(I figure few people really read this, so I'm going to put this out in all its ugly rawness, and it's not really what I want to say, but it does express a little of the feelings I'm trying for. Anyways, those reading, I hope you don't judge me too harshly. lol. Sigh.)
Ah yes. Bleh. Hmmm. How to start?
When I first got back from the training class today, I was really riled. I felt I had all this stuff to vent and I could tell my emotions were running high. But before I had a chance to start writing, I ended up talking to my mom about various things, and then my roommate for a while too, and then when I had a bit of time, I didn't know where to start. Then another call and then dinner and then Capture the Flag. (We won by the way. I even was the one to find the flag!)
So now I'm sitting here, knowing a little what I wanted to talk about, but all the feelings have faded, and the introductions and all of that. Part of me is wondering whether I should drag it all up again. Part of me knows it's not friendly things I want to talk about, and I have the high chance of offending people. And part of me wants to go to the effort because this is not something I feel I can usually express because I am afraid of offending, and because I don't just want to be lazy and let the feelings slide away without sifting through them.
This is not going to be only about one subject. There are a couple things I feel I need to give vent to. So I'm going to cram them all together because they came up today.
We're in training for the assistant supervisors, of which I am one. Some of the activities of this guy are really fun and get us thinking in lots of ways. When we were doing one on conflict resolution, we had all these good ideas. Then he gave us a simple job and because of something unforeseen, many of us got quickly frustrated and forgot all of our skills and didn't handle the situation well. I'll admit I was one of them. So that was a good activity. And much of what he presented was good. I enjoyed most of the training. Sure, his presentation style bugs me a little, being super affirming, trying to make sure that no one gets offended at anything, thanking us for being "real." Those things in general kind of bug me, though I know that some people really need that, and as someone who talks about all this difficult communication stuff, I understand why he does it. He also has Tibetan bells he rings to call us together and quotes Ghandi more than anyone else. Don't get me wrong; I certainly understand the attraction of the Asian cultures and Buddhism for the ideas of peace. I understand the merits of meditation and the like. However, people who do this... well, I'll come back to this.
In the latter part of the day, we talked about Cultural Diversity. Mind you, this is of course not the first time that I've talked about this sort of thing. I've been through high school, and then college, and also, going into teaching, this is a big deal. So none of this stuff is really "new" to me. We did some interesting things about who we are and where we come from. We looked at what our "lenses" are through which we see the world. I recognize that I have them. Of course I do. Every single person on the planet does. So it's not that.
There's a whole list of thing that make up who we are, things we were born with or can do nothing about. And of course, most of those also have negatives to them. Race. Racism. Sex. Sexism. Etc. etc. So race, ethnic background, geographic region, class, gender, sexual identity, ability - physical or mental, age... there are more I'm sure. But those are the big ones. And these days, we are continually being told we shouldn't distinguish on those levels. Or that those are prejudices and privileges base on those systems which are wrong. "All men are created equal..."
But that's a lie.
Of course, all people are not created equal. I doubt really that any two people have REALLY been created equally. So treating everyone the same... not likely. But that's really beside the point I want to make.
I am a white female, born in the Northwest part of the USA, to the middle class, where I was raised with Christian morals. That is who I am. There is nothing I can do to change that.
Now, in this United States, there are a large section of people who are called Marginalized. People of color, gays, Jews, females, elderly, disabled, poor, etc. We did this activity where we all started in a line. Then you took a step forward for certain things, and a step back for other things. Forward: you had more than 50 books in your home growing up. Backward: you rode public transportation. Forward: you were encouraged to go to college. Backward: you were teased because of your religion. It had interesting results.
At the end, everyone was spread out. Some people were at the front, some at the back, and some, myself included, were more in the middle. It was pretty powerful, and so was the talking about it afterwards.
One guy started off taking a number of steps forward. He ended up near the front at the end. At first, he was really glad, thankful for the way his parents raised him, the opportunities he had. Then he looked back and saw everyone behind him. And his immediate feeling? Guilt.
I can definitely relate to that. Whenever we have talks like this, whenever we study this sort of thing, I always have this sense of guilt. I feel blamed, heavily blamed, for all the -isms our nation. I'm white. I have oppressed the Native peoples here before. I have brought slaves and continued to deny rights to black people, and people of color. I am middle class. I have ignored the needs of the poor and trapped them in a system they can never escape from. I am a Christian. I have led Crusades to the Holy Land, burned people at the stake. I hate gays and Muslims. I am a hypocritical exploiter of people. I have all of the guilt from all of history for all the titles I claim, of which I can do very little about.
The White Man is considered overall, evil. He is the corrupter. He kills native land, disrupts peaceful tribes. He enslaves and even now oppresses all those different from him. In movies, he is the villain. Or the "white savior" which today is also looked down on. That marginalized groups receive help from white people is considered degrading. They should be shown to rise out of oppression themselves. The speaker today talked about a college class on leaders. In it, all the leaders the professor was talking about where white men. He mentioned how this led to the idea that white men are the only people who are leaders. But so often I find that is not so much the image I see. I see leaders easily pulled from many areas, but villains are much more often white men.
He also talked about how the firemen books for his son are giving him the idea of what firefighters are like. He says some of his books are good and show different colors and genders, while some are only white men. And I recognize this is true. However, I hate feeling that an author can't portray something, because it is seen as being part of a larger system, a giant system of oppression. Yes, I recognize that I have probably been more exposed to this than many people. I am probably more sensitive to this. And probably, the reason someone shows that, even if it is the truth is because it is all part of a larger system. But I know that for my town, the likelihood of the firefighters being all men is rather high. I know there are occasional women, but because of the requirement of ability to lift certain amounts and other things, it can be more difficult for women, and thereby more men would fill the positions. Also, I know that it depends where a team is from. My small down don't have many people of color. Yes, yes, I know, because of the system. But if you were to draw a picture of the firefighters from my town, they would be white men. And perhaps, that truth should not be conveyed. Perhaps it oppresses people, because they didn't have the opportunity. I don't know.
I am not communicating my feelings clearly. I do recognize that there are many underlying issues. I understand that there are systems of oppression, systems of privileges. I just am saying I hate the feeling of blame. I hate feelings as though I am the cause of all the trouble in the world.
I say world because he ended reading a quote about statistics of the world. If the world were reduced equally to proportions to 100 people, what it would look like. 50 men, 50 women. 65 Asians. 12 Europeans. A huge amount of the wealth being owned by only 5 people, all of them in the United States. Most with no running water, no bed, no ability to read. Only one with a college education.
By this point, I'm mentally fuming. So perhaps I'm not taking this the way he means it. But I don't know what purpose he has for reading this than to instill a sense of guilt. Perhaps he wanted to show us we're privileged, but honestly, I don't know anyone who in the scope of the world doesn't think so. Perhaps he wanted to inspire us to do something more to equalize the world. I don't know. But what I came away with was a strong sense that we in America weren't doing enough about the systems, and look how unfair the world is.
