Strop & Squash

strop:  temper tantrum, sulk, mood

I learned this British term on Sunday in church.  I was confused because the energetic lady up front kept using this word.  (She was telling the story about King Ahab and Naboth's vineyard to the children.)   "King Ahab was in the most terrible strop," "King Ahab threw such a dreadful strop that he buried his head in his pillow," etc.  I deduced that strop must mean something like tantrum, a definition I confirmed via Urban Dictionary Online when I got home.

So far I have not had much trouble picking up British accents, but during the sermon I did look up suddenly when the pastor said, "And then Pizza denied Christ."  (Oh -- he said Peter, not pizza.)

After the service a friendly lady introduced me to her young son: "And this is my son Sohm."

"Pardon?"

"S-oh-m."

Puzzled face.

"S-A-M."

"Oh, S-a-m!" (this with my crisp Wis-can-sin pronunciation)

She smirked visibly, then caught herself, and apologized.

I was affable.  "It's all right.  Even the other Americans I'm staying with make fun of my accent."  I attempted the British version of Sam but she just laughed outright.

I couldn't help grinning whenever we sang a hard a in the songs, especially when they were American songs I knew.  "He has r-aw-nsomed me," etc.  What a delight to sing familiar songs and fellowship with these kindhearted people.

I noticed this friendly invite in the bulletin:  "Tea/coffee/squash are served in the lounge after each morning service."  Squash?  I envisioned orange mush in little paper bowls.  Katie clarified:  "No, not squash like pumpkin.  It's a really strong fruit concentrate.  You have to mix it water or it'll hurt your throat.  Katina almost drank it straight by accident last week."

I was curious about this strange and dangerous fruit drink but unfortunately it was gone by the time I made my way to the counter.  Next week, then.

Being touristy (London)

Two weeks ago our student group went to London for the day.  I enjoyed the sightseeing for the most part. But I'd decided not to blog or Facebook about it because all my friends were, and because I do not usually get excited about cities or about being a tourist.

But, I've changed my mind and decided that being touristy for a day in London was worth it.  We went to many places that I don't remember anymore, but these are the ones I do:

National Gallery of Art:  Art galleries are one of the things I do genuinely appreciate about big cities.

Tower of London:  Here are two young girls being all smiley at a place where many sad and gruesome things happened for centuries.  Ironic.

Buckingham Palace:  Claustrophobically crowded, but I liked hearing the band.

Tower Bridge:  I don't know why I liked this, but I did.  It looked like a fairy tale.

.

St. Paul's Cathedral:  Yes, I really like big churches and their Evensong services.  We even managed to get seats up by the choir for the service and were specially welcomed in the announcements.  St. Paul's made the beautiful Christ Church in Oxford seem puny (!)

Picture-taking was strictly forbidden on the inside, and it didn't occur to me to break the rules.  But the interior was glorious, as far as man-made things go.

The whole day was chilly and damp.  By the end, the phone booths started to look more and more inviting:

Eventually we rode home in one of these:

I had forgotten that these are exciting until my sister asked me, "Do you get to ride in one of those cool double-decker buses?"  Yes -- and she was even more impressed when I informed her that they have Wi-Fi and restrooms!

Just being in London gave me a sense of the city that I value more than visiting its specific sites.  This week I read The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad, set in nineteenth-century London.  It kept mentioning the weather -  "grey, dreary, damp, foggy, misty, gloomy, wet, soggy, etc."  Each time Conrad moaned about the weather, I remembered trekking through London streets and laughed and thought, "Yes!  That is what it's really like."  Here's an excerpt:

"The panes streamed with rain, and the short street he looked down into lay wet and empty...It was a very trying day, choked in raw fog to begin with, and now drowned in cold rain.  The flickering, blurred flames of gas-lamps seemed to be dissolving in a watery atmosphere.  And the lofty pretensions of a mankind oppressed by the miserable indignities of the weather appeared as a colossal and hopeless vanity.  'Horrible, horrible!' thought the Assistant Commissioner to himself, with his face near the window-pane.  'We have been having this sort of thing now for ten days; no, a fortnight - a fortnight.'"

Cheery, isn't it?

Really, though, London is better than that.  The parts I saw were beautiful, clean, historic, and impressive.  I wouldn't want to live there, but I enjoyed it for a day.

So -- that is London, through Nebraskan eyes.

on the way to class

Even though Oxford is a city, it has little bits of country mixed into it.  So, even though I live in town, this is what I see every morning when I walk/bike from my house to class:

This meadow has cattle wandering around in it during the summer.  There's a cattle grate on each end of it to keep them from getting out.

And here's the woodsy part that fringes the pasture:

And the friendly horse from the adjoining farm:

And the bridge over the creek on the other side of the pasture:

I wish I had taken these photos, but all credit goes to Austin, a fellow student in the program and a diligent photographer.  My fingers are usually too cold and stiff to stop for picture-taking on days like this.  He kindly said I could share his with you.

