high time for a "real" post

Now Playing: Focus on the Family Radio Theatre, "The Voyage of the 'Dawn Treader'" by C.S. Lewis. Track 3, "On Board the 'Dawn Treader'".

Well, I'm sorry that I haven't posted on here in so long. But this week has gone fairly well. Three papers are done, with one to go, due at the end of finals week. Today I'm playing my flute jury (for which I'd appreciate prayer), and after that, there's finals.

Another piece of good news: Esther came back to Tulsa yesterday. She's in the apartment she's been living in this semester with Syneva and one of their other friends, Rachael.

Yesterday was a fairly normal day, but since it's been awhile, I guess I'll just tell you all about what happened then.

Classes are starting to draw to a close. In MBW today, Dr. F brought in two recordings: one of "Beowulf" read in Old English, and one of the same poem read in modern English by Seamus Heaney, an Irishman who recently made a famous translation of "Beowulf". She played excerpts from both readings for us, the Old English first. I shut my eyes and listened in delight to the hard, bright syllables, the sharp, warlike rhythm. I could catch some of the phrases. Then she played "Beowulf" in modern English. Heaney read mellowly, soothing, turning the battle poem into a lullaby. When the excerpts were over, Dr. F asked us what the differences were between the two. She asked, "Would you all like it if I put on the Anglo-Saxon reading for the rest of the class period?" She expected, and got, an enthusiastic "No!" from everyone--except me, of course, who sat and smouldered quietly at the back of the room. "You could fall asleep to Heaney's reading," someone said happily. I wrinkled my nose. I could've listened to the Anglo-Saxon indefinitely: harsh in its loveliness, like sunshine streaking through clouds, clashing on wet grass. I must say that Dr. F always gets the response she wants from the class. She may claim, and the students may boast, that they're thinking for themselves and being truthful and innovative, but they're all sitting smugly on the same bandwagon together.

In archaeology, Dr. O lectured more about the Maya, the last civilization we've studied this semester. Like Dr. F, Dr. O always draws in the most abrasive political criticism--he usually isn't openly angry about it, but he snidely mocks Christianity and Conservatives. Like Dr. F, who harps endlessly on the fact that Heaney, an Irishman, definitively translated the English "Beowulf". Dr. O is always wagging his head about overpopulation and the like, which seems ironic, considering that the population of the world could comfortably fit into the state of Texas! Either their conclusions are warped, or they make an enormous mountain out of a molehill. Both of them also adopt the confident position, "We used to think.... Now we know....", as though modern man is now omniscient. Darwinism at work: progress is assumed. *cough* "I've seen it all in an egg. In Narnia, we call that going bad."

After class, I practiced my flute. As I swabbed out my flute in my room, A.C. knocked on my door. I was pleased and surprised: she moved out of the dorm last week, and I didn't think I'd see her again. The two of us ate lunch with Tara and Alisha. I spent the afternoon working on my Honors paper, typing up a study guide for archaeology, and sleeping. The Honors paper has been enjoyable to write: poking through dusty old books about Anglo-Saxon poetry, reading scraps on their history and looking at glossy pictures of intricate jewelry and crumbling walls. One book I found is a wonderful anthology of the different genres of Anglo-Saxon literature, with a nice, concise history of the people in the front, and photographs of artifacts and architecture sprinkled throughout.

There were very few people in the cafeteria during supper this evening. Most of the other RUFers, including Rachel, went to spend the weekend at a vacation house on Grand Lake. A family in the church that most of the RUFers go to owns the vacation house, and occasionally invites everyone down there for a weekend. After supper, I walked around campus, studied, then went to a performance of a student string quartet in Tyrrell Hall. Syneva was playing cello. They performed Schubert's "Death and the Maiden" string quartet, the quartet in D minor. They played very well: an intense, delightful performance of a very difficult piece of music. Syneva frowned angrily at the low, growly bits, or raised her eyebrows at the plucking, and grinned at the first violinist as each movement began. I heard someone say afterward, "That cellist is crazy!", which made me smile.

After the concert, there was a reception in the hallway outside the performance hall. Mrs. C, Syneva's mother, brought a small chocolate fountain, and fruit to dip in the melted chocolate. One of the other girls brought cookies, and the second violinist's mother, who's Greek, made baklava. I stood and chatted with Mrs. C and Mandi. Mrs. C watched in consternation as people accidentally dribbled melted chocolate in her new white brocade tablecloth. A plump woman served fluffy pink punch, and everyone crowded in the hall and talked. I ate a piece of the baklava--gooey and crunchy, and so honey-sweet as to be almost bitter.

I ran back to my dorm, for the sheer joy of it, and showered, and tried to go to sleep. Of course, the girl who lives next door to me, as usual, had friends over, and they were (also as usual) watching a noisy movie. So it took a long while before I finally drifted off.