Where is it? No clue. Can't find it anywhere. I'm sure it's around here somewhere ... maybe I left it in the library? Or under my pillow? Maybe it's in one of my essay files on the computer ... ? Nope, no where to be found. But ah, here comes Eighth Week! Final week of classes! FRIGHTENING! It looms larger and larger, creating dark and scary shadows on my nervous system. No consideration for my poor nerves ... !
This week is going to be absolutely crazy. Not only do I have thirty pages due within thirty hours of each other Thurs/Fri mornings, but we also have our choir concert (Bach's Christmas Oratorio, which is absolutely gorgeous; there are bits on youtube if you haven't heard it before), as well as starting to mentally prepare for packing.
PLUS it is getting COLD. You know, like the "Oh, I knew I had toes down there, somewhere ... where have they gone?" sort of cold. Yes.
Hopefully all is well back home; we STILL haven't seen a flake of snow, and I am really going to have to talk to the management about this because cold without snow is like winter without Christmas, or cake without frosting, or cocoa without marshmallows, or a one-horse-open-sleigh without jingle bells, or a tree without lights, or ...
Yes, Christmas is in the air. And I think I've caught it. And I probably won't get over it until, oh, mid-January. It's that time of year again ... ! YAY!
Wish me luck, and see you on the other side of Eighth Week! Aughhhhh!
Monday, November 29, 2010
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Where's My SNOW? ... and Words of the Week!
I was promised snow. It's not here ... yet. I hope it comes soon, or I'm going to have to have some words with the management.
Well, you can never trust a weatherman.
Anyway, very Happy Thanksgiving to all y'all! I went out to the store this morning (very bright and early, in an enthusiastic rush) to get cranberries, but of course, cranberries are out of season. The stock boy assured me they were very much out of season, and not to be found. Oh.
But it's Thanksgiving!
But I'm in England.
Ah ...
Well, I am going to try again after lunch, and see if I can't find another store. Otherwise, I will have to resort to the dried version, and have some scones and tea with that. Not a bad idea ... !
Oh! And here are some photos of the gardens at Christ Church ... again. I really love the gardens! Absolutely beautiful. I can't imagine what they must be like in May or June!
And, for all of you others, happy feast day as well :D I'm going to treat myself to something nice ... not sure what. Maybe CHOCOLATE!
Oh! And, words of the week:
phthisic
maudlin
And yes, you get to look them up yourselves; aren't you lucky! Enjoy :)
Have a wonderful weekend, and see you soon!
Friday, November 19, 2010
High Street, Oxord
Lovely little street.
A patisserie; a bookstore; a game store; a physicist's house. What more could you want?
Week 6, Michaelmas Term: Make like a tree ...
And leaf! Here are some cool shots of the Christ Church parks along the Thames ... I took a walk this afternoon in the beautiful, warm, sunny weather!
Next week is our penultimate: I can only shake my head at the trickery of Father Time.
But this weekend, I have my Dante seminar paper to work on (did I tell y'all? I'm writing on Dante and T. S. Eliot. Two of my favorite authors!), and my final Jane Austen paper - my tutor is giving me two weeks for a final, longer project: I'm going to study and write on the Aunt figure in the six novels. There's at least one in every novel: think Lady Russell, Lady Bertram, Mrs. Norris, Mrs. Jennings, Lady Catherine de Bourgh ...
Poor Lady Catherine. She takes such hard knocks for just wanting the best for those around her! Only it ends up as snobbish meddling ... hmmm. Somehow, somewhere, there is a corollary here between her and a certain very meddlesome matchmaker ... ooooooh senior thesis, can you smell it???
And my 'courtly romances' tutorial paper - I'm reading Sir Gawain! Yay! - which technically isn't a courtly romance, but it's just sort of for the fun of it. And I can read Tolkien's translation! Epic win!
And now, for a bit of well-deserved R&R; I am taking the evening OFF, and I am going to waste it completely on youtube and writing. Ahhh, it's a beautiful thing!
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Only in England ...
The British are a sensible people.
When they ask you for your name, they mean your last name; what does it signify if your parents call you "Emma"? 'Tis a much greater thing to be known as a Miss Woodhouse.
Instead of encouraging students to pull all-nighters or go on shopping sprees at 0-dark-thirty, shops close at a reasonable hour, in time for everyone to be home for supper.