Granted, the world is unfair. I do not believe there is anything ever that will make that not be the case. People will always have differences. It is those differences that can make us strong or weak, but they will always exist and people will always react because of them. I will not ask a person 100 lbs to lift as much I might ask someone who is 200 lbs., because ability is different. Some people are smarter or more athletic. We just spent all of yesterday talking about leadership styles and how everyone has different strong points and weaknesses. That's just how it is.
I wonder how that statistic would have been different 100 years ago. Or more than that. Say, 200 years. As some point, all cultures slept in poor beds, didn't have wealth or running water. Their children died of hunger and disease. Most people couldn't read. He spoke as though we were supposed to change the world. But I have heard that us stepping in to change those "poorer" countries, feeding all the starving children, etc. is not really the best thing. Those cultures are supposed to develop. They are supposed to grow by themselves. Perhaps a culture doesn't read because they have no need. Instead of feeling guilty about others in the world not having enough, I think there is other things you can do. You can help someone here learn to read, where reading is necessary. You can take care of your family, encouraging and giving as much as you can, telling them they can, and supporting them as they do.
I know there are many problems in the world. In the United States. In system after system. I know that. I am not blind. I try not to be calloused. I do recognize there are some changes that need to happen. But I hate the feeling that it is all my fault, all the fault the people who I have identified with, and can not really do anything about. I know some systems really do need to be changed. I think some of it can be forced, and some of it really can't be. I know that problems need to be fixed, and I need to be receptive and aware. I know this. And perhaps there were some there that had never heard this. Perhaps this was more for them. I just know I hate feeling guilty for being mainstream. I hate feeling like being a white, middle class, Christian oppresses other people. I hate feeling guilty for being who I am. I hate that sense of shame, instill by others. Instill by those trying to make a difference. Trying to do something good. I know all this. But I hate it.
That's not really all I want to say or any of how I want to say it. It's just something that I really came away with today, and have come away from this sort of thing before. Whenever I attend something multicultural, I come away with a sense of shame and blame. And I know that because they aren't in power, it is not racist or classist, or anything. They are allowed to because there is something wrong with the system. Something wrong with a system that places me at the top. I always come away feeling bad for being born at the top. And I hate how the only people you are allowed to hate are those at the top. It's okay to make fun of the rich and Christians, and men.
Bleh. This isn't coming out right at all. I just feel this knot, something I feel after every cultural diversity thing I've gone through. I hate that. And maybe that's -ist of me. Maybe I'm just blind and proliferating the problem. Maybe I'm just a part of a corrupt system, an element of a oppressive society and system. Maybe. I still hate that knot.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Admiration/Intimidation
People who
make me admire someone/intimidate me are
People who :
make me admire someone/intimidate me are
People who :
- can go off coffee/tea/soda/caffine
- grow their own seedlings
- run every day or exercise regularly
- have studied all of an author's works
- live unplugged
- follow politics
- are passionate and knowledgeable
- have vegetable gardens
- eat/cook healthy
- have no debt and an education
- have a world vision
- read the newspaper every day
- write literature
- discover good new bands
- only own two pairs of shoes
- have lived in a foreign country and can speak to the natives
- have lived in a foreign country and absorbed the culture
- drink their daily amount of water
- see things with an artist's eye
- journal every day
- volunteer regularly in a community outreach
- win olympic medals
- bike to work
- lead well
- floss every day
- never wear makeup
- meet/talk to interesting/famous people
- do research
- discover new things/make progress
- participate in extreme sports
- understand Art Deco
- really appreciate architecture
- read only non-fiction
- always have a clean house/room
- etc.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Writing Influences
I am hugely influenced. I get influenced by all kinds of things. I will sit in a ethnic restaurant and if the server has an accent, I will sometimes adopt it when I talk to them. I don't do this to mock or even on a conscious level. I simply hear it and begin to inflect it myself.
I find the same thing happens when I write. Writing has an enormous power over me; it can influence my mood, my thoughts, my conversation. I remember the first time I read Little Women. I read it much later than most girls, I imagine. I didn't really have many people recommending books to me; even though I loved to read, I found most of the books from my childhood on my own. There was some help from librarians, and my mother collected books, and I would pilfer her shelves, although she didn't really recommend them. However, my cousin, who was in college at the time, said her favorite book was Little Women, and she was appalled I had never read it.
I am a procrastinator to the -enth degree. So instead of immediately going and reading it, it took me a few months, but I did eventually pick it up, and I did read it. And I loved it. And for the next two weeks, EVERYTHING related to that book. Somehow it never entered my head that everyone had not just read this book for the first time. No one else was continually thinking about the book, how it related to them, how similar this situation was like the book. Not everyone was upset by Jo and Laurie not getting together right then. But all their apathy didn't really phase me. I continued to think about it until eventually, my obsession faded.
This past month, I read The Hunger Games and Catching Fire. In the middle of reading Catching Fire, the person I was borrowing the book from wanted the book back for the weekend. It was torture. I was left involved in people's lives where I couldn't continue their stories. My mind was fixated on them, mulling over their dilemmas and obsessing over how the novel would end. Even my mood was affected by them. I began to think about my own life, and make choices based on how I felt about the people's position in the book. Needless to say, I devoured the book as soon as I had it back in my hands.
My writing is influenced in much the same way. After reading something, I feel much more inspired to write, but often, the writing comes out in the same voice as the author I just finished reading. Not always of course, but often. I had just finished reading The Bell Jar and I was writing a small piece to enter into a writing competition. I sent my story to a friend of mine overseas who didn't have any idea of what I was reading, and in her critique, she mentioned that my writing sounded like Sylvia Plath. My words formed themselves to the similar pattern I had just been reading.
The same thing happened in high school. After spending over a month reading Shakespeare, I began to think in Elizabethan English. I could write it, speak it, understand it with ease. It became a natural way of thinking. My friends and I in the class would spend time later talking to each other in Elizabethan English. "Doth" no longer seemed such a foreign word, and would flow into the conversation with sense and ease. I saw plays and had no trouble at all understanding what was happening, what they were saying. I caught all the jokes, adored his puns. To this day, I enjoy Shakespeare's plays. But if I don't do some background research, refresh my memory about the contents of the play, I don't enjoy it as much, and I miss a lot. I never catch all his jokes and there can be moments of confusion. My Shakespearean thoughts have faded with time, but I have no doubt if I started reading and watching it frequently, I would fall back in.
After reading Agatha Cristie, I find my vocabulary and astuteness of descriptions increases. I think much more formally. I find myself describing people in my head, and can picture just how Hercule Poirot would view that person, and how Cristie would describe the conversation between two people. Her voice is one of my favorite things about the books, and I love every time I fall back into it.
