is because something happens when you are sitting across from someone, holding something warm and comforting between your hands and staring into the eyes of a person who is doing the same.
It's a connection of warmth and security, with an exciting "zing" attached to the end...kind of like a budding relationship.
Now I'm a coffee addict (one who needs to back off on the actual caffeinated stuff because I'm at the point where horrible headaches result if I don't get my daily buzz. ).
However, it started out as a kind of "pacing myself thing" and that's still mostly what it is.
Whenever I have some big task ahead of me I start the coffee pot going and wait and mentally prepare.
It's encouraging in a way...you're making youself do something you don't know how to do...the coffee is making itself....itself (which is way more difficult than anything I've ever tried to do, personally).
Sometimes, those pre-percolated moments can be really inspiring.
I think, if you have the good stuff, this can be way better than a Starbucks run in terms of getting things done.
However, there is something to be said for coffee-house culture. And for this, I don't mean Starbucks (not to dis Starbucks, I partake as much as any of my fellow American college students). But it terms of getting all you can out of the coffee- culture, go local and independent if you can.
As I write this, I sit in a new favorite hang-out which I've begun to love for so many reasons.
I've grown comfortable with the weird, ecclectic selections of music which somehow manage to suit all my tastes and changes suddently from from 1940s Louis and Ella to 1990s dance electronica to reggae music that I've never heard before, but still enjoy.
I look up and see the familiar baristas-one guy who looks like the lead singer of Iron and Wine and a girl with a sweet face, boyish hair, and super-feminine clothing.
I also am getting to the point where I recognize the "regulars" who looked at me at first like an alien invading their planet. I think I'm slowly becoming one of them.
It's a nice feeling to be "a regular". Technically, I'm a regular at my favorite coffeeshop in my hometown, but it's a little different because I barista there sometimes, and so I never feel totally like a customer.
However, when you are relying on coffeehouses to bring on the productivity, there's a different strategy involved. What you do is you get your mocha (not that I'm drinking one or anything), you slowly drink it while you listen to an online sermon or update your blog (not that that's what I'm doing.....), and then, when you feel more awake and are coming to an end of those pre-productivity activities.......it's time to get going, and start doing some serious independent research on childhood identification for the abstract that's due to the Southeastern Psychological Society...I mean...time for me to sign off. :-)
Have a lovely and caffeinated day (but don't go crazy!)
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
So....Summing Up About Oxford. (Finally, right?)
I haven't wr
itten in a long long long time. So I think what I need to do is rewind a little bit and talk about Oxford.
Part of me wishes I had kept a record of everything, everyday that I had there...if only because I wish I could share it more fully with someone else.
I'm at a loss for how to even begin to capture the experience and even now, almost 3 months after I've come back to the good ole U.S.A., I find myself still hoping to hear the sounds from downstairs of my Crick family-Hannah and Irene screaming that it's snowing AGAIN, or someone listening to crazy loud music that is shortly followed by the thumping of feet indicative a dance party (and then I wouldn't be a mere listener after that, of couse, Kitchen dance-parties are a must). I miss Daniel's crazy imaginative stories that involve becoming a king of some tribe in Alaska. And going downstairs early in the morning to find Carl and Jay in the kitchen debating some topic that is WAY over my head (although I tried to not let them know HOW much over my head they actually were, I'm pretty sure they knew the whole time).
I miss Ginny's sincerity. And I miss the Northstar, Nick, softly strumming his guitar in the evenings. And the tinkerbelle-esq Amy with her hot-pink hat. And the expression Shane was always donning that made him look like a philosopher. And I miss British Sam who took care of us, and how he would shake his fists up at the sky and yell "NOOO!!" (in a very English sort of way). And I miss reading Harry Potter in the evening with a bunch of random tea cups and matching plaid green blankets. I miss the random bursting out into song ( "California Dreamin" usually) with twenty other people.
And Christine with her whirl of bright colors and suggested reads by Neil Gaiman.
And Grant who always gives great hugs.
And Emily in the common room with her tea and Nutella toast, absorbed in a good book.
I miss my roomates, both so utterly sure of who they are, and both actively making a way to make their mark on the world. There's Kate, who is kind of this spunky, little indie girl from North Carolina. She's wicked smart but also so unbelievably kind and soothing to be around. There was also Laura, the red-headed New Englander; brilliant and confident and fierce and as true a friend as you could ever hope to find. Both of these girls are powerful forces in the world, and (though they may not know it) they are going to do great things. I think it was really good for me to live with them, besides just being major fun.
That's just some of the people; there are so many others that meant so much.
I also miss slipping out the door in the afternoon all by myself, off to explore some path that I've never been down before. Totally free and given over to the world I've spent the last ten years dreaming about. I miss constantly finding out it's actually better than I ever dreamed.
I miss the old cobblestone streets and the black drains, dripping with fresh rain.