Instead of expecting naive, immature teenagers to show more temperance than their twenty-something peers, the law allows [public] drinking at age eighteen. Freshmen appreciate this immensely.
Instead of allowing students to melt into the back row of an ampitheatre-like lecture hall, professors focus the spotlight on the individual and allow him to express himself easily, in a calm, private setting. No pressure.
They know you'll be tired, worn out after a hard day's work. Take some refreshment; have a cup of dried leaves dropped into boiling water.
Oh! And just so we can understand exactly what you are saying, we'll give each little square foot of country a completely, wholly uniquely-tweaked accent, so there's no confusion whatsoever over where you are from. We don't need to even ask; all you need to do is open your mouth.
... And then they go, and insist on driving on the wrong side of the road. What is up with that?
But the British are a sensible people.
When they ask you for your name, they mean your last name; what does it signify if your parents call you "Emma"? 'Tis a much greater thing to be known as a Miss Woodhouse.
Instead of encouraging students to pull all-nighters or go on shopping sprees at 0-dark-thirty, shops close at a reasonable hour, in time for everyone to be home for supper.
Instead of expecting naive, immature teenagers to show more temperance than their twenty-something peers, the law allows [public] drinking at age eighteen. Freshmen appreciate this immensely.
Instead of allowing students to melt into the back row of an ampitheatre-like lecture hall, professors focus the spotlight on the individual and allow him to express himself easily, in a calm, private setting. No pressure.
They know you'll be tired, worn out after a hard day's work. Take some refreshment; have a cup of dried leaves dropped into boiling water.
Oh! And just so we can understand exactly what you are saying, we'll give each little square foot of country a completely, wholly uniquely-tweaked accent, so there's no confusion whatsoever over where you are from. We don't need to even ask; all you need to do is open your mouth.
... And then they go, and insist on driving on the wrong side of the road. What is up with that?
But the British are a sensible people.
Monday, November 15, 2010
The Rain
I don't think I've posted this one yet. I'm not sure if I like the rhythmn either, but maybe you will. Enjoy.
*
In England, in the summertime
It rains; or so they say. I've never been.
But then again, in autumn, when
The wellies come galoshing through the way
In rhythm with the never-ending chime
Of bells,
It rains.
The never-ending chime of city bell
Rings loud, rings long, and through a sleepless night
Reminds, rewinds, unbinds the mind
Of homework, duty, home - and ties so strong
Connecting with that strange familiar smell
Of cold
Wet rain.
An unwhole heart reflects on things,
On life, on love, perhaps on death as well -
The tolling bell, the morbid knell -
But murmur of a heartbeat does not lapse
In vain; instead, in pulsing rhythms sings
Along
With th'rain.
Enough of this! The rain still falls
And conversation stirs the soul
To surge, emerge from hole, like Mole
Or Rat or Bear, who know to not be shunned
They must emerge, and hear the others call
To play
In rain.
And here they come, galumphing up
With slickers, macs and hats. Enthusedly
They splash, they dash in mad, mad glee
Through waterways between mansion and shack.
The animals play, enjoy the bright clear
Colour
Of rain.
A little giddy, I smile too
And watch the paper tigers sweltering,
Absorbing glistening, glittering
Drops of liquid gems into their long white fur.
I glance out the window and smile at the blue
Bubbly
Rain.
*
In England, in the summertime
It rains; or so they say. I've never been.
But then again, in autumn, when
The wellies come galoshing through the way
In rhythm with the never-ending chime
Of bells,
It rains.
The never-ending chime of city bell
Rings loud, rings long, and through a sleepless night
Reminds, rewinds, unbinds the mind
Of homework, duty, home - and ties so strong
Connecting with that strange familiar smell
Of cold
Wet rain.
An unwhole heart reflects on things,
On life, on love, perhaps on death as well -
The tolling bell, the morbid knell -
But murmur of a heartbeat does not lapse
In vain; instead, in pulsing rhythms sings
Along
With th'rain.
Enough of this! The rain still falls
And conversation stirs the soul
To surge, emerge from hole, like Mole
Or Rat or Bear, who know to not be shunned
They must emerge, and hear the others call
To play
In rain.
And here they come, galumphing up
With slickers, macs and hats. Enthusedly
They splash, they dash in mad, mad glee
Through waterways between mansion and shack.
The animals play, enjoy the bright clear
Colour
Of rain.
A little giddy, I smile too
And watch the paper tigers sweltering,
Absorbing glistening, glittering
Drops of liquid gems into their long white fur.
