Now Playing: The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis, dramatization by Focus on the Family Radio Theatre. Track 3, "The Signs".
We take a break from our regularly scheduled programming (i.e., writing essays) to bring you this special report, an episode from this past weekend, during which the CU small group Bible study that I'm in, with Rachel and Emmaline, went to Sheep Island View Hostel in Ballintoy for a weekend retreat. The MPC (maths-physics-computer science) small group is normally split into two groups, one that meets on Wednesday night and one that meets on Thursday night, but this weekend was a joint event.
April 19, 2008. This morning I woke up in my top bunk. The room was quiet. I always hate getting up first, so I waited until Allie got up. Allie is one of the leaders of the Wednesday night group, a lovely tall girl with luxurious straight strawberry blond hair. She went into the shower. I crawled out of my bunk and found Claire awake (not Claire W., but a girl who usually goes to the Wednesday night group, who looks like Laura's friend Michelle, and who is chirpy, friendly, and always ready to talk about anything and everything). Claire happily told me about her night: she and a group of others had gone out for a joyride to the beach at 2 a.m. We were sitting and laughing quietly about it when the sleeping bag bundled on one of the bottom bunks groaned and moved, and turned out to be a very sleepy Emmaline.
We got dressed in stages and were down in the kitchen for breakfast by ten o'clock or so. There were two other groups sharing the hostel this weekend, plus an assortment of French and Dutch travelers. After breakfast, Steve dismissed us to do our quiet times for forty-five minutes. I went outside, down the hill, across the little road, and to a bench at the edge of the fields facing north. Before me, two fields sloped down and up again, and where they sloped up, they ended, and beyond them was royal blue sea, flashing with waves. The morning was gorgeous: a bracing northeast wind, clear sunshine, aquamarine sky, gulls and rooks flying over the fields where tractors where plowing. Sheep and lambs grazed in a field nearby, and a small shaggy pony stood and watched from the field closest to me. I lasted about half-an-hour in the cold and brisk wind, and then retreated back into the hostel to finish my devotions in the deserted kitchen.
At half eleven, we grouped up in the common room of the hostel for our speaker, another Steven, a youth worker at Steve and Allie's church, to give us our second talk on the armor of God from Ephesians. We had a long discussion time, and then lunch.
After lunch, we eventually got ourselves sorted enough to get into cars and drive to Emmaline's family's farm to pick up things for the barbecue tonight. The afternoon was still lovely. When Emmaline was ready, we were split into four teams of three, and headed into Coleraine for our photo challenge--a scavenger hunt of sorts, though instead of taking pictures of objects, we were supposed to take pictures of ourselves doing a variety of crazy things. Claire, Emmaline, and I were together.
Our first stop was a little park in a green hollow in the town, near the main shopping area. Here we took a picture of us "hanging": Emmaline and Claire swinging upside-down from the monkey bars. Also, we took a picture of "upside-down": Claire holding me upside down by my feet while I did a handstand. "Hugging a tree" wasn't too difficult in a park. Then we walked on up the street into the central pedestrian shopping area. Here Emmaline and Claire ran into Topman so that I could take a picture of them posing "in a shop window". Emmaline stopped a man passing by to take a picture of the three of us "in a phone booth", and then Claire took a picture of Emmaline and me pretending to "sleep" on the edge of a planter. Emmaline and Claire both kept running into people they knew from school or church. Walking down toward the town hall, we noticed a group of soldiers picking up their equipment from a demonstration of some sort. Claire marched up to one of them and asked him for a picture; he, with good-humor, provided us with a picture of "someone in uniform". In down the street, Emmaline spotted a gift shop. "They're really nice in that shop," she said, so we popped in, and the two shopkeepers, both middle-aged women, were absolutely delighted to let us take a picture of us pretending to "work behind a counter". They then sent us down the street to a hairdresser's, where one of the girls in the salon pretended to cut Claire's hair for a picture of someone "getting a haircut".