Last night, I had just finished reading a passage of Bird by Bird. It got me thinking about writing, and me writing. That's when I started thinking about writing this, and as I thought about the things I wanted to write about, I realized I was narrating it in my head the way Anne Lammont would. My story was being told in her voice. Really, I think our reflective styles are somewhat similar to begin with, but I was suddenly afraid I had no real voice. That I was too much of an open vessel. That I allowed other people's writing to influence me to the point where myself, my voice, no longer existed. Of course, it would be my story, so the actual happenings would be unique to me, but as to the method, the way the story was told, that would be up to whomever I had most recently read.
In a way, that's a bit of a good thing. It allows me to inflect those authors I admire. I can adopt some their styles and pump up my own writing. I can be more acute in my descriptions, attain a higher vocabulary, mimic the great authors. But I still want the writing to be mine. Not just the story, but the way it's told. I want to own the story, have the story be told the way I would tell it. With that comes the fear that as a highly empathetic person, I don't really have a way. I am continually taking in other people's emotions, methods, thoughts, and styles. This was my fear as I laid awake last night. Perhaps I was not unique. Perhaps, I did not have a voice of my own, and simply adopted other people's voices to suit my needs. Perhaps my stories were just rehashed versions of others I had read or hear.
But this morning, when I actually sat down to write, I realized I do have a voice. I am a unique person, with my own voice. In writing this, I am no longer thinking in Anne Lammont. Stephen King, in his forward for The Dark Tower series stated that he had had designs to write a fantasy series after reading Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. But he waited to start it. He knew if he began it right away, he would have been telling Tolkein's story rather than his own. Tolkein was a huge influence, an inspiration. But King needed to find his own voice, tell his own story. To do so, he needed to wait. So he waiting and in so doing, came out with an incredible and unique fantasy all his own, told in his own voice. And I realized the same in true for me.
I need to allow authors to inspire me. To give me the desire to write, to tell my stories, to encourage me to capture scenes, notice detail, stimulate writing thoughts in my head. But I need to give myself time, more or less depending on how involved or influenced I was by what I read. Time to find my voice. Time so I can tell my story my way. In so doing, I will write for me, and find myself in my writing. I am unique.
I find the same thing happens when I write. Writing has an enormous power over me; it can influence my mood, my thoughts, my conversation. I remember the first time I read Little Women. I read it much later than most girls, I imagine. I didn't really have many people recommending books to me; even though I loved to read, I found most of the books from my childhood on my own. There was some help from librarians, and my mother collected books, and I would pilfer her shelves, although she didn't really recommend them. However, my cousin, who was in college at the time, said her favorite book was Little Women, and she was appalled I had never read it.
I am a procrastinator to the -enth degree. So instead of immediately going and reading it, it took me a few months, but I did eventually pick it up, and I did read it. And I loved it. And for the next two weeks, EVERYTHING related to that book. Somehow it never entered my head that everyone had not just read this book for the first time. No one else was continually thinking about the book, how it related to them, how similar this situation was like the book. Not everyone was upset by Jo and Laurie not getting together right then. But all their apathy didn't really phase me. I continued to think about it until eventually, my obsession faded.
This past month, I read The Hunger Games and Catching Fire. In the middle of reading Catching Fire, the person I was borrowing the book from wanted the book back for the weekend. It was torture. I was left involved in people's lives where I couldn't continue their stories. My mind was fixated on them, mulling over their dilemmas and obsessing over how the novel would end. Even my mood was affected by them. I began to think about my own life, and make choices based on how I felt about the people's position in the book. Needless to say, I devoured the book as soon as I had it back in my hands.
My writing is influenced in much the same way. After reading something, I feel much more inspired to write, but often, the writing comes out in the same voice as the author I just finished reading. Not always of course, but often. I had just finished reading The Bell Jar and I was writing a small piece to enter into a writing competition. I sent my story to a friend of mine overseas who didn't have any idea of what I was reading, and in her critique, she mentioned that my writing sounded like Sylvia Plath. My words formed themselves to the similar pattern I had just been reading.
The same thing happened in high school. After spending over a month reading Shakespeare, I began to think in Elizabethan English. I could write it, speak it, understand it with ease. It became a natural way of thinking. My friends and I in the class would spend time later talking to each other in Elizabethan English. "Doth" no longer seemed such a foreign word, and would flow into the conversation with sense and ease. I saw plays and had no trouble at all understanding what was happening, what they were saying. I caught all the jokes, adored his puns. To this day, I enjoy Shakespeare's plays. But if I don't do some background research, refresh my memory about the contents of the play, I don't enjoy it as much, and I miss a lot. I never catch all his jokes and there can be moments of confusion. My Shakespearean thoughts have faded with time, but I have no doubt if I started reading and watching it frequently, I would fall back in.
After reading Agatha Cristie, I find my vocabulary and astuteness of descriptions increases. I think much more formally. I find myself describing people in my head, and can picture just how Hercule Poirot would view that person, and how Cristie would describe the conversation between two people. Her voice is one of my favorite things about the books, and I love every time I fall back into it.
Last night, I had just finished reading a passage of Bird by Bird. It got me thinking about writing, and me writing. That's when I started thinking about writing this, and as I thought about the things I wanted to write about, I realized I was narrating it in my head the way Anne Lammont would. My story was being told in her voice. Really, I think our reflective styles are somewhat similar to begin with, but I was suddenly afraid I had no real voice. That I was too much of an open vessel. That I allowed other people's writing to influence me to the point where myself, my voice, no longer existed. Of course, it would be my story, so the actual happenings would be unique to me, but as to the method, the way the story was told, that would be up to whomever I had most recently read.
In a way, that's a bit of a good thing. It allows me to inflect those authors I admire. I can adopt some their styles and pump up my own writing. I can be more acute in my descriptions, attain a higher vocabulary, mimic the great authors. But I still want the writing to be mine. Not just the story, but the way it's told. I want to own the story, have the story be told the way I would tell it. With that comes the fear that as a highly empathetic person, I don't really have a way. I am continually taking in other people's emotions, methods, thoughts, and styles. This was my fear as I laid awake last night. Perhaps I was not unique. Perhaps, I did not have a voice of my own, and simply adopted other people's voices to suit my needs. Perhaps my stories were just rehashed versions of others I had read or hear.
But this morning, when I actually sat down to write, I realized I do have a voice. I am a unique person, with my own voice. In writing this, I am no longer thinking in Anne Lammont. Stephen King, in his forward for The Dark Tower series stated that he had had designs to write a fantasy series after reading Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. But he waited to start it. He knew if he began it right away, he would have been telling Tolkein's story rather than his own. Tolkein was a huge influence, an inspiration. But King needed to find his own voice, tell his own story. To do so, he needed to wait. So he waiting and in so doing, came out with an incredible and unique fantasy all his own, told in his own voice. And I realized the same in true for me.
