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| spring |
28 February 2008
20 February 2008
lots of language and lots of dishes
Now Playing: Coldplay, "Don't Panic".
Despite all the work we'd gone to yesterday to get our room warmed up, it was still freezing this morning. Ah, well. Emmaline bolted down a bowlful of frosted rice krispies and warm milk (!) before dashing off to her French class. I spent the morning reading A History of the English Language and then going to ENL204 lecture and tutorial. The aforementioned textbook for this class fascinates me: in particular, the lists of words, which tell you when the words were taken into English and why. It's amazing to see the immediate connection between history and language. Reading through the lists of words taken from church Latin, Viking pirates, Norman conquerors, and Flemish tradesmen, one begins to find a sense of the vast richness of the English language. In particular, the number of synonyms: English may appear to have a hugely superfluous vocabulary, but each set of words that seems to mean the same thing is actually a constellation of various shades of meaning, each word with its own set of connotations. For instance, if I were to "ask" for something, that would be quite different from "pleading", "begging", "demanding", or "requiring".
After class, I went back to Renwick, where I found a beautiful little parcel waiting for me on the hall table from Mrs. Parnell and Mary. With her usual artistic care, Mrs. Parnell had drawn colorful flowers on the outside of the package, and inside I found two beautifully made little cards, one from Mrs. Parnell and one from Mary, accompanying a pair of tightly-knit aqua socks. My delight at the creativity of the cards made me immediately want to make something of my own, but unfortunately my repertoire of crafty materials is reduced to whatever colored papers Emmaline happens to have on her shelf and the brush pens I bought at Tesco last fall.
I helped Rachel fix communal lunch this afternoon. She had to be somewhere at one o'clock, so our efforts were frantic, to say the least. Her sister, Lindsey, was visiting, and pitched in along with Daphne, Catherine, Emma, and Linsey. We grilled sausages and had buns ("baps"), onions, and cheese to go along. There weren't many people at lunch today, despite the fact that the boys had a football match this afternoon. I sat between Linsey and Heather and talked with them, Heather chirping away merrily about her classes.
After lunch, Emmaline went to choir. I holed up in my room and talked to Logan on Skype for an hour or so. I hadn't done that in awhile and was treated to an enormous surprise, in the shape of his new beard--! I finished reading the two chapters in the ENL204 textbook, then browsed the news on Google, which was so depressing that I got out my flute and practiced for awhile. I love practicing: concentrating on the circle of sound, not having to think outside that frame of reference, simply listening to each note and seeking to tune it as truly as possible. I'm working on learning Bach Sonata BWV1030, the leaps challenging me because of my lack of practice.
Emmaline came back from choir, and I put my flute away while she was in the room. We studied staidely for awhile, until Sarah W. rang, and I, looking out the window, saw her and Charlotte standing across the street. I opened the window and had a conversation with them while Emmaline wriggled into shorts, and then the three of them went off to the gym. Resigning myself to staying behind, I managed to get about half my homework done. Dusk fell outside, a pale full moon shining like a lidded eye behind thin clouds.
At about five-thirty I went downstairs to start making tea. Emma was in the kitchen as I scrubbed and diced potatoes for mashed potatoes. Soon she went out, though, and I was left alone, humming Psalms to myself as I washed dishes and kept an eye on the boiling potatoes. Emmaline and I had mashed potatoes, sausages, and vegetables for tea--she had had to go by Centra to buy milk, and had bought a couple of little smoothies at the same time, a raspberry-cranberry and a mango-orange, to add some excitement to the meal. Rachel, Daphne, and Charlotte ate with us, keeping Emmaline and me laughing.