I miss the way the warm light streams out from the old glass of a little pub out into the cold. And cutting through the park to the library-seeing spring come there, bringing unfamiliar flowers to the gardens. And the skyline. I miss the constant "I can't believe I'm really here, is this really happening?!?!?!". But smiling all the while, because the fact that I was really and truly there was undeniable.
I miss the "reading culture,"how there are so many bookstores in the main part of town. And I miss Port Meadow. And I miss lying out in the garden on a blanket on sunny days, listening to the birds and smelling good smells from the kitchen and reading. I miss the antiquity. And the tutorials. Heck, I even miss the papers.
When I first got there, riding on my first public bus ever, fresh snow had just fallen over the city. The sun was setting and there was an orange-golden gleam on everything. The students walking on the streets reminded me of pictures I'd summoned up on Google: idealized archetypes made flesh, stumbling on the icy sidewalks and laughing at one another.
Old saints and gargoyles looked down on me from up above and all around. I felt like I'd fallen into some kind of snow-globe world, it was so perfect and dreamy. And then I got out, and there was just the crunch of my boots on the snow, and my too-heavy suitcase rolling along unsteadily behind me, and my quest to find my first taxi.
Looking at that huge and beautiful old house on Crick road came next, and trying to imagine how it would be home for the next several months, but having no idea that it REALLY would be. Being greeted by a crazy man with a beard who flung open the door and said "HEYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!" with his arms stretched out (I thought he must be on staff but later I learned he was Carl) and then there were people, people everywhere. There was also pasta, which I ate while some guy that sat beside me asked me "What kind of minds do you like to study?" (to which I made a terrible muttering, blundering response. A few months later, when I understood that he was Jay, and he understood that I was Katie, he asked me again). My first jet-lag set in, and the faces and words that happened afterwards are now jumbled in my brain. But I remember the feeling of unfamiliarity, of intimidation, of wondering if I would feel pressured to pretend to be someone I wasn't, excited to explore this new world, but too tired to do much but climb to my bunk and pass out.
The moment when I realized that I WOULD NOT even have to worry about pretending to be someone I wasn't happened the very next day. And after that, something else happened. Little by little, the unknown faces became friends, and then they became family. And then one day, I was one of those iconic Oxford students on the sidewalk, laughing with friends, carrying books, knowing where I was going.
I have to go soon, there are some other things to be said about Oxford by and by, but for now, I just wanted to sum up a little.
By the way, with all of this "missing things" business... I don't mean for it to be a sad thing-because it's not.
I mean, really? I'm a pretty happy girl. :-)
I DO feel a little wistful sometimes, a little mournful. Because I don't know if I'll ever go back to this place that I'm so in love with , and I do know that I'll never have the same experience again-but people can't ever do that, can they?
I was in love with it all. I am still in love with it. And it's been a process, a very changing sort of love. The fact that I miss the place and the people so much is one of the marks that goes with the change. I would hate for that longing, the slight ache, to be suddenly gone.
I feel that way when I'm away from Dane-sometimes I miss him so much it hurts, but I wouldn't trade the missing him for not missing him, because acknoledging the abscence of what we love reminds us of what it means to us, of what light those things bring us.
Missing Dane, or my family, or my good friends? It's a part of loving those people. I'm grateful. And so, missing Oxford?
I'm grateful for that too.
-Shalom. :-)
itten in a long long long time. So I think what I need to do is rewind a little bit and talk about Oxford.Part of me wishes I had kept a record of everything, everyday that I had there...if only because I wish I could share it more fully with someone else.
I'm at a loss for how to even begin to capture the experience and even now, almost 3 months after I've come back to the good ole U.S.A., I find myself still hoping to hear the sounds from downstairs of my Crick family-Hannah and Irene screaming that it's snowing AGAIN, or someone listening to crazy loud music that is shortly followed by the thumping of feet indicative a dance party (and then I wouldn't be a mere listener after that, of couse, Kitchen dance-parties are a must). I miss Daniel's crazy imaginative stories that involve becoming a king of some tribe in Alaska. And going downstairs early in the morning to find Carl and Jay in the kitchen debating some topic that is WAY over my head (although I tried to not let them know HOW much over my head they actually were, I'm pretty sure they knew the whole time).
I miss Ginny's sincerity. And I miss the Northstar, Nick, softly strumming his guitar in the evenings. And the tinkerbelle-esq Amy with her hot-pink hat. And the expression Shane was always donning that made him look like a philosopher. And I miss British Sam who took care of us, and how he would shake his fists up at the sky and yell "NOOO!!" (in a very English sort of way). And I miss reading Harry Potter in the evening with a bunch of random tea cups and matching plaid green blankets. I miss the random bursting out into song ( "California Dreamin" usually) with twenty other people.
And Christine with her whirl of bright colors and suggested reads by Neil Gaiman.
And Grant who always gives great hugs.
And Emily in the common room with her tea and Nutella toast, absorbed in a good book.