I need to allow authors to inspire me. To give me the desire to write, to tell my stories, to encourage me to capture scenes, notice detail, stimulate writing thoughts in my head. But I need to give myself time, more or less depending on how involved or influenced I was by what I read. Time to find my voice. Time so I can tell my story my way. In so doing, I will write for me, and find myself in my writing. I am unique.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Great Guy Checklist
Smell her hair.
Pick her up and pretend you're going to throw her in the pool. She'll scream and fight you but secretly, she'll love it.
Hold her hand while you talk.
Hold her hand while you drive.
Just hold her hand.
Tell her she looks pretty.
Look her in the eyes when you talk to her.
Protect her.
Tell her stupid jokes.
Tickle her, even if she says stop.
Slow dance with her.
When she starts swearing at you, tell her the truth.
Let her fall asleep in your arms.
Make her mad, then kiss her.
Tease her.
Let her tease you back.
Stay up with her when she's sick.
When she cries hold her.
Let her know just how wonderful she is; women need to feel loved and needed.
Kiss her forehead.
Let her wear your clothes.
GO SLOW.
Kiss her in the rain.
Spend time with her cuddled up in bed.
Spend lots of time with her.
Don't keep bringing up every thing shes done wrong.
And when you fall in love with her, tell her.
Pick her up and pretend you're going to throw her in the pool. She'll scream and fight you but secretly, she'll love it.
Hold her hand while you talk.
Hold her hand while you drive.
Just hold her hand.
Tell her she looks pretty.
Look her in the eyes when you talk to her.
Protect her.
Tell her stupid jokes.
Tickle her, even if she says stop.
Slow dance with her.
When she starts swearing at you, tell her the truth.
Let her fall asleep in your arms.
Make her mad, then kiss her.
Tease her.
Let her tease you back.
Stay up with her when she's sick.
When she cries hold her.
Let her know just how wonderful she is; women need to feel loved and needed.
Kiss her forehead.
Let her wear your clothes.
GO SLOW.
Kiss her in the rain.
Spend time with her cuddled up in bed.
Spend lots of time with her.
Don't keep bringing up every thing shes done wrong.
And when you fall in love with her, tell her.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Looking at Life
"Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of ’99
"So I grew up around this man who sat at his desk in the study all day and wrote books and articles about the places and people he had seen and known. He read a lot of poetry. Sometimes he traveled. He could go anyplace he wanted with a sense of purpose. One of the gifts of being a writer is that it gives you an excuse to do things, to go places and explore. Another is that writing motivates you to look closely at life, at life as it lurches by and tramps around."
"Often what I do at this point, as the panic mounts [at writing something massive] and the jungle drums begin beating and I realize that the well has run dry and that my future is behind me and I'm going to have to get a job only I'm completely unemployable, is to stop. First I try to breathe [...]. I finally notice the one-inch picture frame that I put on my desk to remind me of short assignments. It reminds me that all I have to do is write down as much as I can see through a one-inch picture frame. [...] E. L. Doctorow once said that 'writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.' You don't have to see where you're going, you don't have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet ahead of you. This is right up there with the best advice about writing, or life, I have ever heard." - Anne Lammont
Sometimes, I just need a bit of perspective. Sometimes, I get caught up in what my life looks like, what I've accomplished, where I'm going and how I'm going to get there. Sometimes, I manage to sit back and just enjoy where I am. This is usually during the day, when I'm busy with something, anything, be it making cheesecake or taking a shower or playing a game with a friend. There are even some moments when I think about what I've done and feel rather proud. Liek when I'm looking through pictures, or tell a story about a grand adventure, or have someone tell me they wish they'd "done something like that." But there are moments, usually when I'm laying in bed, trying to sleep or driving alone in my car, where I can't stop worrying. I worry about who I am, how I will survive, what my life looks like, and how I'm never going to have this or do that. Times when I can not shut my brain off, can't stop the clenching panic gripping my chest. Where the fact that I have never been in a really long relationship, never lived somewhere long enough to really feel that it's mine, never been in a job that I felt was my future, overshadows anything I might have done.
Those are the times I need to remember I am not alone. I have done many things, and as far as life goes, I am doing fairly well. I have seen a lot of the world. I have worked in many jobs and had many great adventures. I have friends that I love incredibly dearly and love me equally in return. I am still young and pretty and smart and have a future. I still have time to own a house, get married, find a career I will retire in. And even if I never do those things, my life is actually pretty good; no, actually, my life is pretty great.
I will be spending this summer not working at something I'm going to do forever. I will be making little money and working hard. But I will also get to be outside in the sun, meeting new people, working for the future, and making memories that I know will last forever. I think if I heard someone else talking about their life doing the same things I was doing, I would be a bit jealous. And I need to be able to remind myself of that fact when I am laying awake, feeling like a waste. Overall, my life, though it may not be what anyone else's really looks like, or what I thought it would look like ten years ago, is a great life. I am blessed. I have a great life.
- If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience…I will dispense this advice now.
- Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked.
- You’re not as fat as you imagine.
- Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.
- Do one thing everyday that scares you.
- Sing.
- Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours.
- Floss.
- Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with yourself.
- Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how.
- Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.
- Stretch
- Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life…the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t.
- Get plenty of calcium.
- Be kind to your knees, you’ll miss them when they’re gone.
- Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary…what ever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s.
- Enjoy your body, use it every way you can…don’t be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.
- Dance…even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.
- Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.
- Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.
- Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for good.
- Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.
- Understand that friends come and go,but for the precious few you should hold on.
- Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.
- Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.
- Travel.
- Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.
- Respect your elders.
- Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out.
- Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85.
- Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.
- But trust me on the sunscreen…" - Baz Luhrmann
"So I grew up around this man who sat at his desk in the study all day and wrote books and articles about the places and people he had seen and known. He read a lot of poetry. Sometimes he traveled. He could go anyplace he wanted with a sense of purpose. One of the gifts of being a writer is that it gives you an excuse to do things, to go places and explore. Another is that writing motivates you to look closely at life, at life as it lurches by and tramps around."
"Often what I do at this point, as the panic mounts [at writing something massive] and the jungle drums begin beating and I realize that the well has run dry and that my future is behind me and I'm going to have to get a job only I'm completely unemployable, is to stop. First I try to breathe [...]. I finally notice the one-inch picture frame that I put on my desk to remind me of short assignments. It reminds me that all I have to do is write down as much as I can see through a one-inch picture frame. [...] E. L. Doctorow once said that 'writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.' You don't have to see where you're going, you don't have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet ahead of you. This is right up there with the best advice about writing, or life, I have ever heard." - Anne Lammont
Sometimes, I just need a bit of perspective. Sometimes, I get caught up in what my life looks like, what I've accomplished, where I'm going and how I'm going to get there. Sometimes, I manage to sit back and just enjoy where I am. This is usually during the day, when I'm busy with something, anything, be it making cheesecake or taking a shower or playing a game with a friend. There are even some moments when I think about what I've done and feel rather proud. Liek when I'm looking through pictures, or tell a story about a grand adventure, or have someone tell me they wish they'd "done something like that." But there are moments, usually when I'm laying in bed, trying to sleep or driving alone in my car, where I can't stop worrying. I worry about who I am, how I will survive, what my life looks like, and how I'm never going to have this or do that. Times when I can not shut my brain off, can't stop the clenching panic gripping my chest. Where the fact that I have never been in a really long relationship, never lived somewhere long enough to really feel that it's mine, never been in a job that I felt was my future, overshadows anything I might have done.