After tea, Emmaline and I sat up in our room and "studied". I finished my homework, put new pictures up on my bulletin board, etc., while Emmaline worked on a French translation. At nine o'clock, Pastor and Mrs. McKay, from Shaftesbury Square RPC, came up to Renwick to have a chat with the students. Pastor McKay is the Renwick chaplain, so he gave us a short talk inviting us to come to him whenever we have questions and encouraging us to stay for church on Sabbaths. Mrs. McKay had brought two amazing cakes, chocolate and lemon cheesecake, and we stood around in the kitchen eating and talking. The McKays are kind people, cordial, with warm humor. They stayed for an hour or so. We washed the dishes and put them away, to Mrs. McKay's amazement.
After they left, Andy M., Andy L., Samuel, Rachel, Emmaline, and I stayed in the kitchen, chatting for an hour: Rachel tried to convince us that physics, not math, is the "fabric of the universe"; we talked about why the speed of light is always the same; we told funny stories about circuses, gymnastics, and silly tricks we'd played as children; we laughed about hiking and getting lost in the mountains. We talked about politics, too, and the control of the media. It was great fun just to relax for awhile, without the constant brunt of sarcasm, to tell funny stories and realize just how much we have in common.
The talk ended when Andy M. went up to bed at eleven o'clock. Emmaline and I went back to our room. We read John Cleese's "Letter to America", laughing hilariously. She's attempting to finish her French translation and discussing feminism with me at the same time...!
Good night, or good morning, whichever it is by now.
Despite all the work we'd gone to yesterday to get our room warmed up, it was still freezing this morning. Ah, well. Emmaline bolted down a bowlful of frosted rice krispies and warm milk (!) before dashing off to her French class. I spent the morning reading A History of the English Language and then going to ENL204 lecture and tutorial. The aforementioned textbook for this class fascinates me: in particular, the lists of words, which tell you when the words were taken into English and why. It's amazing to see the immediate connection between history and language. Reading through the lists of words taken from church Latin, Viking pirates, Norman conquerors, and Flemish tradesmen, one begins to find a sense of the vast richness of the English language. In particular, the number of synonyms: English may appear to have a hugely superfluous vocabulary, but each set of words that seems to mean the same thing is actually a constellation of various shades of meaning, each word with its own set of connotations. For instance, if I were to "ask" for something, that would be quite different from "pleading", "begging", "demanding", or "requiring".
After class, I went back to Renwick, where I found a beautiful little parcel waiting for me on the hall table from Mrs. Parnell and Mary. With her usual artistic care, Mrs. Parnell had drawn colorful flowers on the outside of the package, and inside I found two beautifully made little cards, one from Mrs. Parnell and one from Mary, accompanying a pair of tightly-knit aqua socks. My delight at the creativity of the cards made me immediately want to make something of my own, but unfortunately my repertoire of crafty materials is reduced to whatever colored papers Emmaline happens to have on her shelf and the brush pens I bought at Tesco last fall.
I helped Rachel fix communal lunch this afternoon. She had to be somewhere at one o'clock, so our efforts were frantic, to say the least. Her sister, Lindsey, was visiting, and pitched in along with Daphne, Catherine, Emma, and Linsey. We grilled sausages and had buns ("baps"), onions, and cheese to go along. There weren't many people at lunch today, despite the fact that the boys had a football match this afternoon. I sat between Linsey and Heather and talked with them, Heather chirping away merrily about her classes.
After lunch, Emmaline went to choir. I holed up in my room and talked to Logan on Skype for an hour or so. I hadn't done that in awhile and was treated to an enormous surprise, in the shape of his new beard--! I finished reading the two chapters in the ENL204 textbook, then browsed the news on Google, which was so depressing that I got out my flute and practiced for awhile. I love practicing: concentrating on the circle of sound, not having to think outside that frame of reference, simply listening to each note and seeking to tune it as truly as possible. I'm working on learning Bach Sonata BWV1030, the leaps challenging me because of my lack of practice.
Emmaline came back from choir, and I put my flute away while she was in the room. We studied staidely for awhile, until Sarah W. rang, and I, looking out the window, saw her and Charlotte standing across the street. I opened the window and had a conversation with them while Emmaline wriggled into shorts, and then the three of them went off to the gym. Resigning myself to staying behind, I managed to get about half my homework done. Dusk fell outside, a pale full moon shining like a lidded eye behind thin clouds.