Back out in the street, Claire and I took turns of each other "dancing". Emmaline and I practiced our two-hand reel in the middle of the street. We walked to the mall, where Emmaline found one of her school friends working in a shoe shop. She gleefully assisted us in our next challenge, a picture of us "buying something with shoes on our heads". Out in the mall again, Emmaline saw another of her school friends, a fluttery little girl, who took a "funny" picture of us sitting on a children's toy. In a bookstore a little further down, I took a picture of a "farmyard scene", composed of Emmaline and Claire holding up children's books about barn animals. Walking back to the car, we took a rather random picture of Claire and me, with our feet in plastic shopping bags, pretending to have a sack race, to satisfy the "winning a race" qualification.
On our way back to the car, we stopped in the park again. Emmaline asked a young man to take a picture of the three of us making a "pyramid", and then of the three of us "in midair", hanging from the swings on the swingset. We drove to another park where there was a fountain, and when we parked there, we asked a couple of boys who were hanging out near the car park to take a picture of us "in the boot of a car". There was a gazebo in the park, so Claire to our "scene from a movie" picture: Emmaline and me pretending to perform the sixteen-going-on-seventeen song from The Sound of Music. For our underwater picture, since we were running out of time, Emmaline went to the fountain in the park and stuck her head underneath it.
It was six o'clock, and the shops were beginning to close. On our way to the car, we found a shopping trolley outside Pound Stretchers, so I took our last photo, of Emmaline and Claire "in a shopping trolley".
Back at the hostel, we sat in the common room waiting for everyone else to come back. When everyone was back, we had our third talk. After the third talk, Rachel, Steve, Emmaline, and I went into the kitchen to collect the supplies for our barbecue. Allie and Matt went down to White Park Bay beach to start the fire. It took us awhile to get all the food together: Rachel and Steve had wisely decided to cook the meat first before we took it to the grill, but the ovens in the hostel were rather temperamental, so it took awhile.
Emmaline, Rachel, Steve, Nathan, and I drove down to the beach at last, at about half nine. The beach wasn't too far away--at least the car park wasn't, but the beach itself was a long walk down a steep hillside. We stood at the top of the hill staring out into the dark, trying to see the others, until finally we heard Phil shouting up at us faintly. We headed down the hill, slipping and tripping on odd flights of stairs cut into the hillside or on slippery patches. At last we found everyone else. The grill was set up in the lee of a ruined building, a house or church, its whitewashed bulk looming against the dark sky. In the east, above the crown of the hill, the full moon was rising through pale clouds. Faint stars were shining in the dark sky. Ahead of us, the dunes sloped down, overgrown with grass and furze, and the endless murmur of the sea hung on the edge of hearing. The ocean lay black beyond the dunes, the bulk of Rathlin Island dimly seen in the distance, its tip marked by the red flash of a warning beacon.
Of course in the shadow of the building it was pitch black, even as the moon shone more and more brightly. People brought out cellphones, and someone had a wind-up torch. Emmaline presided over the grill, while Phil and I brought out the meat in stages, and Rachel and Allie put the meat and buns together. No tables or anything, so Allie held the bowl of cheese and other condiments, while Rachel was in charge of the buns. We all huddled around the grill in a tight circle, as close to the warmth as we could get. Laughing, joking, general craziness: the cold night air seemed to have gone to everyone's heads. Someone had gone to buy drinks, and they handed around bottles of soft drinks since we'd forgotten to bring down cups. We ate the hot food right off the grill, sizzling and scorching our fingers. The wind curled around the corner of the building, kicking the sparks up into our faces, and making the grease drippings flare on the hot coals. The moonlight beyond the shadow of the building grew brighter and brighter. When everyone had had enough meat, Steve brought out bananas, marshmallows, and chocolate buttons in little aluminum foil packets, and put them on the grill. We toasted marshmallows, and when the desserts were cooked, we ate them hot off the gril, scraping the sticky mess out of the foil with plastic forks.
When we were done eating, everyone still stood around the warm fire. Laughing, talking, singing.... People tossed out campfire tunes, pop songs, snatches of hymns, lines from musicals, and joined in cheerfully (but tunelessly).