Those are the times I need to remember I am not alone. I have done many things, and as far as life goes, I am doing fairly well. I have seen a lot of the world. I have worked in many jobs and had many great adventures. I have friends that I love incredibly dearly and love me equally in return. I am still young and pretty and smart and have a future. I still have time to own a house, get married, find a career I will retire in. And even if I never do those things, my life is actually pretty good; no, actually, my life is pretty great.
I will be spending this summer not working at something I'm going to do forever. I will be making little money and working hard. But I will also get to be outside in the sun, meeting new people, working for the future, and making memories that I know will last forever. I think if I heard someone else talking about their life doing the same things I was doing, I would be a bit jealous. And I need to be able to remind myself of that fact when I am laying awake, feeling like a waste. Overall, my life, though it may not be what anyone else's really looks like, or what I thought it would look like ten years ago, is a great life. I am blessed. I have a great life.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Lakes and Edinburgh
[Tuesday] We had talked the day before about what we were going to do. Jayne had talked to her mother, and she had thought it would be fun to go to the Lake District. Although most of the way across the country, at this point, it's not that far of a drive. And Elizabeth, Jayne's mother, was really looking forward to it. So on Tuesday, we got ready and picked her up. Then all four of us, three with our first names Elizabeth, headed off.
It was a beautiful day. We drove down the same road we had gone for Hadrian's Wall, and actually saw the same place we had been the night before. Mrs. B was full of interesting facts and stories, something that rather bugged Jayne, but I found amusing because many of the facts had been shared already by her daughter. Like mother, like daughter. (I can see the look on Jayne's face when I say that.) But I learned a good bit.
I took a bunch of pictures out the window as we drove. It was gorgeous. The sun sparkling down on the lakes and the snow covered mountains... lovely! Mrs. B kept saying how she wished we could see it in the spring or summer, when everything was green or in bloom, but later she said it was good we came when we did, because there were fewer people and we could see the lakes better, without all the trees blocking our view.
We had lunch at a little inn along the way. Manda and I both had soup and sandwiches, and felt it was perfect for the day. (We had skipped breakfast and were starving.) Then we were off to W-----. Wordsworth's daffodils and Potter's Peter Rabbit both come from here. We stopped in the town and walked around. Jayne walked down this muddy hill and her mother went to join her. On her way, she started sort of sliding. Jayne tried to catch her, but it was too late, and she hit the ground. She was alright, and most of the mud wiped off, but we all laughed a lot.
There were a bunch of swans and Amanda wanted to make friends, but was a bit timid. The Asian tourists weren't so much, touching and getting pictures, so I decided to touch one as well, and although it took a bit, I managed it! After walking around for a while, we got back in the car to go over the hills, but there was a road closure, so instead, we called it a day and headed back. I got to watch the sun set over the hills as we made our way back. We both fell asleep on the way, and were thankful to Jayne for driving.
We had pizza that night for dinner and heard a bunch of stories from Sanet and Eugene as well as looked at wedding pictures, before gathering our things for our last fabulous night in Newcastle.
[Wednesday] We made French Toast for breakfast and then headed out to catch the train to Edinburgh, Scotland. The train was pretty straight forward and didn't take too long. We headed out and found our hostel without too much problem, seeing as it was located right on the Royal Mile. After checking in and dropping some things off, we took off to wander around until Jade got there that night.
We walked back down the Royal Mile for a while before heading towards the middle bit of town. We walked to the park in the middle and decided we wanted to sit in the sun. We hadn't gotten too much sun on our trip, so this was a nice change. We ate our sandwiches and discussed the pigeons (and their toe-less-ness). There were flowers just coming into bloom, and we decided if we ever when back, we would come in late February to early March, when things are still cheap but Spring is starting to take over.
We knew there were a number of museums around and the one we wanted to go to most was also the closest. So we went in and were surprised to see some sort of famous things. In reading the plaques, we found that many of the objects had ties to other things in other museums we had been to on this trip. Trial paintings or smaller scale ones were hanging here while the latter ones were in the British Museum or the like. One brass statue had a larger marble twin that I remember seeing in the Louvre. It was really cool to see, and we stayed until they closed, once again missing the Impressionists.
Following that, we went to our hostel to look for a store to get something for dinner. On the way, we heard some music and followed the sound only to find a man playing the bagpipes! It was really neat. He was really good and I really enjoy that music. When we got back from the store, Jade was there! Yay! Jade was our third roommate when we all met in Oxford, three years previously. This was the first time we had all gotten together since then, so that was really neat. After dinner, Jade, who had been to Edinburgh recently (she's going to school in Aberdeen) took us on our own private Ghost Tour.
Edinburgh is famous for being haunted, and between people being killed and the plague, it's not surprising. She did a great job of recounting all the terrible stories. We were regaled with tales of people jumping off bridges, haunted graveyards and children being locked away. It was creepy, but a lot of fun, to be wandering around in the dark, amongst the tombstones and grave markers. We also climbed a hill to get a good view of the city at night before heading back inside to warm up.
The next day, we awoke to find snow on the ground and still falling. Such a change from yesterday! Not deterred, we headed out, making our way up the hill to the castle, the big event of the day. However, when we got there, they said it was closed because of the snow, but it might open up later. I was disappointed, because lots of people had told me about it.
Instead, we walked back down, checking out some of the stores along the way. There were some really cute kilts, one I would really have liked to have worn. Kilts, tartan, and thistles were everywhere. We made our way to World's End and St. Giles Cathedral. World's End was the tavern that used to be part of the Edinburgh Wall. Apparently, back in the day, towns would sometimes have a tax to enter a city. Well, Edinburgh charged its tax on the way out, when people had no money from gambling or staying in the city, and were forced to stay in the city. However, there was also a law about not being out after curfew, so lots of people hid in all kinds of sketchy places. Then we went back to check, and thankfully, the Castle was open!
Inside we went. We saw the prisons, and read all about the people who were housed there, especially the poor American P.O.W.s who weren't recognized as such and so were more poorly treated. They were called "pirates." We also read about the different punishments for different things. Anything over 500 lashes would pretty much result in death, though as many as 2000 lashes could be given.