At about five-thirty I went downstairs to start making tea. Emma was in the kitchen as I scrubbed and diced potatoes for mashed potatoes. Soon she went out, though, and I was left alone, humming Psalms to myself as I washed dishes and kept an eye on the boiling potatoes. Emmaline and I had mashed potatoes, sausages, and vegetables for tea--she had had to go by Centra to buy milk, and had bought a couple of little smoothies at the same time, a raspberry-cranberry and a mango-orange, to add some excitement to the meal. Rachel, Daphne, and Charlotte ate with us, keeping Emmaline and me laughing.
After tea, Emmaline and I sat up in our room and "studied". I finished my homework, put new pictures up on my bulletin board, etc., while Emmaline worked on a French translation. At nine o'clock, Pastor and Mrs. McKay, from Shaftesbury Square RPC, came up to Renwick to have a chat with the students. Pastor McKay is the Renwick chaplain, so he gave us a short talk inviting us to come to him whenever we have questions and encouraging us to stay for church on Sabbaths. Mrs. McKay had brought two amazing cakes, chocolate and lemon cheesecake, and we stood around in the kitchen eating and talking. The McKays are kind people, cordial, with warm humor. They stayed for an hour or so. We washed the dishes and put them away, to Mrs. McKay's amazement.
After they left, Andy M., Andy L., Samuel, Rachel, Emmaline, and I stayed in the kitchen, chatting for an hour: Rachel tried to convince us that physics, not math, is the "fabric of the universe"; we talked about why the speed of light is always the same; we told funny stories about circuses, gymnastics, and silly tricks we'd played as children; we laughed about hiking and getting lost in the mountains. We talked about politics, too, and the control of the media. It was great fun just to relax for awhile, without the constant brunt of sarcasm, to tell funny stories and realize just how much we have in common.
The talk ended when Andy M. went up to bed at eleven o'clock. Emmaline and I went back to our room. We read John Cleese's "Letter to America", laughing hilariously. She's attempting to finish her French translation and discussing feminism with me at the same time...!
Good night, or good morning, whichever it is by now.
I may regret this
Here's an amusing link, thanks to my aunt, having to do with people's use of language. Though I'm not really sure the U.K. would want to be associated with the U.S. at all these days.... (Apologies for any slightly off-color humor.)
http://starrgazr.wordpress.com/2008/02/15/john-cleeses-letter-to-america/
And in reply to two anonymous comments:
I wouldn't want to build a bridge even if you paid me.
Caedmon was an Old English cowherd (though his name is Welsh, so maybe he's not as Old English as some people would like to think) who wouldn't sing at feasts because he didn't have any skill with singing or playing the harp. In Bede's account, the story goes that one night when it was coming time for Caedmon's turn to sing at a feast, he crept out of the hall and went to take care of the cattle, which was his job. After he'd seen to his work, he lay down in the barn and went to sleep. But while he was asleep, he had a vision that someone came to him, called him by name, and commanded him to sing. He replied that he didn't know how to sing, or what to sing, and the man told him that he should sing about creation. So Caedmon sang a few lines of Old English poetry praising God for creation, and that was supposedly the first Christian Old English poetry. After his dream, Caedmon discovered that he had somehow miraculously acquired the gift of poetry. He joined a monastery, and though he couldn't read, he had other people read to him. When he had heard the Biblical narratives read aloud, he meditated on them and then turned them in to poetry.
http://starrgazr.wordpress.com/2008/02/15/john-cleeses-letter-to-america/
And in reply to two anonymous comments:
I wouldn't want to build a bridge even if you paid me.