I glance out the window and smile at the blue
Bubbly
Rain.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Week 5, Michaelmas Term: Vaporized!
I'm slowly beginning to realize that, although I am looking forward to seeing family, friends, and home again, my time in Oxford is limited, and each time the tower bells ring out against the gloomy city sky, another hour in Oxford fades away with the last echoing chime.
I feel I've been here for a lifetime, yet I haven't seen or done a thing! With so much to do, and so little time, I manage to make the most of my walks through the city, or days in the library, or an occasional stop in a pub, but I guess that's what it means to live somewhere, and not visit. I've been living here, working here, studying here, and so I know the backways to get to places; I know the shop hours, and that Sainsbury's is better than Tesco (some will argue, but I am convinced); and that if you want to cross the street in front of a bus, just be sure there are no bikers on the other side! I'm not a tourist, but a temporary native, so to speak, and I smile to myself when I hear Americans on the street, or watch the Koreans with their cameras stand outside the colleges, or when I can flash my badge and walk right into the Rad-Cam as groups of tourists and visitors flock outside the fence in the blustery drip-drip-drip of Oxford rain, and gape and pretend to listen to the tour guide, but really wish they were me ... and so I guess, that although I haven't climbed Carfax Tower, or seen the Oxford Castle, or taken an open-top guided tour on a big red bus, I have gotten to know the city, the university, that real, authentic Britishness of Oxford, which you can't get from buying a ticket. And, looking at it like that, I don't think I've missed a thing.
11/11 is Rememberance Day here, same as Veteran's Day in the States, and so I bought a poppy. It's not an American poppy, but I think the sentiment is the same, and when I wear it, I think of all those who have fought and died - not just Americans, not just Britons, but all the countless, nameless dead who served their countries in the name of freedom and justice. Today, St. Giles was blocked off for a memorial ceremony by the war memorial; as I type, the bells have been ringing for the past thirty minutes in honor of the fallen, I expect. Dona eis requiem.
I'm writing on Persuasion this week, and as it is Jane Austen's final, finished novel, there is a certain "autumnal" feel to it, as they say; Anne Elliot is no longer in the prime of her life, and neither is Jane. It's a bittersweet novel, though happily ended; a good read, though not my favorite. It's about the navy, after all. ;)
On a happier note! our Bach Oratorio is coming along splendidly; we are actually starting to begin to almost sound like the recording!!! It's such an exuberant feeling!
Yes. Did I say I have papers I should be writing??? Well .... !
Hope you all have a wonderful day, and week, and if you don't hear from me again until next week ... be good, have fun (but not too much!), study hard, work hard, play hard, read lots, improve your minds, meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup.
I feel I've been here for a lifetime, yet I haven't seen or done a thing! With so much to do, and so little time, I manage to make the most of my walks through the city, or days in the library, or an occasional stop in a pub, but I guess that's what it means to live somewhere, and not visit. I've been living here, working here, studying here, and so I know the backways to get to places; I know the shop hours, and that Sainsbury's is better than Tesco (some will argue, but I am convinced); and that if you want to cross the street in front of a bus, just be sure there are no bikers on the other side! I'm not a tourist, but a temporary native, so to speak, and I smile to myself when I hear Americans on the street, or watch the Koreans with their cameras stand outside the colleges, or when I can flash my badge and walk right into the Rad-Cam as groups of tourists and visitors flock outside the fence in the blustery drip-drip-drip of Oxford rain, and gape and pretend to listen to the tour guide, but really wish they were me ... and so I guess, that although I haven't climbed Carfax Tower, or seen the Oxford Castle, or taken an open-top guided tour on a big red bus, I have gotten to know the city, the university, that real, authentic Britishness of Oxford, which you can't get from buying a ticket. And, looking at it like that, I don't think I've missed a thing.
11/11 is Rememberance Day here, same as Veteran's Day in the States, and so I bought a poppy. It's not an American poppy, but I think the sentiment is the same, and when I wear it, I think of all those who have fought and died - not just Americans, not just Britons, but all the countless, nameless dead who served their countries in the name of freedom and justice. Today, St. Giles was blocked off for a memorial ceremony by the war memorial; as I type, the bells have been ringing for the past thirty minutes in honor of the fallen, I expect. Dona eis requiem.