We got to see the dog cemetery and hear about the history of Scotland and the royalty there. There was also a memorial to WWI and WWII. I went to take a picture, and was quickly yelled at. Oops. So then, when we left, I stood on the far side of the "No Pictures" sign, outside, and took a picture of the building. The same lady came out and yelled at me again, saying I couldn't take pictures of any of it. Oops. I felt really bad. But I wasn't trying to be a terrible person.
That night we took the train to Glasgow. Amanda has third cousins living there and they housed us for the night before we had to catch a plane to Ireland early the next morning. The Clarks were super friendly. They served us homemade soup, and made us sandwiches for the next day. I would love to come back and visit them again.
It was a beautiful day. We drove down the same road we had gone for Hadrian's Wall, and actually saw the same place we had been the night before. Mrs. B was full of interesting facts and stories, something that rather bugged Jayne, but I found amusing because many of the facts had been shared already by her daughter. Like mother, like daughter. (I can see the look on Jayne's face when I say that.) But I learned a good bit.
I took a bunch of pictures out the window as we drove. It was gorgeous. The sun sparkling down on the lakes and the snow covered mountains... lovely! Mrs. B kept saying how she wished we could see it in the spring or summer, when everything was green or in bloom, but later she said it was good we came when we did, because there were fewer people and we could see the lakes better, without all the trees blocking our view.
We had lunch at a little inn along the way. Manda and I both had soup and sandwiches, and felt it was perfect for the day. (We had skipped breakfast and were starving.) Then we were off to W-----. Wordsworth's daffodils and Potter's Peter Rabbit both come from here. We stopped in the town and walked around. Jayne walked down this muddy hill and her mother went to join her. On her way, she started sort of sliding. Jayne tried to catch her, but it was too late, and she hit the ground. She was alright, and most of the mud wiped off, but we all laughed a lot.
There were a bunch of swans and Amanda wanted to make friends, but was a bit timid. The Asian tourists weren't so much, touching and getting pictures, so I decided to touch one as well, and although it took a bit, I managed it! After walking around for a while, we got back in the car to go over the hills, but there was a road closure, so instead, we called it a day and headed back. I got to watch the sun set over the hills as we made our way back. We both fell asleep on the way, and were thankful to Jayne for driving.
We had pizza that night for dinner and heard a bunch of stories from Sanet and Eugene as well as looked at wedding pictures, before gathering our things for our last fabulous night in Newcastle.
[Wednesday] We made French Toast for breakfast and then headed out to catch the train to Edinburgh, Scotland. The train was pretty straight forward and didn't take too long. We headed out and found our hostel without too much problem, seeing as it was located right on the Royal Mile. After checking in and dropping some things off, we took off to wander around until Jade got there that night.
We walked back down the Royal Mile for a while before heading towards the middle bit of town. We walked to the park in the middle and decided we wanted to sit in the sun. We hadn't gotten too much sun on our trip, so this was a nice change. We ate our sandwiches and discussed the pigeons (and their toe-less-ness). There were flowers just coming into bloom, and we decided if we ever when back, we would come in late February to early March, when things are still cheap but Spring is starting to take over.
We knew there were a number of museums around and the one we wanted to go to most was also the closest. So we went in and were surprised to see some sort of famous things. In reading the plaques, we found that many of the objects had ties to other things in other museums we had been to on this trip. Trial paintings or smaller scale ones were hanging here while the latter ones were in the British Museum or the like. One brass statue had a larger marble twin that I remember seeing in the Louvre. It was really cool to see, and we stayed until they closed, once again missing the Impressionists.
Following that, we went to our hostel to look for a store to get something for dinner. On the way, we heard some music and followed the sound only to find a man playing the bagpipes! It was really neat. He was really good and I really enjoy that music. When we got back from the store, Jade was there! Yay! Jade was our third roommate when we all met in Oxford, three years previously. This was the first time we had all gotten together since then, so that was really neat. After dinner, Jade, who had been to Edinburgh recently (she's going to school in Aberdeen) took us on our own private Ghost Tour.
Edinburgh is famous for being haunted, and between people being killed and the plague, it's not surprising. She did a great job of recounting all the terrible stories. We were regaled with tales of people jumping off bridges, haunted graveyards and children being locked away. It was creepy, but a lot of fun, to be wandering around in the dark, amongst the tombstones and grave markers. We also climbed a hill to get a good view of the city at night before heading back inside to warm up.
The next day, we awoke to find snow on the ground and still falling. Such a change from yesterday! Not deterred, we headed out, making our way up the hill to the castle, the big event of the day. However, when we got there, they said it was closed because of the snow, but it might open up later. I was disappointed, because lots of people had told me about it.
Instead, we walked back down, checking out some of the stores along the way. There were some really cute kilts, one I would really have liked to have worn. Kilts, tartan, and thistles were everywhere. We made our way to World's End and St. Giles Cathedral. World's End was the tavern that used to be part of the Edinburgh Wall. Apparently, back in the day, towns would sometimes have a tax to enter a city. Well, Edinburgh charged its tax on the way out, when people had no money from gambling or staying in the city, and were forced to stay in the city. However, there was also a law about not being out after curfew, so lots of people hid in all kinds of sketchy places. Then we went back to check, and thankfully, the Castle was open!
Inside we went. We saw the prisons, and read all about the people who were housed there, especially the poor American P.O.W.s who weren't recognized as such and so were more poorly treated. They were called "pirates." We also read about the different punishments for different things. Anything over 500 lashes would pretty much result in death, though as many as 2000 lashes could be given.
We got to see the dog cemetery and hear about the history of Scotland and the royalty there. There was also a memorial to WWI and WWII. I went to take a picture, and was quickly yelled at. Oops. So then, when we left, I stood on the far side of the "No Pictures" sign, outside, and took a picture of the building. The same lady came out and yelled at me again, saying I couldn't take pictures of any of it. Oops. I felt really bad. But I wasn't trying to be a terrible person.
That night we took the train to Glasgow. Amanda has third cousins living there and they housed us for the night before we had to catch a plane to Ireland early the next morning. The Clarks were super friendly. They served us homemade soup, and made us sandwiches for the next day. I would love to come back and visit them again.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Bede, Seagulls, Limpets, Hadrian, York
[Saturday] We got up early and headed out, catching the bus we needed perfectly on time. We rode for quite a while, deciding that we would just skip one of the train transfers and take the bus to the second station because it was going there anyway. However, that was a mistake. Well, more a mistake that we didn't talk to the driver first. Because the train station was before the actual city. We waited to ask him until we were got to the city. He took us back to the station on his way back, but we missed our train by three minutes. They only run once an hour, so that was rather frustrating. But we called Jayne (cause she was picking us up in Newcastle) and let her know about the delay. And we made all the other trains just fine.
We met Jayne outside of the train station. We drove through bits of Newcastle, seeing the famous bridges and some of the statues, and she then took us to her parents' house, Fred and Elizabeth. They gave us a cup of tea and we got to see some photos of Jayne's trip around bits of Asia and Australia. After that, Jayne took us to her friends' house, Sanet and Eugene. She was going to be staying with them as well while she was back for the week for her brother's funeral.