Eventually, Steve, Phil, and Rachel decided that it was time to go. Some of the boys went and got sand to use to douse the fire; the rest of us packed up the plastic bags with the remnants of our feast. The long trek up the hill to the cars seemed to last forever, winding up the hill on the pitted gravel road, hauling the bags, with the dark furze bushes on either side, and the moonlight making a lane between them. A couple of car-loads went on back to the hostel, but Emmaline, Rachel, Steve, and I waited around for Phil to come up from clearing up the grill. Nathan put on the dance music, and Emmaline and Rachel danced around the car park, their shadows sprawled ridiculously in the moonlight as they moved to the beat. We drove back to the hostel and sat around in the common room, where we looked at everyone's pictures from the afternoon. Lots of laughter, of course. Rachel's group, with Nathan and the two Stevens in it, had taken some absolutely ridiculous videos, and everyone clapped for Emmaline's underwater picture. "You're a living legend!" Rachel said. When we'd seen all the pictures, I went to bed. Claire and Emma (Wednesday night small group, second year; arrived this evening) came in, too, and whispered and giggled.
20 April 2008
13 April 2008
12 April 2008
i love these pictures
Nathanael, Emmaline, me, and Stephen at the Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland
Stephen and me outside the Natural History Museum in London
Thanks to my mother....
April 11, 2008
Now Playing: The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring soundtrack by Howard Shore. Track 1, "The Prophecy". I always listen to this music when I need to think or work or sleep or run or just about anything else... some of the best in the world.
It's been an incredibly rough week, but I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that through it all, God is good, quick to forgive, quick to pour out blessing unlooked-for. Take yesterday for an example:
It's been an incredibly rough week, but I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that through it all, God is good, quick to forgive, quick to pour out blessing unlooked-for. Take yesterday for an example:
Emmaline and I ate breakfast together for the first time in ages. She had bought pancakes yesterday, so we toasted one each, and after we ate ended up washing dishes and chatting. The counters were covered with dirty dishes, piled from last night. We washed them and stacked them in barely-balanced piles. After the dishes were done and the kitchen clean, I wrote in my journal and breezed out to ENG309 at ten o’clock. After class, I went to the gym to run. The day was lovely, and walking through the gardens I was struck by the beauty of bare branches against sky: smooth grey-green skin towering up against a blue so deep it was almost purple, with great white clouds moving behind. Robins, tits, and chaffinches singing in the forscythia bushes (see, mother dear, I'm putting that bird guide to good use).
I went running and then walked back to Renwick. Walking back through the gardens was delightful again, people out with their dogs, particularly a little white fluffy Snowy-type dog jogging along beside its mistress, looking very pert with its silky fur in the sunshine.
I showered in Renwick, went downstairs, and warmed up leftovers from last night for lunch. I was just curling up in a corner of the common room to eat and enjoy the banter before going upstairs to study (Naomi, Catherine, Ian, and lots of others were coming in and out) when Catherine blinked at me and said, "Oh, E--, I just sent Sarah up to your room!" Two seconds later, Sarah W. came in and said brightly, "E--, would you like to go to Cafe Renoir with us?" I stared at her, my lunch in my lap, blinked, reminded myself of a resolution I'd made to be more spontaneous (seems like a paradox, right?), and said, "Sure," with a laugh. The leftovers went right back into the fridge, to grow some unmentionable microorganisms, I'm sure, and I went upstairs to grab my jacket.
Sarah W. had one of the guys from her classes with her. The three of us walked down as far as Shaftesbury Square, where he went to a music store, and Sarah W. and I continued on to the city centre. We had a lovely time, just chatting lightly about this and that. The sun was shining and the afternoon was cool, though ahead of us the sky was a dark stormy grey: the greys and greens of the tall buildings, and the white spokes of the Belfast Eye, flashed against the clouds. As we were crossing the street by City Hall, it started to rain. Sarah W. had an umbrella, and I followed her through the maze of narrow pedestrian alleys behind Queen Street. She found the cafe, through a door, up a flight of stairs, and through another door--quiet, secluded, above the noise of the street, and mostly empty, only a few customers having early afternoon cups of tea.