I miss my roomates, both so utterly sure of who they are, and both actively making a way to make their mark on the world. There's Kate, who is kind of this spunky, little indie girl from North Carolina. She's wicked smart but also so unbelievably kind and soothing to be around. There was also Laura, the red-headed New Englander; brilliant and confident and fierce and as true a friend as you could ever hope to find. Both of these girls are powerful forces in the world, and (though they may not know it) they are going to do great things. I think it was really good for me to live with them, besides just being major fun.
That's just some of the people; there are so many others that meant so much.
I also miss slipping out the door in the afternoon all by myself, off to explore some path that I've never been down before. Totally free and given over to the world I've spent the last ten years dreaming about. I miss constantly finding out it's actually better than I ever dreamed.
I miss the old cobblestone streets and the black drains, dripping with fresh rain.
I miss the way the warm light streams out from the old glass of a little pub out into the cold. And cutting through the park to the library-seeing spring come there, bringing unfamiliar flowers to the gardens. And the skyline. I miss the constant "I can't believe I'm really here, is this really happening?!?!?!". But smiling all the while, because the fact that I was really and truly there was undeniable.
I miss the "reading culture,"how there are so many bookstores in the main part of town. And I miss Port Meadow. And I miss lying out in the garden on a blanket on sunny days, listening to the birds and smelling good smells from the kitchen and reading. I miss the antiquity. And the tutorials. Heck, I even miss the papers.
When I first got there, riding on my first public bus ever, fresh snow had just fallen over the city. The sun was setting and there was an orange-golden gleam on everything. The students walking on the streets reminded me of pictures I'd summoned up on Google: idealized archetypes made flesh, stumbling on the icy sidewalks and laughing at one another.
Old saints and gargoyles looked down on me from up above and all around. I felt like I'd fallen into some kind of snow-globe world, it was so perfect and dreamy. And then I got out, and there was just the crunch of my boots on the snow, and my too-heavy suitcase rolling along unsteadily behind me, and my quest to find my first taxi.
Looking at that huge and beautiful old house on Crick road came next, and trying to imagine how it would be home for the next several months, but having no idea that it REALLY would be. Being greeted by a crazy man with a beard who flung open the door and said "HEYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!" with his arms stretched out (I thought he must be on staff but later I learned he was Carl) and then there were people, people everywhere. There was also pasta, which I ate while some guy that sat beside me asked me "What kind of minds do you like to study?" (to which I made a terrible muttering, blundering response. A few months later, when I understood that he was Jay, and he understood that I was Katie, he asked me again). My first jet-lag set in, and the faces and words that happened afterwards are now jumbled in my brain. But I remember the feeling of unfamiliarity, of intimidation, of wondering if I would feel pressured to pretend to be someone I wasn't, excited to explore this new world, but too tired to do much but climb to my bunk and pass out.
The moment when I realized that I WOULD NOT even have to worry about pretending to be someone I wasn't happened the very next day. And after that, something else happened. Little by little, the unknown faces became friends, and then they became family. And then one day, I was one of those iconic Oxford students on the sidewalk, laughing with friends, carrying books, knowing where I was going.
I have to go soon, there are some other things to be said about Oxford by and by, but for now, I just wanted to sum up a little.
By the way, with all of this "missing things" business... I don't mean for it to be a sad thing-because it's not.
I mean, really? I'm a pretty happy girl. :-)
I DO feel a little wistful sometimes, a little mournful. Because I don't know if I'll ever go back to this place that I'm so in love with , and I do know that I'll never have the same experience again-but people can't ever do that, can they?
I was in love with it all. I am still in love with it. And it's been a process, a very changing sort of love. The fact that I miss the place and the people so much is one of the marks that goes with the change. I would hate for that longing, the slight ache, to be suddenly gone.
I feel that way when I'm away from Dane-sometimes I miss him so much it hurts, but I wouldn't trade the missing him for not missing him, because acknoledging the abscence of what we love reminds us of what it means to us, of what light those things bring us.
Missing Dane, or my family, or my good friends? It's a part of loving those people. I'm grateful. And so, missing Oxford?
I'm grateful for that too.
-Shalom. :-)
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Settling in.....
Hey Everyone- I'm so sorry it's been so long since I last updated. I'm settling in to life at Oxford. Maybe it'd be better to say that Oxford life is settling into me.
I'm someone who is always dreaming...I have a lot of dreams while I'm asleep, but my daydreaming far surpasses the night-time variety. It's been a recent experience of mine to wake up and find that the dreams are sometimes real. That, by some kind of strange and foreign magic, the things I thought I'd invented exist all on their own, totally untouched by my own thoughts.
The funny thing is, when you're dreaming the world looks much as it does when you're watching a film. (sometimes, if you and I are alike, daydreams are even accompanied by dramatic instrumental music provided by a handy dandy MP3 player). But then you wake up in the darkness and maybe you feel the cool of your pillow, or your MP3 player dies and you are a abruptly jerked out of your daydream. Does the world, at that moment, seem strange in comparison to the dream, or does the dream seem stranger? I'm still trying to decide.