Caedmon was an Old English cowherd (though his name is Welsh, so maybe he's not as Old English as some people would like to think) who wouldn't sing at feasts because he didn't have any skill with singing or playing the harp. In Bede's account, the story goes that one night when it was coming time for Caedmon's turn to sing at a feast, he crept out of the hall and went to take care of the cattle, which was his job. After he'd seen to his work, he lay down in the barn and went to sleep. But while he was asleep, he had a vision that someone came to him, called him by name, and commanded him to sing. He replied that he didn't know how to sing, or what to sing, and the man told him that he should sing about creation. So Caedmon sang a few lines of Old English poetry praising God for creation, and that was supposedly the first Christian Old English poetry. After his dream, Caedmon discovered that he had somehow miraculously acquired the gift of poetry. He joined a monastery, and though he couldn't read, he had other people read to him. When he had heard the Biblical narratives read aloud, he meditated on them and then turned them in to poetry.
18 February 2008
silliness, anyone?
Now Playing: Skype conversations with Peter and Sarah/Laura.
The room was so incredibly cold when we woke up this morning that it was hardly even funny. Emmaline woke up to do her devotions and then crawled back to take refuge under her duvet while I sat bundled in a coccoon of jumpers and a blanket at my desk. When we went downstairs to get breakfast, the kitchen was actually warmer than our room, which is strange since it's usually the coldest place in the house.
At ten o'clock I had ENG314, Literature, Art, and Culture of the Anglo-Saxons. We finished discussing Bede's Ecclesiastical History today. It is interesting (wait, no, I'll find another word, Peter)--it is curious how much Bede refers to Biblical sources and how Biblical characters find resonances throughout his stories of saints and kings. Even the story of Caedmon is reminiscent both of the calling of Samuel and of the nativity, where the Word of God was born out of nothing in a stable. Finding Biblical echoes is one of the professor's favorite activities, anyway, so that's what I learned all about today.
After class, as usual, I went running, except that for some strange reason I had bad leg cramps today and had to spend my half-hour on the stationary bike instead of the treadmill, which wasn't nearly as satisfying or challenging. Walking back through the Botanic Gardens was lovely, the sun shining on a cold day. The crocus buds are as big as a child's fists, waxy white and purple.
Back in Renwick, I found Daphne and Catherine on the stairs, getting ready to go out to lunch. There was a rather sickening rancid smell in the stairwell: apparently, the product of another loving gift from the all-male Daphne Fan Club. Someone had put raw meat in her cupboard over the weekend, and it had gone all grey and gross.
They two went out to lunch, and I took a shower, the only time I've been warm all weekend. Then I had lunch myself, PB&J, a little tangerine, and a penguin, with tea, because for some reason you always have to drink tea with penguins.
And now I'm talking with Sarah on Skype, and Laura is talking in the background. My sister certainly hasn't gotten any more serious since I left...! Close-ups of guinea pigs and cats in the video, and of Sarah's mouth being duct-taped. Wow. Whispering to Sarah so that Laura won't hear, even though Laura is thousands of miles away... good fun.
Last week on Valentine's Day someone in the house left little presents on everyone's doors, each present with a Bible verse to go along. I happen to have an inkling as to who the someone was, and they happened to have told me what each person got and why:
Rachel, in Room 1, received a candle, with the verse about letting your light shine before men because of her interest in outreach.
Ian, in Room 2, received a pint glass because he's always disgusted with how small the cups are in Renwick. Matthew got a toy car because he got his driver's license last fall.
Linsey, in Room 3, was given a cup with little people on it that twist around so that they all have different outfits on.
Emmaline got a Tigger mug, and I was given a journal. Now those two gifts I do not understand at all.... *grin*
Phil was given a clock with footballs on it, since obviously football is one of his top pursuits. Andy M. was given a teapot--certain people in the house have remarked on the fact that he always makes his tea in a teapot instead of straight in the cup, the way the rest of us uncivilized folk do.
Deborah and Emma were both given items that had their Disney characters on them: Deborah had a Snow White photo album, and Emma a Cinderella pen.