She ordered a latte and a piece of cheesecake, and I (ravenous by now with the workout and long walk) ordered a vegetable wrap. We found a table in a quiet corner and talked. When the food came, it was good. The wrap was hot, full of colorful vegetables like a fiesta, and topped with fresh pesto. Sarah W. and I sat chatting away until Charlotte and Michaela joined us. They were both exhausted from having walked to the city centre with all their bags and books to carry home for the weekend. They ordered buns and drinks (buns/traybakes are the N. Irish equivalent of desserts, for those of you who don't know, and come in so many different forms and varieties that I couldn't begin to describe their deliciousness). We spent a lovely hour or so talking over silly things.
We went downstairs and back into the street. The afternoon had turned chilly. We stopped in the Faith Mission bookshop next door to see if I could find a copy of The Holiness of God. I was unsuccessful, but the other girls had great fun looking over the women's section. From there we walked through Castlecourt. A band was playing outside Castlecourt--brass, accordion, rattles, saxophone. We went down Queen Street, then ducked off into alleyways again until we found Victoria Square, the very fancy shmancy new shopping centre. One goes down a long, long flight of stairs from street level and finds oneself in a huge open atrium going up three or four stories, topped with a glass-and-metal fabric, with a dome in the middle. Shops stretch up on both sides so that one feels as though one is walking between narrow overhanging cliffs.
Sarah and Michaela had an errand to run in House of Fraser, so while they took care of that, Charlotte led me straight back to the little shop at the back of House of Fraser, Paperchase, that sells paper, cards, journals, pens, and such. On the way, we walked through gleaming glass shelves full of handbags and shoes, gasping at the prices on some of them. Charlotte showed me the journal she likes best in Paperchase, a teal journal with a red-purple-white design of flowers and birds on the front, rather like a stained glass window (in Rachel's words when she saw it later). Fine paper, beautiful lined pages. There were only two left: we bought one each.
When the other two girls returned, we went to Accessorize to look for things for the formal. Then the four of us said good-bye to each other. Charlotte and Michaela went to catch their bus, and Sarah W. and I walked back to Renwick, and we parted ways at City Hospital.
The early evening was again overcast. Just as I got into Renwick, it started to pour down rain. I found Rachel, Emmaline, and Catherine sitting in the common room, chatting, and I flopped down on the chairs next to Catherine to show her my new journal. Emmaline and Rachel were being fairly silly, keeping the four of us entertained.
Catherine and I were both getting hungry. Eventually, Emmaline said, "You know how I promised I'd make tea tonight? And you know how it's the weekend, and we're supposed to relax? And you know how I need more time to work? Can anyone else think of any more arguments?" (general laughter) "Well, I thought maybe I'd order Chinese tonight." I lay and laughed and laughed at her, and said yes of course. So we ordered Chinese, and pretty much spent the entire evening in the common room, joking around, talking, laughing, being silly. Rachel and Emmaline were funnier and funnier as the evening went on, and Catherine and I added our own spice of humor to the mix. Ian joined us to eat his tea, and sat on the chairs at the back of the room and laughed at the four of us.
When the Chinese came, Catherine split up the neatly-wrapped plastic boxes for each of us. After we finished eating our Chinese, we watched the Spider-man 3 DVD Emmaline had bought today. Ian had gone upstairs to bed. The four of us scooted chairs together, Rachel brought out blankets and pillows and sweets, and we sat in a row and watched the movie. About halfway through, we paused it, and Emmaline (whose foresight is quite amazing) brought out a tub of Ben & Jerry's chocolate fudge brownie ice cream to split between the four of us.
When the movie ended, we were all silly and hyper from the sugar, so the next natural activity for the evening was a lively pillowfight, started by Catherine tickling Emmaline, in which Catherine and Rachel whacked at Emmaline, and I whacked at them, and Emmaline whacked at everyone. After awhile, we settled down and sat and looked at pictures on Rachel's camera.
Putting her camera away, Rachel glanced around the room and moaned, "Oh, this place is a tip!" "Well, what will we do about it?" I asked, jumping up. The four of us went to work and had the room righted in a matter of minutes: pillows neatly piled, dirty dishes taken to the kitchen, chair straightened, rubbish thrown away, etc.