I've done a lot of wandering here, but I feel like I could wander forever and not find all the hidden places this city has to offer. I know that I could read all of the books in the Bodleian Library (which would take several determined lifetimes) and still not grasp all the history that this place is drenched in.
Half the time it doesn't feel real, and that frustrates me. There have been a couple of times that it did.
Most memorable: I accidentally happened upon Magdalen College (One of the oldest and most distinguished colleges at Oxford, and the place C.S. Lewis taught for many years). I felt like an intruder (much of the time here, I feel like I'm crashing some masquerade and I'll soon be thrown out). Then, there was this amazing quiet. It was very very cold, the air was quite sharp, and suddenly I found myself walking around an incredible stone courtyard. It was a square of arched, glassless windows looking out at the most amazing sculptures: gryphons, angels, knights and kings. It was like waking up on Christmas day and discovering that Santa Claus DID come! I wish I could describe it to you, I wish I could SHOW you. But then there's this part of me that feels that some things like that can only be real if you experience them alone.
Who knew reality could be more surreal than fantasy?
My tutorials are wonderful. In some ways they seem a lot less assigned work than school in the States, but in other ways they are pushing me unlike anything I've ever known. It's much less about breadth and all about depth here. You don't get points for having read the right books, nor are all the "right books" assigned to you... because it's taken for granted that you have read them or that you'll do it on your own (Americans are really the underdogs too). But it's all about thinking. You need to know your thoughts well, because the next question will always be "why?".
While some people here have it pretty tough, with subject matter like Ancient Norse Poetry or Neuroscience.... I'm taking C.S. Lewis in Context and Creative Writing. :-) The C.S. Lewis tutorial is amazing. In the past three weeks, I've read a couple of books by George MacDonald, Lewis Carrol, G.K.Chesterton, The Chronicles of Narnia and am now doing some Tolkein. Basically, I'm in heaven. I always feel nervous before my tutorial (a one-on-one format where you meet with your "professor" and discuss the book as well as your paper for that week) but I always leave feeling so awesome, inspired and really almost hyper. I lucked out with probably the most amazing tutor EVER for that one. I've only been to one Creative Writing tutorial so far, and I have to admit that my tutor frightens me a little....I have to meet him at his house which is pretty far away. Don't get me wrong, he's awesome, just intimidating. I think I'll grow a lot as a writer though, and that's exciting!
Let's see......I'm needing to go soon..but I'll conclude with a list of things to remember when traveling to Oxford:
1. Never EVER say "I'm all out of pants, but that's okay, I wanted to wear a skirt today anyway!"
2. When at a coffee shop, do not order "in"-always get "take-away" even when you plan on staying there.
3. To fit in as a local on the street, just learn to say"Sorry" in a British accent and mumble it under your breath as you knock into people. (which you will)
4. Explore.
5. Primemark and Blackwells, good thing they don't have those in the States.
6. Go through parks as much as possible. I highly reccommend the "Finding Neverland" soundtrack for when you do this.
7. The Eagle and Child
8. Don't be afraid to ask questions
9. Finally....always ALWAYS ALWAYS make sure you have the right bus before you get on it and end up riding all over Great Britain (all by yourself...all morning...thinking you are going to Blenheim Palace but really just going in a big ole circle). This can still be fun, but mostly I think it would lend itself to disappointment. Not that I did this yesterday..or anything. :-P
Cheers to you, loved ones!
-Katie
I'm someone who is always dreaming...I have a lot of dreams while I'm asleep, but my daydreaming far surpasses the night-time variety. It's been a recent experience of mine to wake up and find that the dreams are sometimes real. That, by some kind of strange and foreign magic, the things I thought I'd invented exist all on their own, totally untouched by my own thoughts.
The funny thing is, when you're dreaming the world looks much as it does when you're watching a film. (sometimes, if you and I are alike, daydreams are even accompanied by dramatic instrumental music provided by a handy dandy MP3 player). But then you wake up in the darkness and maybe you feel the cool of your pillow, or your MP3 player dies and you are a abruptly jerked out of your daydream. Does the world, at that moment, seem strange in comparison to the dream, or does the dream seem stranger? I'm still trying to decide.
I've done a lot of wandering here, but I feel like I could wander forever and not find all the hidden places this city has to offer. I know that I could read all of the books in the Bodleian Library (which would take several determined lifetimes) and still not grasp all the history that this place is drenched in.
Half the time it doesn't feel real, and that frustrates me. There have been a couple of times that it did.