Andy L., in Room 7, was given a set of egg cups since he eats lots of boiled eggs, and Samuel was given balloons. Whoever decided that one wasn't too bright since water balloons have been known to be dropped from the window of Room 7 on unsuspecting passers-by in the street.
Catherine was given a bear on a keyring, for cuteness' sake, I suppose, and, the funniest of all, some joker decided that Daphne needed a bottle of blond hair dye to help her cure her case of ginger-ness. Why the same person didn't decide to give me the same thing, I'm not sure.
So that was our Valentine's Day excitement.
Well, thank you all for reading.
The room was so incredibly cold when we woke up this morning that it was hardly even funny. Emmaline woke up to do her devotions and then crawled back to take refuge under her duvet while I sat bundled in a coccoon of jumpers and a blanket at my desk. When we went downstairs to get breakfast, the kitchen was actually warmer than our room, which is strange since it's usually the coldest place in the house.
At ten o'clock I had ENG314, Literature, Art, and Culture of the Anglo-Saxons. We finished discussing Bede's Ecclesiastical History today. It is interesting (wait, no, I'll find another word, Peter)--it is curious how much Bede refers to Biblical sources and how Biblical characters find resonances throughout his stories of saints and kings. Even the story of Caedmon is reminiscent both of the calling of Samuel and of the nativity, where the Word of God was born out of nothing in a stable. Finding Biblical echoes is one of the professor's favorite activities, anyway, so that's what I learned all about today.
After class, as usual, I went running, except that for some strange reason I had bad leg cramps today and had to spend my half-hour on the stationary bike instead of the treadmill, which wasn't nearly as satisfying or challenging. Walking back through the Botanic Gardens was lovely, the sun shining on a cold day. The crocus buds are as big as a child's fists, waxy white and purple.
Back in Renwick, I found Daphne and Catherine on the stairs, getting ready to go out to lunch. There was a rather sickening rancid smell in the stairwell: apparently, the product of another loving gift from the all-male Daphne Fan Club. Someone had put raw meat in her cupboard over the weekend, and it had gone all grey and gross.
They two went out to lunch, and I took a shower, the only time I've been warm all weekend. Then I had lunch myself, PB&J, a little tangerine, and a penguin, with tea, because for some reason you always have to drink tea with penguins.
And now I'm talking with Sarah on Skype, and Laura is talking in the background. My sister certainly hasn't gotten any more serious since I left...! Close-ups of guinea pigs and cats in the video, and of Sarah's mouth being duct-taped. Wow. Whispering to Sarah so that Laura won't hear, even though Laura is thousands of miles away... good fun.
Last week on Valentine's Day someone in the house left little presents on everyone's doors, each present with a Bible verse to go along. I happen to have an inkling as to who the someone was, and they happened to have told me what each person got and why:
Rachel, in Room 1, received a candle, with the verse about letting your light shine before men because of her interest in outreach.
Ian, in Room 2, received a pint glass because he's always disgusted with how small the cups are in Renwick. Matthew got a toy car because he got his driver's license last fall.
Linsey, in Room 3, was given a cup with little people on it that twist around so that they all have different outfits on.
Emmaline got a Tigger mug, and I was given a journal. Now those two gifts I do not understand at all.... *grin*
Phil was given a clock with footballs on it, since obviously football is one of his top pursuits. Andy M. was given a teapot--certain people in the house have remarked on the fact that he always makes his tea in a teapot instead of straight in the cup, the way the rest of us uncivilized folk do.
Deborah and Emma were both given items that had their Disney characters on them: Deborah had a Snow White photo album, and Emma a Cinderella pen.
Andy L., in Room 7, was given a set of egg cups since he eats lots of boiled eggs, and Samuel was given balloons. Whoever decided that one wasn't too bright since water balloons have been known to be dropped from the window of Room 7 on unsuspecting passers-by in the street.