Quieter now, we sat in the common room chatting for awhile, though Catherine left at about half twelve. Rachel, Emmaline, and I sat on until half three.... We outstayed even the drunk people: the noises down the street from the club, the click of girls’ heels, the slurred male singing and shouts outside, all of it had died away into the eerie early morning silence.
I went to bed at last and was asleep before Emmaline came in at half four or so.
07 April 2008
for whom the bell tolls
Now Playing: Edward Elgar, "Enigma Variations".
I promised Catherine that I'd post this for her.
I promised Catherine that I'd post this for her.
For whom the
John Donne
From "Devotions upon Emergent Occasions" (1623), XVII: Nunc Lento Sonitu Dicunt, Morieris - "Now, this bell tolling softly for another, says to me: Thou must die."
PERCHANCE he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that.
The church is Catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she does belongs to all.
When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that body which is my head too, and ingrafted into that body whereof I am a member.
And when she buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again for that library where every book shall lie open to one another.
As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come, so this bell calls us all; but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness.
There was a contention as far as a suit (in which both piety and dignity, religion and estimation, were mingled), which of the religious orders should ring to prayers first in the morning; and it was determined, that they should ring first that rose earliest.
If we understand aright the dignity of this bell that tolls for our evening prayer, we would be glad to make it ours by rising early, in that application, that it might be ours as well as his, whose indeed it is.
The bell doth toll for him that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that minute that this occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God.
Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? but who takes off his eye from a comet when that breaks out? Who bends not his ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? but who can remove it from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this world? No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
Neither can we call this a begging of misery, or a borrowing of misery, as though we were not miserable enough of ourselves, but must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the misery of our neighbours.
Truly it were an excusable covetousness if we did, for affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.
No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and ripened by it, and made fit for God by that affliction.
If a man carry treasure in bullion, or in a wedge of gold, and have none coined into current money, his treasure will not defray him as he travels.
Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven, by it.
Another man may be sick too, and sick to death, and this affliction may lie in his bowels, as gold in a mine, and be of no use to him; but this bell, that tells me of his affliction, digs out and applies that gold to me: if by this consideration of another's danger I take mine own into contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.
05 April 2008
a couple of days
Now Playing: Nathanael and Reuben on the computers. (And on my laptop, "Mother Gigogne and the Clowns" from The Nutcracker.)
April 3, 2008. After devotions, I had tea and toast for breakfast while I answered e-mails. I managed to clear my inbox out, and feeling accomplished, walked to the post office in dazzling sunshine to send away a scholarship letter to TU. Then I heated up soup for lunch and set to work on my ENG309 paper. The window was open, and the cool afternoon air came freshly into the room. I was working away happily, listening to Tchaikovsky. I finished my paper satisfactorily after a couple of hours and then went to the gym. The bowling green in the botanic gardens was dotted with people lying on blankets, kicking balls, or throwing frisbees. I spent about an hour in the gym. Then I walked back to Renwick, where Daphne and Catherine were sitting in the common room. It was the first time I'd seen either one of them all day. I brought down the book that my mother had left for Daphne--she was absolutely delighted with it. Catherine and I figured out how to work the DVD player, and she put on The Devil Wears Prada. Sarah W. and Emmaline came back from their afternoon's outings and invited all of us to Sarah's house for tea, though Emmaline didn't have room in her car for us. So I took a shower and walked down the Donegall Road alone. The evening was becoming cool, but still clear, with the spring crispness. Children were sitting outside on the kerb on the girls' street, playing games on the sidewalk. Emmaline let me in. She, Michaela, Sarh W., Calvin, and Matt were all in the kitchen. Sarah W. had invited Calvin and Matt over for tea since Calvin is her cousin. The boys were being incredibly silly. The pair of them could go into stand-up comedy. Calvin had made it his goal to make Emmaline mad since he likes her "cross" face--and between the two of them, he and Matt were doing a fairly good job, while Michaela, Sarah W., and I laughed at the boys (who were being incorrigible) and at Emmaline (who was trying to hold her temper and seeing the ridiculousness of the situation at the same time). We ended up ordering from a kebab shop for tea. The girls all ordered chicken tikkas; the boys both ordered kebabs. Emmaline had to go to a meeting, but when the food came, the rest of us wedged together at the kitchen table and ate. It was good: the