Most memorable: I accidentally happened upon Magdalen College (One of the oldest and most distinguished colleges at Oxford, and the place C.S. Lewis taught for many years). I felt like an intruder (much of the time here, I feel like I'm crashing some masquerade and I'll soon be thrown out). Then, there was this amazing quiet. It was very very cold, the air was quite sharp, and suddenly I found myself walking around an incredible stone courtyard. It was a square of arched, glassless windows looking out at the most amazing sculptures: gryphons, angels, knights and kings. It was like waking up on Christmas day and discovering that Santa Claus DID come! I wish I could describe it to you, I wish I could SHOW you. But then there's this part of me that feels that some things like that can only be real if you experience them alone.
Who knew reality could be more surreal than fantasy?
My tutorials are wonderful. In some ways they seem a lot less assigned work than school in the States, but in other ways they are pushing me unlike anything I've ever known. It's much less about breadth and all about depth here. You don't get points for having read the right books, nor are all the "right books" assigned to you... because it's taken for granted that you have read them or that you'll do it on your own (Americans are really the underdogs too). But it's all about thinking. You need to know your thoughts well, because the next question will always be "why?".
While some people here have it pretty tough, with subject matter like Ancient Norse Poetry or Neuroscience.... I'm taking C.S. Lewis in Context and Creative Writing. :-) The C.S. Lewis tutorial is amazing. In the past three weeks, I've read a couple of books by George MacDonald, Lewis Carrol, G.K.Chesterton, The Chronicles of Narnia and am now doing some Tolkein. Basically, I'm in heaven. I always feel nervous before my tutorial (a one-on-one format where you meet with your "professor" and discuss the book as well as your paper for that week) but I always leave feeling so awesome, inspired and really almost hyper. I lucked out with probably the most amazing tutor EVER for that one. I've only been to one Creative Writing tutorial so far, and I have to admit that my tutor frightens me a little....I have to meet him at his house which is pretty far away. Don't get me wrong, he's awesome, just intimidating. I think I'll grow a lot as a writer though, and that's exciting!
Let's see......I'm needing to go soon..but I'll conclude with a list of things to remember when traveling to Oxford:
1. Never EVER say "I'm all out of pants, but that's okay, I wanted to wear a skirt today anyway!"
2. When at a coffee shop, do not order "in"-always get "take-away" even when you plan on staying there.
3. To fit in as a local on the street, just learn to say"Sorry" in a British accent and mumble it under your breath as you knock into people. (which you will)
4. Explore.
5. Primemark and Blackwells, good thing they don't have those in the States.
6. Go through parks as much as possible. I highly reccommend the "Finding Neverland" soundtrack for when you do this.
7. The Eagle and Child
8. Don't be afraid to ask questions
9. Finally....always ALWAYS ALWAYS make sure you have the right bus before you get on it and end up riding all over Great Britain (all by yourself...all morning...thinking you are going to Blenheim Palace but really just going in a big ole circle). This can still be fun, but mostly I think it would lend itself to disappointment. Not that I did this yesterday..or anything. :-P
Cheers to you, loved ones!
-Katie
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Evocation of Oxford
Seeking a world within a realm
Within a globe, made all of glass
Summoned, provoked by sleep
Beauty gazes steadily back
Eyes of knowing, a mouth that would speak
Half-hidden by the fog grey mask
Oh, to see clearly
To smash the glass and hear the snowy
crunch beneath forbidden feet
The only sound in perfect silence
Then light is real, illuminating
The veil changes, shifts and ages
Threadbare but still there
And much remains conceiled.
Sharply pieces filter through
Flinging themselves as piercing ice
And tearing at my eyes
They circle and return
All the time growing larger
And through pain, my vision grows
Not ice, but claws of black
The wise gryphon now returns
To its venerable palace spire
And lovliness sculpted by fingers unimaginable
To dream is to seek
And to know is to see
And to see is to ache
To know
Within a globe, made all of glass
Summoned, provoked by sleep
Beauty gazes steadily back
Eyes of knowing, a mouth that would speak
Half-hidden by the fog grey mask
Oh, to see clearly
To smash the glass and hear the snowy
crunch beneath forbidden feet
The only sound in perfect silence
Then light is real, illuminating
The veil changes, shifts and ages
Threadbare but still there
And much remains conceiled.
Sharply pieces filter through
Flinging themselves as piercing ice
And tearing at my eyes
They circle and return
All the time growing larger
And through pain, my vision grows
Not ice, but claws of black
The wise gryphon now returns
To its venerable palace spire
And lovliness sculpted by fingers unimaginable
To dream is to seek
And to know is to see
And to see is to ache
To know
Saturday, January 16, 2010
The Burrow
This house reminds me of the Burrow. Yes, from Harry Potter. It's tall and skinny and full of stairs and people. Already I know it's going to be hard saying goodbye to the people.
I'm sitting in the living room right now, avoiding my paper that's due Monday, and looking at the mesh of matching blankets (Sam, our "house big-brother" of sorts bought us blankies), books, cups of tea and coffee, art supplies, video game controllers and comic books that have spread themselves out all over the place.