I'm writing on Persuasion this week, and as it is Jane Austen's final, finished novel, there is a certain "autumnal" feel to it, as they say; Anne Elliot is no longer in the prime of her life, and neither is Jane. It's a bittersweet novel, though happily ended; a good read, though not my favorite. It's about the navy, after all. ;)
On a happier note! our Bach Oratorio is coming along splendidly; we are actually starting to begin to almost sound like the recording!!! It's such an exuberant feeling!
Yes. Did I say I have papers I should be writing??? Well .... !
Hope you all have a wonderful day, and week, and if you don't hear from me again until next week ... be good, have fun (but not too much!), study hard, work hard, play hard, read lots, improve your minds, meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
JASNA mania
Ooooh, that actually sounds cool. Good word, mania. Woody sort of word.
Anyway, bit of side-tracking semi-homework, semi-geekness, semi-writing, semi-nonsense: a webpage comparing the frequency of certain words in Jane Austen's novels and letters with those of her contemporaries.
http://www.jasna.org/persuasions/on-line/vol26no1/graves.htm
It's just one of those things you have to see and read and feel intellectual about.
:D
And back to saving the universe, one ... word ... at ... a ... time ...
Anyway, bit of side-tracking semi-homework, semi-geekness, semi-writing, semi-nonsense: a webpage comparing the frequency of certain words in Jane Austen's novels and letters with those of her contemporaries.
http://www.jasna.org/persuasions/on-line/vol26no1/graves.htm
It's just one of those things you have to see and read and feel intellectual about.
:D
And back to saving the universe, one ... word ... at ... a ... time ...
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Do you notice ... ?
... how I tend to post in spurts? silence ... NOISE! ... silence ... NOISE! ... silence ... in the library, at least.
Anyway, to give you a hint [at what, I'm not sure, but do not bother me with trifles] as to the nature of those words: they all are found in Eliot's "Four Quartets" which, if you haven't read, you ought. They are terribly pithy and profound and confusing and bewildering and a little maddening and absolutely fantastic.
Anyway, to give you a hint [at what, I'm not sure, but do not bother me with trifles] as to the nature of those words: they all are found in Eliot's "Four Quartets" which, if you haven't read, you ought. They are terribly pithy and profound and confusing and bewildering and a little maddening and absolutely fantastic.
Word[s] of the Week: 5th Week!
So, as I've not given you words for a good long while, here's THREE to make your day, AND, as an extra bonus, I'm going to let YOU look them up!
[read: too lazy, too brain dead, too much in the middle of the problem of allegorical personification of personality traits in Guillaume de Lorris' Romance of the Rose to get up out of my seat and rummage around in this book-filled building to find a dictionary. Don't worry, it sounds much easier than it really is.]
Terpsichorean
Haruspicate
Chthonic
Enjoy! And do let me know, because I'd love to find out what they really mean!!! Maybe someday ... *can someone hand me that dictionary please*
[read: too lazy, too brain dead, too much in the middle of the problem of allegorical personification of personality traits in Guillaume de Lorris' Romance of the Rose to get up out of my seat and rummage around in this book-filled building to find a dictionary. Don't worry, it sounds much easier than it really is.]
Terpsichorean
Haruspicate
Chthonic
Enjoy! And do let me know, because I'd love to find out what they really mean!!! Maybe someday ... *can someone hand me that dictionary please*
Jellicle Cats
Knowing me, you won't be surprised to hear, that I'm calooing and calaying all around the library. Yes, about a paper. Yes, about dead white guy poets. What you might be surprised to hear, is that it's a paper on Dante. And T. S. Eliot. And pyromania.
...
Actually, that's probably not very surprising, either. But anyway, I just wanted to say, it always amazes me how this:
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Points to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
And this:
Growltiger was a Bravo Cat, who travelled on a barge:
In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.
From Gravesend up to Oxford [yay!] he purused his evil aims,
Rejoicing in his title of 'The Terror of the Thames.'
[and for those of you who don't know, yes, the Thames does reach up all this way, with its long and bony fingers, and touches the tip of the city, so you really can go punting ... on the Thames ... in Oxford. Just usually not in the middle of November. Though I hear that April is a cruel month, too.]
... were written by one and the same individual.
Just wanted to share :D
...
Actually, that's probably not very surprising, either. But anyway, I just wanted to say, it always amazes me how this:
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Points to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
And this:
Growltiger was a Bravo Cat, who travelled on a barge:
In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.
From Gravesend up to Oxford [yay!] he purused his evil aims,
Rejoicing in his title of 'The Terror of the Thames.'