chicken wrapped in thick Indian bread, with cinnamon and curry spices on it. After tea, I went back to Renwick. I opened my window again to the evening, and sat down for a Skype call with Mr. Carroll: my own session visitation. After an hour (a very packed hour), we signed off, he joking to the very end that he won’t believe I’m coming back to the States until he actually sees me in church. “I was nearly enchanted by those Irish myself,” was his last word. Anyhow, I packed my things and went downstairs. Catherine and Andy L. were talking in the common room, so I sat with them for awhile. At about ten o'clock, I said good-night and walked back to the girls' house. Matt answered the door, and of course wouldn't let me in, so Michaela had to do the job for him. Michaela and I spent about an hour sitting in the two armchairs in the living room, watching Calvin, Matt, and Sarah W. watch videos on their mobile phones. Michaela and I were both too sleepy to interact much, and the other three were having way too much fun together to try to rouse us. Emmaline came back from her meeting at about eleven-thirty. She, Sarah W., Calvin, Matt, and I squeezed into her little car. Emmaline drove Calvin, Matt, and Sarah W. home, in that order. Until we left Matt home, we had his iPod to keep us amused, though: he and Calvin would change the song about every thirty seconds, so though we never got to hear the end of anything, there was plenty of variety, everything from Justin Timberlake to Bob Marley, and a whole spectrum of dance and pop in between. Sarah W. and Emmaline heaved a collective sigh when the boys were out of the car, and Sarah found Emmaline's MP3 player--we were treated to selections from Princess Diaries and the new Pride and Prejudice on the drive to Ballymoney. After we dropped Sarah off, I moved to shotgun, and Emmaline and I chatted all the way home. The house was dark and quiet when we got back. We both went to bed, but we stayed up talking for awhile, again.
April 4, 2008. Woke early this morning to the usual noise of everyone getting ready to go to school. It seemed as though almost all the other kids had to poke their heads into Emmaline's room for one reason or another before they left. Emmaline and I didn't get up until later. After Emmaline's alarm went off, she went downstairs, but I dressed and sat quietly in her room, doing my devotions. The two of us ate breakfast in the little room. Emmaline managed to find something decent on TV, a couple of programs about how to refurbish a house, which made good background noise while she worked on her impossible paperclip puzzle and I worked on a birthday present. The morning was rainy, grey waves of mist so thick that even the sea was hidden. We spent the morning quietly, and at the usual late dinner. Emmaline and I cleared away and were back in the little room in time to watch Diagnoses Murder. When the show finished, Mr. M rang Emmaline to get her to come outside and wash the cars, so she and I pulled on wellies and leggings and went out into the crisp sunshine. The rain was gone, only a few grey clouds left, and the sun on the concrete walls of the sheds was richly warm. Emmaline and I washed her blue car, then her dad's grey jeep, then the silver family minivan. Massey watched us nervously, disliking the water. Behind us, in the parlor, the afternoon milking had begun: the rhythmic swish and click of the machines, Darius's voice calling the cows on, the warm, slightly acidic smells of dung and sour milk and hay. Emmaline and I worked in silence on either side of the car, sloshing soapy water and scrubbing at muck on hubcaps. A few rooks circled overhead, cruising to brown fields where the dark earth has been ploughed. A breeze came up and stirred the bobbing heads of the daffodils in the garden behind the house, just down the little hill. When we finished the three cars, we went inside, cleaned up, and drove to Tesco to buy groceries. The two of us were in charge of tea tonight, and we made Emmaline's special: honey-orange-glazed chicken and sweet potatoes. While the vivid afternoon sunshine faded into cool blue shadows in the farmyard, Emmaline and I worked away, slicing sweet potatoes, preparing the sauce, segmenting the oranges, putting chips in to fry and vegetables on to boil. It took awhile for everything to be ready, and then, just when the table was set and the hot food was all out, and we had all come to the table and were ready to say thanks, someone looked out the back window and announced, "Cows are out!" So Mr. M, Nathanael, Emmaline, and Reuben dashed outside to chase the cows back into the sheds, while Eleanor, Erin, and Mrs. M asked me polite questions about the trip to London. When everyone was settled again, we gave thanks and ate--a good meal. For dessert there was "insta whip": for you Americans who have never savored this delight, imagine something between chocolate pudding and chocolate icing, only fluffier, like cool whip. Very sweet, but good with M&Ms. :o) After dessert we cleared the table and washed the dishes. Then I went in to sit by the fire and keep working on the birthday present. Reuben was in there, watching X-Men, but he and Emmaline went for a bike ride, leaving me by the fire, absorbed in my work. Outside, the deep jewel blues and greens of evening faded into night, and Mrs. M came in and closed the curtains. Reuben and Emmaline came back in time to see the climax of the film, the two of them tumbled together on the couch like a pair of puppies while Nathanael sat beside me and borrowed my brush pens to color a picture of a tractor. When the movie ended, Mr. M joined us, and found an old spaghetti Western on TV. When the boys were sent up to bed, I went out, too. Emmaline was upstairs, reading. We went straight to sleep.