We're certainly all very different, but we all have similar interests, too. It's weird having people understand when I make some obscure reference to some obscure book or movie.
I feel intimidated sometimes by the thought-caliber of some of the people here, but not in a bad way...in an inspiring way. But I also feel respected-like my voice counts, too.
Furthermore, I'm so glad that this isn't just place of thoughts, it's a place of FUN. One of my favorite things is when we're all in the kitchen cooking and there's happy music playing and we're singing along. I am now of the opinion that all kitchens must be equipped with a sound system. period. We've also, through some very tragic circumstance relating to Sam, had the opportunity to join up in prayer (as we've also done before our meals together). This was an amazing experience as well. We're all pretty comfortable together, and it's very much like a cozy family of 20somethings already.
My living environment here in the house wasn't one of the main things on my mind as I set off for this semester, but I think it's going to end up being one of the biggest blessings. I'm so grateful for the fellowship I've been able to have with these wonderful brothers and sisters in Christ already, especially since I'm missing many of you at home immensely at the same time. The inside of my chest has started to feel a little like an ocean tide-growing empty and full and empty and full again. There's so much to experience that I'm excited about, and so much that I am missing right now, too. But I'm happy.
I found this on my old xanga the other day (I think I wrote it two or three years ago). Anyway, thinking of these things still makes me happy and I thought I'd share it. Oh, well, it won't post, so nevermind. :-)
I read Phantastes, but not Lilith. :-/
I'm sitting in the living room right now, avoiding my paper that's due Monday, and looking at the mesh of matching blankets (Sam, our "house big-brother" of sorts bought us blankies), books, cups of tea and coffee, art supplies, video game controllers and comic books that have spread themselves out all over the place.
We're certainly all very different, but we all have similar interests, too. It's weird having people understand when I make some obscure reference to some obscure book or movie.
I feel intimidated sometimes by the thought-caliber of some of the people here, but not in a bad way...in an inspiring way. But I also feel respected-like my voice counts, too.
Furthermore, I'm so glad that this isn't just place of thoughts, it's a place of FUN. One of my favorite things is when we're all in the kitchen cooking and there's happy music playing and we're singing along. I am now of the opinion that all kitchens must be equipped with a sound system. period. We've also, through some very tragic circumstance relating to Sam, had the opportunity to join up in prayer (as we've also done before our meals together). This was an amazing experience as well. We're all pretty comfortable together, and it's very much like a cozy family of 20somethings already.
My living environment here in the house wasn't one of the main things on my mind as I set off for this semester, but I think it's going to end up being one of the biggest blessings. I'm so grateful for the fellowship I've been able to have with these wonderful brothers and sisters in Christ already, especially since I'm missing many of you at home immensely at the same time. The inside of my chest has started to feel a little like an ocean tide-growing empty and full and empty and full again. There's so much to experience that I'm excited about, and so much that I am missing right now, too. But I'm happy.
I found this on my old xanga the other day (I think I wrote it two or three years ago). Anyway, thinking of these things still makes me happy and I thought I'd share it. Oh, well, it won't post, so nevermind. :-)
I read Phantastes, but not Lilith. :-/
Monday, January 11, 2010
And so it begins..
After an exciting day including: orientation at Wycliffe Hall, a grocery shopping adventure in icy Oxford (which is becoming busier and busier as it fills up with students), and a fantastically cheesy vampire movie at a British 'cinema' with awesome new people, I returned to my cozy room (which smells constantly like food, being above the kitchen). I sat down at my laptop, being content with the world and proceeded to check my e-mail, happy to see that I have received my assignments for the term from my Primary tutor (C.S. Lewis in context)
........
:-O
............
:-O
..................
i mean, dang.
First of all, it is all AWESOME.
I'm so excited about reading all of it.
I'm also so incredibly overwhelmed.
We have all this orientation things and field trips going on this week and I just found out I need to read Lilith AND Phantastis (and a bunch of Secondary sources) and have a research paper ready to turn in by Monday. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if had I any idea how to find those books. Hmmm....libraries will be closed. Book-store hunting in store. I have no idea what I'm doing.
Better get started!
........
:-O
............
:-O
..................
i mean, dang.
First of all, it is all AWESOME.
I'm so excited about reading all of it.
I'm also so incredibly overwhelmed.
We have all this orientation things and field trips going on this week and I just found out I need to read Lilith AND Phantastis (and a bunch of Secondary sources) and have a research paper ready to turn in by Monday. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if had I any idea how to find those books. Hmmm....libraries will be closed. Book-store hunting in store. I have no idea what I'm doing.
Better get started!
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Stream of Consciousness Arrival
In the airport: hustle, bustle, wait, watch, hugs, Rummy, hugs, phonecall, wait, wait, board.
