Hemingway

Everyone in the house tonight is locked in quiet, exhausted desperation, trying to finish their papers before the deadline tomorrow night. I'm already finished with my paper on Margery Kempe's madness, as well as I think I can be finished. I can't stop myself from re-reading it over and over again. Each time I seem to find a spelling error here, a comma error there. So, I can't seem to bring myself to submit the paper even though I know I won't make any more substantial changes to it tonight.

Between these intervals of proof-reading, I finished reading Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms. I felt completely unprepared for Catherine's death. The shock of that sadness and poor Henry's devastation has left me feeling very down.. His stream of consciousness style and plain, matter-of-fact way of putting things was terribly beautiful.


"If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry." (ch. 34)

Initial Oxford Feelings

The past few days have been a flurry of activity. On Friday, I moved into the house I will be living in this semester at Oxford. The house is huge and in a beautiful woody location about thirty minutes outside the hustle and bustle of downtown Oxford’s center. There are about forty other students who I will be sharing the house with, and I have three other roommates, so there’s never a dull moment around here. 

This weekend has been full of get-to-know-you type conversations and orientation afternoon teas. Although all this activity has been tiring, I have willingly thrown myself into it. I’m almost scared to be left alone with myself because my homesickness starts to choke me and I can just barely hold back tears. Nighttime silence has become a time I long for yet dread. Visions of home and peace flood my mind more easily when I have nothing to distract my thoughts. 

We begin classes tomorrow, and our orientation to all things Oxford. The coming of schoolwork will certainly bring stress, but it will be a distraction from this loneliness, so I welcome the work.. at least right now. Right now the year seems to stretch out before me like an unending highway, but I’m well aware that it will fly by just like this past summer, like every school year before now. I want to call this city and these people my home, as I learned to call Gordon my home. And maybe I will.. in time.

Holiday in London

Written August 29, 2011-- my last day touring London

I have spent the last week touring London, England with my mom, so let me offer my first impressions of the city. London is old, really old. You are reminded of that fact every time you turn the corner. Almost every stone building features ornate molding or corinthian columns, and every park contains a Roman-esque statue of a general or otherwise distinguished Brit. Age is what largely distinguishes this city from others in America, but it has other unique characteristics as well. The city is not as hectic as New York, and the subways are remarkably cleaner-- and let me say that London has just about every city I’ve ever visited beaten in the public transportation department (except maybe Washington DC). It took a little bit of getting used to, but once you get the hang of it, London’s “tube” (subway) system is very clear and easy to use, much more so than NY, but maybe not as clear as Boston due to the fact that London is a larger city. The red buses are a little harder to navigate because we had a hard time figuring out where each bus made its stops, but once you know where you’re going and what signs to look for, riding the buses is a very pleasant mode of travel. London streets are even marked for tourists crossing the street; when you reach an intersection, the direction you should watch for cars is painted on the asphalt in big white letters. Thank you, Elizabeth. I also think you feel more safe walking around London at night than you would feel walking in NYC after dark. 

London is truly a tourist’s city. There are tourist attractions, ice cream vendors, t-shirt, novelty shops and restaurants everywhere. My mom remarked that she had never seen a city with so many restaurants, and that is definitely true. You are never at a loss for a little cafe in which to grab a sandwich and tea, even if it means those cafes are chains-- there was a Starbucks, Pret A Manger, and a Cafe Nero on just about every street. 

We met a couple from our home church who recently moved to Derby for tea at Kensington Palace one afternoon. They explained that it was exhausting to work here because of all the little things you have to do differently here that you would do without thinking about in America. For example, driving takes a lot more effort and concentration because you are driving on the opposite side of the road. (I think if I had to drive here I would have a crash within 5 minutes, what with the disorientation and all the buses barreling down on you.) The couple also said it took more concentration to read things because UK English is an “almost foreign language”. Ok, granted, they use some different phrases than we do in America, but on the whole I haven’t had a super difficult time understanding anyone (except our Polish concierge and the Chekoslavakian waitress), but maybe I’ll have more trouble in the future.

One of my favorite things we did here in London was our visit to Kensington. Unfortunately, since the olympics are going to be held here next summer, the city is in an uproar renovating everything, and Kensington was on the renovation list in a big way. This meant that all the furniture had been moved out of the palace, but the state rooms were still open for visitors because in place of the furnishings, they had created an exhibit called “The Enchanted Palace”. It was like stepping into Alice’s Wonderland. The point was that you were supposed to go around to each of the open state rooms and find clues to royal secrets and figure out which seven princesses had called Kensington their home. Modern art and weird galleries were displayed in the rooms, and you got to discover copies of old letters that the princesses had written way back when they lived there. Princess Victoria’s room was called “The Room of the Sleep-Walking Princess”, and inside the dark room was a bed with about seven mattresses on top, dolls and point shoes were strewn about the floor, and a wolf was displayed running across the ceiling. The point was that although Victoria’s childhood was unhappily very restricted, due to the Kensington system, in her dreams she wanted to run like a wild thing through the woods. All in all, we learned a lot about the Princesses who had lived in the Palace, and afterwards we walked a loooong way around the palace park grounds and then had tea in the Orangery, which was delicious!