April 3, 2008. After devotions, I had tea and toast for breakfast while I answered e-mails. I managed to clear my inbox out, and feeling accomplished, walked to the post office in dazzling sunshine to send away a scholarship letter to TU. Then I heated up soup for lunch and set to work on my ENG309 paper. The window was open, and the cool afternoon air came freshly into the room. I was working away happily, listening to Tchaikovsky. I finished my paper satisfactorily after a couple of hours and then went to the gym. The bowling green in the botanic gardens was dotted with people lying on blankets, kicking balls, or throwing frisbees. I spent about an hour in the gym. Then I walked back to Renwick, where Daphne and Catherine were sitting in the common room. It was the first time I'd seen either one of them all day. I brought down the book that my mother had left for Daphne--she was absolutely delighted with it. Catherine and I figured out how to work the DVD player, and she put on The Devil Wears Prada. Sarah W. and Emmaline came back from their afternoon's outings and invited all of us to Sarah's house for tea, though Emmaline didn't have room in her car for us. So I took a shower and walked down the Donegall Road alone. The evening was becoming cool, but still clear, with the spring crispness. Children were sitting outside on the kerb on the girls' street, playing games on the sidewalk. Emmaline let me in. She, Michaela, Sarh W., Calvin, and Matt were all in the kitchen. Sarah W. had invited Calvin and Matt over for tea since Calvin is her cousin. The boys were being incredibly silly. The pair of them could go into stand-up comedy. Calvin had made it his goal to make Emmaline mad since he likes her "cross" face--and between the two of them, he and Matt were doing a fairly good job, while Michaela, Sarah W., and I laughed at the boys (who were being incorrigible) and at Emmaline (who was trying to hold her temper and seeing the ridiculousness of the situation at the same time). We ended up ordering from a kebab shop for tea. The girls all ordered chicken tikkas; the boys both ordered kebabs. Emmaline had to go to a meeting, but when the food came, the rest of us wedged together at the kitchen table and ate. It was good: the chicken wrapped in thick Indian bread, with cinnamon and curry spices on it. After tea, I went back to Renwick. I opened my window again to the evening, and sat down for a Skype call with Mr. Carroll: my own session visitation. After an hour (a very packed hour), we signed off, he joking to the very end that he won’t believe I’m coming back to the States until he actually sees me in church. “I was nearly enchanted by those Irish myself,” was his last word. Anyhow, I packed my things and went downstairs. Catherine and Andy L. were talking in the common room, so I sat with them for awhile. At about ten o'clock, I said good-night and walked back to the girls' house. Matt answered the door, and of course wouldn't let me in, so Michaela had to do the job for him. Michaela and I spent about an hour sitting in the two armchairs in the living room, watching Calvin, Matt, and Sarah W. watch videos on their mobile phones. Michaela and I were both too sleepy to interact much, and the other three were having way too much fun together to try to rouse us. Emmaline came back from her meeting at about eleven-thirty. She, Sarah W., Calvin, Matt, and I squeezed into her little car. Emmaline drove Calvin, Matt, and Sarah W. home, in that order. Until we left Matt home, we had his iPod to keep us amused, though: he and Calvin would change the song about every thirty seconds, so though we never got to hear the end of anything, there was plenty of variety, everything from Justin Timberlake to Bob Marley, and a whole spectrum of dance and pop in between. Sarah W. and Emmaline heaved a collective sigh when the boys were out of the car, and Sarah found Emmaline's MP3 player--we were treated to selections from Princess Diaries and the new Pride and Prejudice on the drive to Ballymoney. After we dropped Sarah off, I moved to shotgun, and Emmaline and I chatted all the way home. The house was dark and quiet when we got back. We both went to bed, but we stayed up talking for awhile, again.