On the plane: Waiting. Met St. Andrews kid, played with buttons, waited, took off, in awe of Atlanta down below. Gold stars wrapped in black chiffon. Looked out window. Tried to sleep. Couldn't sleep. Looked out window more. Had to close the window cover. Played with buttons more. Tapped fingers on the seat. Stared at sleeping people. Tried not to stare at sleeping people. Drank tea. Watched obscure bits of a movie. Very confusing. Listened to music. Decided not to listen to music. Crawled over people. Waited more.
From Heathrow to Oxford: Found friend. Found luggage. Found coach. Riding on the the motorway past old stone houses and fallen wood fences. Hilltops covered and covered in snow. Spirals of smoke from chimneys. Snow glowing pink in the wobbly-orange light. Sunset. Oh, the sheep. In town. In AWE. Wood and stone and history mingled. Spires and brick and angels and gryphons and saints. Scary Night-Bus driver dangerously close to rosy-faces wrapped in brightly-colored scarves (and the people attatched to them). Bus stop. Sudden silence. Nothing but the crunch of feet and the gentle mumur of softly-accented voices. Lights in the snow and posters for things unfamiliar. Taxi. Enjoyable. Anticipation. Lovely house. Warm welcome. Sleep.
First Day: Tired. Strange dreams. Wake up and ready to explore. Tea-first. Talking books with others. Found new friend. In-town adventure and more immense awe. Beauty and wonderful stories everywhere. Surprisingly peaceful and happy. A studious calm. Accents EVERYWHERE. Return to house and embark on lovely walk in the snow to the Vines. Pretty parks and bridges and snowballs. More new friends. Delicious food and warm fellowship. Tea again. Exploring in town second time with the Covenant gang. Pictures and rubber boots. THE EAGLE AND CHILD. Mind-blown. Fish and chips at the EAGLE AND CHILD. Return to the Vines. More Tea. Talked to boy. Happy. More tea. Silly movie. Fun people. Ready to call it a night. :-)
On the plane: Waiting. Met St. Andrews kid, played with buttons, waited, took off, in awe of Atlanta down below. Gold stars wrapped in black chiffon. Looked out window. Tried to sleep. Couldn't sleep. Looked out window more. Had to close the window cover. Played with buttons more. Tapped fingers on the seat. Stared at sleeping people. Tried not to stare at sleeping people. Drank tea. Watched obscure bits of a movie. Very confusing. Listened to music. Decided not to listen to music. Crawled over people. Waited more.
From Heathrow to Oxford: Found friend. Found luggage. Found coach. Riding on the the motorway past old stone houses and fallen wood fences. Hilltops covered and covered in snow. Spirals of smoke from chimneys. Snow glowing pink in the wobbly-orange light. Sunset. Oh, the sheep. In town. In AWE. Wood and stone and history mingled. Spires and brick and angels and gryphons and saints. Scary Night-Bus driver dangerously close to rosy-faces wrapped in brightly-colored scarves (and the people attatched to them). Bus stop. Sudden silence. Nothing but the crunch of feet and the gentle mumur of softly-accented voices. Lights in the snow and posters for things unfamiliar. Taxi. Enjoyable. Anticipation. Lovely house. Warm welcome. Sleep.
First Day: Tired. Strange dreams. Wake up and ready to explore. Tea-first. Talking books with others. Found new friend. In-town adventure and more immense awe. Beauty and wonderful stories everywhere. Surprisingly peaceful and happy. A studious calm. Accents EVERYWHERE. Return to house and embark on lovely walk in the snow to the Vines. Pretty parks and bridges and snowballs. More new friends. Delicious food and warm fellowship. Tea again. Exploring in town second time with the Covenant gang. Pictures and rubber boots. THE EAGLE AND CHILD. Mind-blown. Fish and chips at the EAGLE AND CHILD. Return to the Vines. More Tea. Talked to boy. Happy. More tea. Silly movie. Fun people. Ready to call it a night. :-)
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Setting out...
Whenever I read one of my favorite books, (in which the naive protagonist is inevitably lured into some elaborate scheme which he or she rarely understands) I experience a sensation that's quite complex. It's as if intense struggle and a thrilling high of excitement has somehow been measured out and spoon-fed to me in tablespoons labeled "Safe".
On the one hand, I am able to view the situation from the character's perspective. All readers understand how amazing this truly is. Think about all that can be experienced: knowledge, beauty, mystery, unknown lands, epic battles, peace, anger, war, love, survival, death...the list goes on.
But more than all of that, reading is about adventure. What makes a book great is the whole story: beginning, conflict, resolution. It is interesting to me that for so much pleasure to be derived from a story, we need to experience conflict- a kink in the normal way of things that won't fix itself. There's some part of us that needs to work things out. There's some part of us that yearns for discomfort. What would Alice's Adventure in Wonderland be without the rabbit hole? I suppose that "Frodo's Perfectly Normal Daily Journal of Shire Happenings" might be an interesting read for some (I would probably give it a go), but it's prospects as a timeless classic seem dim.