Touring Buckingham Palace was my Mom’s favorite touristy thing we did here. We were lucky we got to tour it when we did because the palace is only open for tours during August and.. I think September. She liked it more than Windsor Castle because the palace was just as ornate and beautiful as Windsor, but the furnishings felt a little more modern, and the layout of the place is more open and airy than the castle. She said she could see herself living at Buckingham more than she could see herself at Windsor, and I agree but you can’t deny that there isn’t anything much more beautiful than that ancient castle with its lush gardens. 

To Pass the Morning

I wrote this one a while ago and just stumbled on it. I made a few changes and voila. What do you think?

To Pass the Morning

Outside, the school’s brass bell chimes the hour,

(hours)

commemorating a moment.

I count them, one by one,

to pass the morning

noon

afternoon.

Meanwhile, all water in all streams flows

onward and evanescent clouds

float slowly through

our milky sky.

I like to nod at them as they pass

by and pretend we share

a connection—

that they exist,

and I exist,

which is another of those mysteries,

like whether a tree makes

a sound as it falls

alone in a

forest.

I think it does.

The falling sounds like a bell—

a brass bell—to mark its passing.

Steel and Sawdust

This is a poem I wrote for the Idiom, Gordon's poetry and photography journal. The theme was: The City, so I just let my mind wander to when I recently walked the streets of New York. I'm not going to say any more about it although I've been told that the poem's meaning is rather confusing; but to me, it says exactly what it needs to say.

Steel and Sawdust

On our way to Central Park,

we passed a skyscraper

under construction,

steel beams poking

intothe atmosphere, like a

tower of Babel.

Buildings are your favorite subject.

You could talk on modern

engineering from 59^th

to 95^th and not grow weary

of describing angles, spires,

complex structures.

You told me they’re rebuilding

the World Trade Center—

creating a memorial.

New steel will rise from older ashes,

phoenix-like.

I thought of how my father’s father

made our house

from wood and blood  and nail.

How my mother carved

each year on bedroom doors.

The smell of sawdust still

reminding me of goat’s milk and

Father’s sturdy hands.

But you talked

too quickly

too volubly

like buzzing in a 9 to 5

bee hive— turning out a product.

I don’t really mind. The scent of

sawdust is meant

to be savored.

Transitions

I am in a state of transition—from college life to home life. It is less difficult this time than last, but my depression has sunk in none the less. During my last few days at school, I supressed my swelling urges to cry over the friends I won’t see for over a year, since I will be in Oxford junior year, and the friends I may never see again. It feels like I just packed my leopard print suitcase for my sophomore year, and it's surreal to think how unbelievably fast the year has flown by. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that regret appears at these crossroad moments. I wish I had spent more time with more people, wish I had traveled to more places, wish I had spent more time outside, et cetera, et cetera.  And now that I’m sitting back on the brown leather couch in my basement, the feeling presses all the more heavily on my chest. I don’t have much time for these thoughts though because I started my internship the very Monday I returned to New York.Summer breaks? What? People still have those?... So I’ll be waking up at 7 every morning to run off to a 9-5 day in heels and collared shirts. I’m psyching myself out already, thinking about how the monotony of the weeks will settle in over me like the grey clouds which refuse to vacate Schenectady skies.

Though I must say, I really am happy to be home around my family again. They are definitely my favorite people and home is wonderful, but something is still missing in me. I don’t know why I can’t just be happy in one place.

Rain, Schubert, and Sandals

It was warm out today, but the sky was overcast and cloudy. You could almost smell the rain that hung over campus-- like freshly cut grass and damp earth. I wore a sweathshirt and sandals, which is a weird compbination but somehow felt perfect. The gray sky made me feel completely sluggish, so I didn't work out today. My apathy may also have ben caused by the movie we watched in Human Rights class: Death and the Maiden. I can appreciate that there is horror and depravity in the world, but I didn't feel like having it shoved in my face so graphically this morning. Plus the movie has completely ruined Schubert for me. So for the rest of the day, I moped around campus like a zombie until I needed to head back to my dorm from the library. It had started raining while I was in the writing center and it was still coming down pretty hard. I pulled my hood up and stepped out into the rain, but it wasn't as cold as I had thought. The clouds were puffy and steel colored yet still bright. I began to run down the quad, breathing hard while my sandaled feet sunk into the wet grass. When I reached Chase I panted for a second and smiled.