April 4, 2008. Woke early this morning to the usual noise of everyone getting ready to go to school. It seemed as though almost all the other kids had to poke their heads into Emmaline's room for one reason or another before they left. Emmaline and I didn't get up until later. After Emmaline's alarm went off, she went downstairs, but I dressed and sat quietly in her room, doing my devotions. The two of us ate breakfast in the little room. Emmaline managed to find something decent on TV, a couple of programs about how to refurbish a house, which made good background noise while she worked on her impossible paperclip puzzle and I worked on a birthday present. The morning was rainy, grey waves of mist so thick that even the sea was hidden. We spent the morning quietly, and at the usual late dinner. Emmaline and I cleared away and were back in the little room in time to watch Diagnoses Murder. When the show finished, Mr. M rang Emmaline to get her to come outside and wash the cars, so she and I pulled on wellies and leggings and went out into the crisp sunshine. The rain was gone, only a few grey clouds left, and the sun on the concrete walls of the sheds was richly warm. Emmaline and I washed her blue car, then her dad's grey jeep, then the silver family minivan. Massey watched us nervously, disliking the water. Behind us, in the parlor, the afternoon milking had begun: the rhythmic swish and click of the machines, Darius's voice calling the cows on, the warm, slightly acidic smells of dung and sour milk and hay. Emmaline and I worked in silence on either side of the car, sloshing soapy water and scrubbing at muck on hubcaps. A few rooks circled overhead, cruising to brown fields where the dark earth has been ploughed. A breeze came up and stirred the bobbing heads of the daffodils in the garden behind the house, just down the little hill. When we finished the three cars, we went inside, cleaned up, and drove to Tesco to buy groceries. The two of us were in charge of tea tonight, and we made Emmaline's special: honey-orange-glazed chicken and sweet potatoes. While the vivid afternoon sunshine faded into cool blue shadows in the farmyard, Emmaline and I worked away, slicing sweet potatoes, preparing the sauce, segmenting the oranges, putting chips in to fry and vegetables on to boil. It took awhile for everything to be ready, and then, just when the table was set and the hot food was all out, and we had all come to the table and were ready to say thanks, someone looked out the back window and announced, "Cows are out!" So Mr. M, Nathanael, Emmaline, and Reuben dashed outside to chase the cows back into the sheds, while Eleanor, Erin, and Mrs. M asked me polite questions about the trip to London. When everyone was settled again, we gave thanks and ate--a good meal. For dessert there was "insta whip": for you Americans who have never savored this delight, imagine something between chocolate pudding and chocolate icing, only fluffier, like cool whip. Very sweet, but good with M&Ms. :o) After dessert we cleared the table and washed the dishes. Then I went in to sit by the fire and keep working on the birthday present. Reuben was in there, watching X-Men, but he and Emmaline went for a bike ride, leaving me by the fire, absorbed in my work. Outside, the deep jewel blues and greens of evening faded into night, and Mrs. M came in and closed the curtains. Reuben and Emmaline came back in time to see the climax of the film, the two of them tumbled together on the couch like a pair of puppies while Nathanael sat beside me and borrowed my brush pens to color a picture of a tractor. When the movie ended, Mr. M joined us, and found an old spaghetti Western on TV. When the boys were sent up to bed, I went out, too. Emmaline was upstairs, reading. We went straight to sleep.
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