In reading, this excitement and conflict is coupled with the knowledge that-somewhere beyond the veil of "Willing Supspension of Disbelief"-we can choose to unplug ourselves from the discomfort. We can, but aren't obligated, to battle things out in Wonderland or Middle Earth. We can go make some coffee. Walk the dog. Dance around like a lunatic to "The Killers". Deal with our own, seemingly miniscule problems and feel grateful that the fate of the world doesn't rest in our hands. We can return to our perfectly safe lives and come back to the danger some other time, later.
But what if by pretending there is no danger or adventure or magic in our lives, we are jepordizing ourselves in ways we cannot even begin to imagine?
One of my favorite C.S. Lewis quotes comes from The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. In it, Mr. Beaver is explaining Aslan to Lucy. He says of him "He is not safe, but he is good. He is the King." And He is good. He is very, very good.
See, I have this theory. I think we're on this journey, all of us. And none of us know where we're going. We're just these naive protagonists involved in this elaborate scheme that we really don't and probably could never understand. We have no control over the final destination. But as any well-crafted protagonists (and we are well-crafted) we are meant for one AMAZING, beautiful, mysterious, heart-breaking, love-filled, terrifying journey. And our Author, much like Aslan, isn't safe-not safe at all. But He is very good.
From someone with very limited life-experience, and who is now staring at 15 billion beloved books (only a slight exaggeration) which are threating to attack her from all corners of her room......opportunities for real adventures should not be turned down. Not even in favor of literary ones.
Shall we make a pact to be proper naive protagonists then? To choose what is good, even if it's not safe? ~For Narnia? For Aslan? (irresistible nerd-moment)~
Tomorrow, I'm going across the pond to begin my brief adventure at Oxford University. I've never travelled before at all, let alone by myself. I've NEVER done anything like this. Period. It may not seem like that big of a deal, but I'm SO excited. I'm also a little scared. I haven't read the story and I have no idea how it's going to turn out. I know it will be wonderful and new and challenging and uncomfortable. And I very highly suspect that even though (more likely because) it will not be comfortable...... it will be good.
On the one hand, I am able to view the situation from the character's perspective. All readers understand how amazing this truly is. Think about all that can be experienced: knowledge, beauty, mystery, unknown lands, epic battles, peace, anger, war, love, survival, death...the list goes on.
But more than all of that, reading is about adventure. What makes a book great is the whole story: beginning, conflict, resolution. It is interesting to me that for so much pleasure to be derived from a story, we need to experience conflict- a kink in the normal way of things that won't fix itself. There's some part of us that needs to work things out. There's some part of us that yearns for discomfort. What would Alice's Adventure in Wonderland be without the rabbit hole? I suppose that "Frodo's Perfectly Normal Daily Journal of Shire Happenings" might be an interesting read for some (I would probably give it a go), but it's prospects as a timeless classic seem dim.
In reading, this excitement and conflict is coupled with the knowledge that-somewhere beyond the veil of "Willing Supspension of Disbelief"-we can choose to unplug ourselves from the discomfort. We can, but aren't obligated, to battle things out in Wonderland or Middle Earth. We can go make some coffee. Walk the dog. Dance around like a lunatic to "The Killers". Deal with our own, seemingly miniscule problems and feel grateful that the fate of the world doesn't rest in our hands. We can return to our perfectly safe lives and come back to the danger some other time, later.
But what if by pretending there is no danger or adventure or magic in our lives, we are jepordizing ourselves in ways we cannot even begin to imagine?
One of my favorite C.S. Lewis quotes comes from The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. In it, Mr. Beaver is explaining Aslan to Lucy. He says of him "He is not safe, but he is good. He is the King." And He is good. He is very, very good.
See, I have this theory. I think we're on this journey, all of us. And none of us know where we're going. We're just these naive protagonists involved in this elaborate scheme that we really don't and probably could never understand. We have no control over the final destination. But as any well-crafted protagonists (and we are well-crafted) we are meant for one AMAZING, beautiful, mysterious, heart-breaking, love-filled, terrifying journey. And our Author, much like Aslan, isn't safe-not safe at all. But He is very good.
From someone with very limited life-experience, and who is now staring at 15 billion beloved books (only a slight exaggeration) which are threating to attack her from all corners of her room......opportunities for real adventures should not be turned down. Not even in favor of literary ones.
Shall we make a pact to be proper naive protagonists then? To choose what is good, even if it's not safe? ~For Narnia? For Aslan? (irresistible nerd-moment)~
Tomorrow, I'm going across the pond to begin my brief adventure at Oxford University. I've never travelled before at all, let alone by myself. I've NEVER done anything like this. Period. It may not seem like that big of a deal, but I'm SO excited. I'm also a little scared. I haven't read the story and I have no idea how it's going to turn out. I know it will be wonderful and new and challenging and uncomfortable. And I very highly suspect that even though (more likely because) it will not be comfortable...... it will be good.
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