Digestives

I was skeptical at first (who comes up with a name like "Digestive"?), but now these British cookies/crackers are a new favorite in my room:

not sunny

The weather icon on my blog is not always honest.  Right now it reads 42 deg. F and has a picture of a sun coming out from behind a cloud.  Well, there is no sun in sight at the moment, and the snowflakes are thick in the air.  And the temperature is about 32, not 42.

That said, it still looks pretty nice from indoors at my desk:

Big Macs

In downtown Oxford we have one of these:

and one of these:

and one of these:

I didn't know that the Brits were interested in anything American.  Apparently, though, our food might be better than theirs.  (Is that a claim to fame or not?)

Here's the article from The Guardian:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/wordofmouth/2013/jan/11/why-do-brits-love-american-food

Intro paragraph:

Juicy burgers, stacks of fluffy pancakes, Cobb salads festooned with crispy bacon, and cherry pie topped with whipped cream:  American food is glorious.  Especially in America.  But why is it becoming Britain's go-to cuisine?  Are the pleasures of hot dogs and red velvet cake so great that we've forgotten our own food culture?  It appears that Britain is having a passionate love affair with American grub and, embarrassingly for us, it's an unrequited romance.
...

[note:  photo credits to Google]

good to know

During orientation, our administrators conscientiously informed us of these important points from the British legal system:

1. Driving:  If you're an American taking your driver's license test, and you walk to the wrong side of the car to get in the driver's seat, you automatically fail.

2.  Do's & don't's

It is illegal to:
-- die in the houses of Parliament
-- place postage stamps with images of the king or queen upside down

However, apparently it IS legal to murder a Scotsman within the ancient walls of the city of York -- provided he's carrying a bow and arrow.

A New Old

Happy Epiphany, everyone.

Traditionally, my family celebrates Epiphany by setting out our slippers the night before with hay (actually, popcorn) for the wise men's camels.  Then the wise men leave gifts in the slippers overnight.

Today, I didn't have any slippers to set out or popcorn to put in them, but I did attend a beautiful service at the University Church of St. Mary the Virgin:

Afterward a friendly lady gave us in impromptu tour.  (She was a retired history professor and a professional tour guide.)  The tour helped me to start redefining my idea of old.  She made a lot of comments like, "This part is a later addition.  It wasn't built until the fifteenth century."  And I thought my house was old.

We learned that this church is where the original Oxford university began, back in the 1200s.


And then this evening we attended an Evensong service at Christ Church:

During the service I thought about all the people who had sung the same words in the same building for hundreds of years.  I always wondered if "standing in the same place as such-and-such was x years ago" was  really as special as tourists say.  Actually, it was -- but not because it was ancient or traditional.  It was because the words I was singing to God were true, and I believed them, and other people whom I don't even know had also sung them to the same God and believed them.  (Wow.)

I also learned that this is the place where Harry Potter learned to fly broomsticks.  I wasn't as impressed by this because I haven't seen or read Harry Potter yet, but that fact did make it more amazing for some of my classmates.

Mushy Peas and Turnip Broth

I figured that English food would be relatively similar to American.  I'm learning, however, that they are good at coming  up with creative twists to mundane foods.  For instance, on one menu I noticed: "Mushy Peas," and, "Turnip Broth."  Sounds scrumptious, doesn't it?  (Mom, we should try this strategy at home.)

This post isn't actually about food.  It's about the Vines, where I'm living, because that's what I have pictures of.

First:  You have to get through this gate to get in.  I don't remember living in a gated place before; thus I feel very safe.  (We have discovered, though, that the fence is easily hopped, thus making us feel less safe.  This is overall a good discovery because I have trouble making the keys work to let myself in or out.)

And this is the view once you get in (over/under) the gate:

The view from my desk is beautiful, but this is the best my camera can do:

This is closer to what it looks like:

Neither picture does it justice.  The sun is shining at the moment (noteworthy!) so it's even prettier than usual.

When I first walked into my room, I said, "Oh -- we even have our own balcony!"  This is the door out onto the balcony, right next to my desk:

Before stepping out onto the balcony, however, I noticed a sign above the door:

A good time to follow the rules, perhaps?

But we keep the window open much of the time and often hear college bells, especially in the evenings.  I commented on them admiringly to Paul.  (He and his wife Lexi are our Junior Deans.)  He rolled his eyes and said dryly, "Oh yes, all colleges used to play them at curfew, so you'll keep hearing different ones at different times, like for a whole hour.  Lexi hates it."  (I thought his comment was funny.  Paul and Lexi are really very nice people.)

I'm thrilled to be here for four months.  The place and the people are lovely, and May already seems like it's coming too fast.  "Truly, the lines have fallen for me in pleasant places."

Across the pond

And...hello, England!

The plane ride seems dreamlike now, but I remember two things:

1. Dinner, at 4:10 a.m.  I was famished by that point.  The salad had a big slice of tomato on top.  I stabbed it with my fork and wedged it in my mouth and thought, "This has got to be the best thing I've ever tasted."

2. A greatly increased appreciation for Bach.  I listened to the same Bach CD for the whole 6 hours.

...And now I'm here:

...unpacking with my two roommates, and listening to Fiddler on the Roof soundtrack.  I can't think of a better way to end my first day in the UK.