[It was just a bit confusing at different points because of the names. Jayne's real name, of course, is Elizabeth as well. Sanet calls her Lizzie Girl, so that wasn't too bad, but just a bit strange, especially later when we saw Jayne's mom again, and she would call me Elizabeth (which is also what she calls Jayne) and Jayne was rather confused. Except for the bits when Amanda called Jayne "Lizzie" (only happened like once) I was rather surprisingly clear on who everyone was talking to or about.]
Sanet and Eugene are wonderfully friendly people, and were really welcoming. They are both from South Africa, living in the UK. They have an adorable little dog called Midgey, who was certainly the baby of the family. (A miniature Yorkshire Terrier, it's the only small breed of dog I can really say I like.) Eugene is quite the cook, and had made lamb for us. Jayne suggested it, and we had heard about his lamb back in Korea so it had quite the reputation. And amazingly, it completely lived up, and I would say surpassed, it. It was a fantastic meal, the first of many. Rack of lamb cooked with rosemary and lemon, mini potatoes, broccoli with cheese, and mixed vegetables (parsnips, carrots, peppers, onions). We ended the evening with a movie, chocolate and red wine.
[Sunday] After being served coffee in bed (a daily ritual), we got a relaxing start. Sanet had loaned Jayne her car so she could take us around. Everyone had different suggestions as to where we should go. We started off going to Durham, which we had seen from the train. They have a castle and a cathedral. The castle is now used as college housing. Durham is one of four universities in the UK made of colleges: Oxford, Cambridge, St. Andrews, and Durham. One of the colleges there is called Castle College.
After checking that out, we walked to the Cathedral. It was very pretty inside, though you aren't allowed to take pictures. There was also a service happening while we were there, so we went into one of the little side alcove. There was a large coffin there, and I asked who was in it. Jayne said it was "a guy named Bede." I was so excited. I got to see the final resting place of the Venerable St. Bede! It was funny because she didn't know he was anyone that people outside of the Northeast of England would really know. She certainly didn't think he was world famous. (I remember being in Oxford, and one of my favorite things was getting to read Bede, rather than read about him.) It was cool. We even got to see a priest lighting the candle above him. (I took an illegal photo there. I couldn't help it.)
We went outside and walked across the bridge to look at the Cathedral from the other side. Apparently, Jayne used to come there to draw it for her art class at school. (She hiked nearby mountains to collect rocks for geography, and studied the effects of towns (and their garbage) on rivers. Not to mention all the places they could go for history. Kinda not fair.)
We then got back in the car and went to Seahouses. It was right on the coast. We could see Bamburgh Castle in the distance. We stopped at a little shop and got Fish and Chips. The lady also gave me some "scraps." (Pretty much congestive heart failure in meal.) It was great. Like my father, Jayne likes her fish and chips with malt vinegar, but neither Amanda or I do. We sat out on benches overlooking the sea, and it was rather windy and cold, but perfectly lovely. None of us quite finished our chips (Amanda hardly made an attempt) so we fed the seagulls and watched them fight for the bits. (I also saw how close I could tempt them to come by dropping a little trail of chips up to our benches.)
Following that, we drove out to the castle. When we made it to the top of the hill, we discovered the castle was currently closed, because it was winter. However, much of it has been converted to private housing, so it was okay. We instead walked over the frozen grass covered dunes, picking our way carefully to keep from falling. (Both Jayne and I didn't make it.) We walked along the beach and I collected limpet shells. I've never seen so many all together in so many different types. Normally, you might find one amongst a bunch of others, but here, the primary shell was limpets.
We started the long drive back, made longer because I had a request. Jayne had told me before that she lived near Hadrian's Wall. And I wanted to see it. So we saw the little bit that cam into Newcastle, but then ventured further and drove for quite a while until we started following signs. We were out into the countryside, but still couldn't find the wall. (Much of it has been torn down for fences and houses over the centuries.) Jayne kept asking, "Where's the wall?" and I replied, "I can see two," pointing at the little farmer's stone walls lining the road.
However, we did eventually find it. We climbed over a farmer's fence and stood on the actual wall. (Apparently you can hike it as well. Lots of hostels along the way. If only I had someone who would go with me.) So I got to stand on the famous Roman remains.
We got back and had our second amazing meal. This one consisted of succulent roasted chicken, mini potatoes, and Brussels sprouts with cheese. Fabulous. And we were getting on with them well, so they asked us to stay another night. We had planned to leave for York tomorrow afternoon, and stay with some folks there. But we decided instead to stay another night with Sanet and Eugene.
[Monday] Amanda and I took the train to York. There are these places on the walls all over the cities that you can do rubbings to complete a map of York. Sadly we had neither paper nor crayons, so we do not have a self-made map. Next time. We first found ourselves at Trinity Church. It is one of the oldest churches around, and once served as a monastery. It is the only one of these that maintained being a church during the whole Henry VIII. It was also used as a Catholic school for girls in secret (when everyone was Protestant) and therefore is one of the oldest. We got to see some old stocks while we were there as well. (Also, we looked at the markers all over the church, and over half of them had the name Elizabeth on them. One of them even had Elizabeth Jane. It turns out that York is my town.)
We headed then the Roman ruins. There was a wall built around the city and underneath bits of this wall, they discovered Roman remains. There were coffins, one of which is child/Amanda sized, made of stone. And we also got to see the different levels of the walls, built all at different times.
From there we headed to York Minster. Jayne had said it was one of her favorite churches. We went in and started looking around, but it costs 6 pounds to get in. So because Amanda had already been in (on her previous trip) we decided that just I would go in, and she would look at the surrounding churches.
It was lovely. Lots of little details. There is a massive altar area with the organ that had painted pipes. There were lots of statues, and above the statues, even more smaller statues. Very intricate. There is also a bunch of stained glass. Sadly, the famous Great East Window is not currently on display because of restoration. They did have a giant cover of it, and a few samples of what the window looked like.
After the Minster, we walked down one of the oldest streets in York. We stopped at a chocolate shop to buy a present for the people we were staying with. We also got Jayne a card. Today was the day of her brother's funeral, and I knew it was going to be really tough on her.
We found Clifford's Tower, and watched a guy do stairs up and down. Then we went to the gift shop of the Castle Museum, but it was closing up, so we couldn't go in. We did stand outside and take pictures of the castle however, which is something Amanda hadn't done before. In the failing light, we made our way back to train station and headed back.
We had ginger salmon for dinner, with broccoli and salad. It had been a hard day for Jayne, of course. There were lots of hugs and tears and everyone went to bed rather early, kind of emotionally wiped.