Catherine was given a bear on a keyring, for cuteness' sake, I suppose, and, the funniest of all, some joker decided that Daphne needed a bottle of blond hair dye to help her cure her case of ginger-ness. Why the same person didn't decide to give me the same thing, I'm not sure.
So that was our Valentine's Day excitement.
Well, thank you all for reading.
12 February 2008
confession
Now Playing: Loreena McKennitt, An Ancient Muse. Track 4, "Caravanserai".
One of the things that Emmaline and I are fond of complaining about to each other is how much people make generalizations that are entirely untrue. Today I found myself doing just that, and found myself in turn being contradicted, as usually happens when I start making sweeping statements.
So, the generalization that bit the dust today: "No one reads this blog." Most of you have heard me say that at some point, and I think it's high time for a standing apology. If I mean by "no one" that the entire population of the planet doesn't read it, that's correct. But I don't think I'd really like that. It would be very strange to know that the FBI or President Bush or (as a nod to politics here) Queen Elizabeth or Gordon Brown were interested in the details of my life. I'm quite thankful for those who do read (especially if they leave comments *grin*).
Anyway, the occasion for this apology is a case in point, and proves not only that generalizations are silly but also that Google has such powers of digging up the very deepest depths of the internet that I'm beginning to be very suspicious of it.
The long and short of the whole business is that a certain member of Renwick House looked up their name on Google and was unfortunate enough to stumble across this treasure trove of knowledge (read: sarcasm). As Emmaline and I were chatting after lunch this afternoon, she told me that thanks to this particular friend of ours, everyone in Renwick now knows that I have a blog, and reads it, too. It would seem that they've been whiling away all those early mornings in the common room when I've been innocently asleep by reading this and commenting on my descriptions of them.
Ha. My life just got more interesting.
So from here on out, no more generalizations about blogging, and if any of you hear me making them, you have permission to kick me (gently, please).
Incidentally, the whole thing started this afternoon when Emmaline was trying to take a nap before her tutorial. A truck with a backhoe extension mounted on the back pulled up outside our window just as she was dropping off and started to make a racket, so I leaned out the window and described it to her. When I turned round, I discovered that she was grinning at me. "It's so obvious you're an English major whenever you talk or describe something, just like when Charlotte gets going about food," she said.
I grin right back in complete agreement and say: If the world were all English majors, or all Food Nutrition, Health, and Safety majors, or even all Maths majors, it would be a boring place. So long live our differences, though I'll try to tone down my vocabulary for everyone else so as to use only words of one syllable.
Wow. That's going to work well.
It's actually sunny here today. And mild. Walking through the gardens was pure bliss yesterday, with the mild sunshine coming through the trees, which are beginning to bud. Daffodils and snowdrops, and on one green lea under a young maple tree a shimmering spread of crocuses damp with the morning's mist.
Well, I've got the Venerable Bede sitting beside me on my bed, waiting to be read. He's got about a hundred more pages of English ecclesiastical history waiting to be crammed into my brain. Lovely. I just finished the best bit, about Caedmon, the first known English poet. From here on out it's all synods and saints (like the alliteration there?).
Hum.
This is much more interesting. Exhausted hyperness, anyone? I haven't even finished writing all the e-mails I have to answer. But I had a great time at lunch watching Daphne and Rachel play off each other. Their dancing abilities are pretty spectacular, let me tell you.
And since they're probably going to read this and laugh hysterically at me, I think I'll stop here for now.
One of the things that Emmaline and I are fond of complaining about to each other is how much people make generalizations that are entirely untrue. Today I found myself doing just that, and found myself in turn being contradicted, as usually happens when I start making sweeping statements.
So, the generalization that bit the dust today: "No one reads this blog." Most of you have heard me say that at some point, and I think it's high time for a standing apology. If I mean by "no one" that the entire population of the planet doesn't read it, that's correct. But I don't think I'd really like that. It would be very strange to know that the FBI or President Bush or (as a nod to politics here) Queen Elizabeth or Gordon Brown were interested in the details of my life. I'm quite thankful for those who do read (especially if they leave comments *grin*).