[and for those of you who don't know, yes, the Thames does reach up all this way, with its long and bony fingers, and touches the tip of the city, so you really can go punting ... on the Thames ... in Oxford. Just usually not in the middle of November. Though I hear that April is a cruel month, too.]
... were written by one and the same individual.
Just wanted to share :D
Friday, November 5, 2010
Week 4, Michaelmas Term: Melted ...
... into a blissful nothingness, with little more than memory to stoke the dull ashes. But I am mixing metaphors, and with that, I'll leave you to it.
Yes, another week gone: and very little to show for it. The highlight was indeed an unexpected trip to the Ashmolean museum this afternoon, with a friend, where we discovered the special exhibit of the Pre-Raphaelite artists. As students, we were allowed free admittance, and there began a delightful three quarters of an hour where I, enraptured, chortled and cooed over the glorious images, while she wondered at my enthusiasm. The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood actually came after the painter Raphael, in the 19th century, but their style/technique/concept of art was supposedly from before Raphael's influence. Some famous Pre-R artists include William Holman Hunt, Dante Gabriel Rosetti, John Everett Millais; you'll probably recognize some of their paintings better than their names, so take a mo and look them up! I particularly like Hunt's "Miranda and the Tempest" and "Lady of Shalott." Rosetti did a number of works of Dante and Beatrice. Millais has a beautiful painting of the Holy Family, as well as a really good portrait of John Henry Newman, interestingly enough. And, did you know, Edward Lear, the nonsense-poet, also dabbled in the fine arts? With quite some success, in my opinion! I was amazed at how much depth of expression the writer of
There was a Young Lady whose nose,
Was so long that it reached to her toes;
So she hired an Old Lady,
Whose conduct was steady,
To carry that wonderful nose.
could reach. Quite an enjoyable afternoon!
And now, for Emma, that incorrigible young woman; will she ever learn to truly think of others? Perhaps Mr. Knightley will be able to cure her of busybodiness. We shall see!
Yes, another week gone: and very little to show for it. The highlight was indeed an unexpected trip to the Ashmolean museum this afternoon, with a friend, where we discovered the special exhibit of the Pre-Raphaelite artists. As students, we were allowed free admittance, and there began a delightful three quarters of an hour where I, enraptured, chortled and cooed over the glorious images, while she wondered at my enthusiasm. The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood actually came after the painter Raphael, in the 19th century, but their style/technique/concept of art was supposedly from before Raphael's influence. Some famous Pre-R artists include William Holman Hunt, Dante Gabriel Rosetti, John Everett Millais; you'll probably recognize some of their paintings better than their names, so take a mo and look them up! I particularly like Hunt's "Miranda and the Tempest" and "Lady of Shalott." Rosetti did a number of works of Dante and Beatrice. Millais has a beautiful painting of the Holy Family, as well as a really good portrait of John Henry Newman, interestingly enough. And, did you know, Edward Lear, the nonsense-poet, also dabbled in the fine arts? With quite some success, in my opinion! I was amazed at how much depth of expression the writer of
There was a Young Lady whose nose,
Was so long that it reached to her toes;
So she hired an Old Lady,
Whose conduct was steady,
To carry that wonderful nose.
could reach. Quite an enjoyable afternoon!
And now, for Emma, that incorrigible young woman; will she ever learn to truly think of others? Perhaps Mr. Knightley will be able to cure her of busybodiness. We shall see!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
FYE#4
A quote from Gottfried von Strassburg's Tristan:
“One reads in the old Tale of Tristan that a swallow flew from Cornwall to Ireland and there took a lady’s hair with which to build its nest - I have no idea how the bird knew that the hair was there - and brought it back over the sea. Did ever a swallow nest at such inconvenience that, despite the abundance in its own country, it went ranging overseas into strange lands in search of nesting materials? I swear the tale grows fantastic, the story is talking nonsense here!"
All I want to know is if it were an African swallow or not ...
“One reads in the old Tale of Tristan that a swallow flew from Cornwall to Ireland and there took a lady’s hair with which to build its nest - I have no idea how the bird knew that the hair was there - and brought it back over the sea. Did ever a swallow nest at such inconvenience that, despite the abundance in its own country, it went ranging overseas into strange lands in search of nesting materials? I swear the tale grows fantastic, the story is talking nonsense here!"
All I want to know is if it were an African swallow or not ...
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