We met Jayne outside of the train station. We drove through bits of Newcastle, seeing the famous bridges and some of the statues, and she then took us to her parents' house, Fred and Elizabeth. They gave us a cup of tea and we got to see some photos of Jayne's trip around bits of Asia and Australia. After that, Jayne took us to her friends' house, Sanet and Eugene. She was going to be staying with them as well while she was back for the week for her brother's funeral.
[It was just a bit confusing at different points because of the names. Jayne's real name, of course, is Elizabeth as well. Sanet calls her Lizzie Girl, so that wasn't too bad, but just a bit strange, especially later when we saw Jayne's mom again, and she would call me Elizabeth (which is also what she calls Jayne) and Jayne was rather confused. Except for the bits when Amanda called Jayne "Lizzie" (only happened like once) I was rather surprisingly clear on who everyone was talking to or about.]
Sanet and Eugene are wonderfully friendly people, and were really welcoming. They are both from South Africa, living in the UK. They have an adorable little dog called Midgey, who was certainly the baby of the family. (A miniature Yorkshire Terrier, it's the only small breed of dog I can really say I like.) Eugene is quite the cook, and had made lamb for us. Jayne suggested it, and we had heard about his lamb back in Korea so it had quite the reputation. And amazingly, it completely lived up, and I would say surpassed, it. It was a fantastic meal, the first of many. Rack of lamb cooked with rosemary and lemon, mini potatoes, broccoli with cheese, and mixed vegetables (parsnips, carrots, peppers, onions). We ended the evening with a movie, chocolate and red wine.
[Sunday] After being served coffee in bed (a daily ritual), we got a relaxing start. Sanet had loaned Jayne her car so she could take us around. Everyone had different suggestions as to where we should go. We started off going to Durham, which we had seen from the train. They have a castle and a cathedral. The castle is now used as college housing. Durham is one of four universities in the UK made of colleges: Oxford, Cambridge, St. Andrews, and Durham. One of the colleges there is called Castle College.
After checking that out, we walked to the Cathedral. It was very pretty inside, though you aren't allowed to take pictures. There was also a service happening while we were there, so we went into one of the little side alcove. There was a large coffin there, and I asked who was in it. Jayne said it was "a guy named Bede." I was so excited. I got to see the final resting place of the Venerable St. Bede! It was funny because she didn't know he was anyone that people outside of the Northeast of England would really know. She certainly didn't think he was world famous. (I remember being in Oxford, and one of my favorite things was getting to read Bede, rather than read about him.) It was cool. We even got to see a priest lighting the candle above him. (I took an illegal photo there. I couldn't help it.)
We went outside and walked across the bridge to look at the Cathedral from the other side. Apparently, Jayne used to come there to draw it for her art class at school. (She hiked nearby mountains to collect rocks for geography, and studied the effects of towns (and their garbage) on rivers. Not to mention all the places they could go for history. Kinda not fair.)
We then got back in the car and went to Seahouses. It was right on the coast. We could see Bamburgh Castle in the distance. We stopped at a little shop and got Fish and Chips. The lady also gave me some "scraps." (Pretty much congestive heart failure in meal.) It was great. Like my father, Jayne likes her fish and chips with malt vinegar, but neither Amanda or I do. We sat out on benches overlooking the sea, and it was rather windy and cold, but perfectly lovely. None of us quite finished our chips (Amanda hardly made an attempt) so we fed the seagulls and watched them fight for the bits. (I also saw how close I could tempt them to come by dropping a little trail of chips up to our benches.)
Following that, we drove out to the castle. When we made it to the top of the hill, we discovered the castle was currently closed, because it was winter. However, much of it has been converted to private housing, so it was okay. We instead walked over the frozen grass covered dunes, picking our way carefully to keep from falling. (Both Jayne and I didn't make it.) We walked along the beach and I collected limpet shells. I've never seen so many all together in so many different types. Normally, you might find one amongst a bunch of others, but here, the primary shell was limpets.
We started the long drive back, made longer because I had a request. Jayne had told me before that she lived near Hadrian's Wall. And I wanted to see it. So we saw the little bit that cam into Newcastle, but then ventured further and drove for quite a while until we started following signs. We were out into the countryside, but still couldn't find the wall. (Much of it has been torn down for fences and houses over the centuries.) Jayne kept asking, "Where's the wall?" and I replied, "I can see two," pointing at the little farmer's stone walls lining the road.
However, we did eventually find it. We climbed over a farmer's fence and stood on the actual wall. (Apparently you can hike it as well. Lots of hostels along the way. If only I had someone who would go with me.) So I got to stand on the famous Roman remains.
We got back and had our second amazing meal. This one consisted of succulent roasted chicken, mini potatoes, and Brussels sprouts with cheese. Fabulous. And we were getting on with them well, so they asked us to stay another night. We had planned to leave for York tomorrow afternoon, and stay with some folks there. But we decided instead to stay another night with Sanet and Eugene.
[Monday] Amanda and I took the train to York. There are these places on the walls all over the cities that you can do rubbings to complete a map of York. Sadly we had neither paper nor crayons, so we do not have a self-made map. Next time. We first found ourselves at Trinity Church. It is one of the oldest churches around, and once served as a monastery. It is the only one of these that maintained being a church during the whole Henry VIII. It was also used as a Catholic school for girls in secret (when everyone was Protestant) and therefore is one of the oldest. We got to see some old stocks while we were there as well. (Also, we looked at the markers all over the church, and over half of them had the name Elizabeth on them. One of them even had Elizabeth Jane. It turns out that York is my town.)
We headed then the Roman ruins. There was a wall built around the city and underneath bits of this wall, they discovered Roman remains. There were coffins, one of which is child/Amanda sized, made of stone. And we also got to see the different levels of the walls, built all at different times.
From there we headed to York Minster. Jayne had said it was one of her favorite churches. We went in and started looking around, but it costs 6 pounds to get in. So because Amanda had already been in (on her previous trip) we decided that just I would go in, and she would look at the surrounding churches.
It was lovely. Lots of little details. There is a massive altar area with the organ that had painted pipes. There were lots of statues, and above the statues, even more smaller statues. Very intricate. There is also a bunch of stained glass. Sadly, the famous Great East Window is not currently on display because of restoration. They did have a giant cover of it, and a few samples of what the window looked like.
After the Minster, we walked down one of the oldest streets in York. We stopped at a chocolate shop to buy a present for the people we were staying with. We also got Jayne a card. Today was the day of her brother's funeral, and I knew it was going to be really tough on her.
We found Clifford's Tower, and watched a guy do stairs up and down. Then we went to the gift shop of the Castle Museum, but it was closing up, so we couldn't go in. We did stand outside and take pictures of the castle however, which is something Amanda hadn't done before. In the failing light, we made our way back to train station and headed back.
We had ginger salmon for dinner, with broccoli and salad. It had been a hard day for Jayne, of course. There were lots of hugs and tears and everyone went to bed rather early, kind of emotionally wiped.
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