Anyway, the occasion for this apology is a case in point, and proves not only that generalizations are silly but also that Google has such powers of digging up the very deepest depths of the internet that I'm beginning to be very suspicious of it.
The long and short of the whole business is that a certain member of Renwick House looked up their name on Google and was unfortunate enough to stumble across this treasure trove of knowledge (read: sarcasm). As Emmaline and I were chatting after lunch this afternoon, she told me that thanks to this particular friend of ours, everyone in Renwick now knows that I have a blog, and reads it, too. It would seem that they've been whiling away all those early mornings in the common room when I've been innocently asleep by reading this and commenting on my descriptions of them.
Ha. My life just got more interesting.
So from here on out, no more generalizations about blogging, and if any of you hear me making them, you have permission to kick me (gently, please).
Incidentally, the whole thing started this afternoon when Emmaline was trying to take a nap before her tutorial. A truck with a backhoe extension mounted on the back pulled up outside our window just as she was dropping off and started to make a racket, so I leaned out the window and described it to her. When I turned round, I discovered that she was grinning at me. "It's so obvious you're an English major whenever you talk or describe something, just like when Charlotte gets going about food," she said.
I grin right back in complete agreement and say: If the world were all English majors, or all Food Nutrition, Health, and Safety majors, or even all Maths majors, it would be a boring place. So long live our differences, though I'll try to tone down my vocabulary for everyone else so as to use only words of one syllable.
Wow. That's going to work well.
It's actually sunny here today. And mild. Walking through the gardens was pure bliss yesterday, with the mild sunshine coming through the trees, which are beginning to bud. Daffodils and snowdrops, and on one green lea under a young maple tree a shimmering spread of crocuses damp with the morning's mist.
Well, I've got the Venerable Bede sitting beside me on my bed, waiting to be read. He's got about a hundred more pages of English ecclesiastical history waiting to be crammed into my brain. Lovely. I just finished the best bit, about Caedmon, the first known English poet. From here on out it's all synods and saints (like the alliteration there?).
Hum.
This is much more interesting. Exhausted hyperness, anyone? I haven't even finished writing all the e-mails I have to answer. But I had a great time at lunch watching Daphne and Rachel play off each other. Their dancing abilities are pretty spectacular, let me tell you.
And since they're probably going to read this and laugh hysterically at me, I think I'll stop here for now.
06 February 2008
and life goes on....
Now Playing: Brahms, Concerto for Piano and Orchestra No. 2 in B Flat. Track 1, Allegro non Troppo.
When Emmaline and I went downstairs for breakfast, we found Ian and Emma in the kitchen, and a tremendous mess on the floor, the remainders of an even bigger mess of sugar and rice, with which a certain group of boys had had a food fight the night before. Going into the common room to eat my cereal, I found Daphne attempting to check her e-mail (the internet has been terribly slow this week) in a defaced room: the long curtains had all been tied into a series of tight knots; the thank-you poster on the bulletin board had been changed into a spank-you poster; the odds and ends of mail left on the hall table had all been opened. It really was quite sad, especially when Rachel came in and saw the pranks that had been pulled and was both distressed and disgusted. It's not a very good witness to the cleaner, who's not a Christian, or even to the other Christians in the house. But if the boys are banned, then they just have the glow of notoriety of being banned from Renwick, which doesn't change anything....
Last night I went to the first study abroad dinner of the semester. Emmaline told me before I left to amuse myself by imagining all the things she'd do and by building pyramids with the salt packets in honor of herself and Philip. Unfortunately, they didn't have any salt packets, but imagining what Emmaline would've done to try to make conversation with such a foreign (literally and spiritually) group of people was rather amusing. A new crop of American students, pretty much the same as the last group. (And Fiona wanted to know why I didn't want to go on the Dublin weekend again!) The conversation revolved around the differences between American football and rugby, and the superbowl. Ian should've been there: He was comically disappointed when he found out that I have absolutely no interest in the superbowl (except perhaps as a weird cultural phenomenon) and reprooved me for being an American without any knowledge of American football.
Yesterday I went and checked out The Norton Anthology of Poetry, and as a result yesterday afternoon wrote two poems. Strange: It would appear necessary for me to be reading poetry in order to write the stuff. Not sure why that is, especially since the stuff I was reading yesterday was mostly of a very depressing nature (Pound, Lawrence, and Browning). After the dinner last night, I came back to Renwick only to find Linsey and Catherine watching a rather shady movie in the common room. So I curled up in Room 4 and read from "Lothlorien" to "The Great River". Those chapters, together with "Three Is Company", "In the House of Tom Bombadil", and "Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit" are probably my most favorite in the trilogy. Tolkien's art of creating a beautiful world, close but distant, is stunning.
Just to add a bit of excitement to our life, the shower broke this morning while Emmaline was using it. I meant to tell Rachel, but after seeing the mess the house was in, didn't have the heart. Hopefully some sturdy duct tape will do the trick.
As far as the weather goes, it's actually sunny today. We'll see how long that lasts. Like the internet connection: you never can tell....
When Emmaline and I went downstairs for breakfast, we found Ian and Emma in the kitchen, and a tremendous mess on the floor, the remainders of an even bigger mess of sugar and rice, with which a certain group of boys had had a food fight the night before. Going into the common room to eat my cereal, I found Daphne attempting to check her e-mail (the internet has been terribly slow this week) in a defaced room: the long curtains had all been tied into a series of tight knots; the thank-you poster on the bulletin board had been changed into a spank-you poster; the odds and ends of mail left on the hall table had all been opened. It really was quite sad, especially when Rachel came in and saw the pranks that had been pulled and was both distressed and disgusted. It's not a very good witness to the cleaner, who's not a Christian, or even to the other Christians in the house. But if the boys are banned, then they just have the glow of notoriety of being banned from Renwick, which doesn't change anything....
Last night I went to the first study abroad dinner of the semester. Emmaline told me before I left to amuse myself by imagining all the things she'd do and by building pyramids with the salt packets in honor of herself and Philip. Unfortunately, they didn't have any salt packets, but imagining what Emmaline would've done to try to make conversation with such a foreign (literally and spiritually) group of people was rather amusing. A new crop of American students, pretty much the same as the last group. (And Fiona wanted to know why I didn't want to go on the Dublin weekend again!) The conversation revolved around the differences between American football and rugby, and the superbowl. Ian should've been there: He was comically disappointed when he found out that I have absolutely no interest in the superbowl (except perhaps as a weird cultural phenomenon) and reprooved me for being an American without any knowledge of American football.
Yesterday I went and checked out The Norton Anthology of Poetry, and as a result yesterday afternoon wrote two poems. Strange: It would appear necessary for me to be reading poetry in order to write the stuff. Not sure why that is, especially since the stuff I was reading yesterday was mostly of a very depressing nature (Pound, Lawrence, and Browning). After the dinner last night, I came back to Renwick only to find Linsey and Catherine watching a rather shady movie in the common room. So I curled up in Room 4 and read from "Lothlorien" to "The Great River". Those chapters, together with "Three Is Company", "In the House of Tom Bombadil", and "Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit" are probably my most favorite in the trilogy. Tolkien's art of creating a beautiful world, close but distant, is stunning.
Just to add a bit of excitement to our life, the shower broke this morning while Emmaline was using it. I meant to tell Rachel, but after seeing the mess the house was in, didn't have the heart. Hopefully some sturdy duct tape will do the trick.
As far as the weather goes, it's actually sunny today. We'll see how long that lasts. Like the internet connection: you never can tell....
01 February 2008
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