St. Nicholas and GPA's

Every Monday night at 7:10 I ride my bike down to Keble College for choir practice.  We sing in this room:

Our concert is this coming Monday, and we're performing the work of St. Nicholas by Benjamin Britten, a twentieth-century British composer.

I never knew that St. Nicholas had such an interesting life:  We sing about swimming in bathtubs, pickled children, jeering sailors, sacks of corn, blinding lightning...

Choir practice is also a good time to meet British folk.  Last Monday during break I was chatting with a girl about the British college system versus the American system.  I learned that they don't really have grades.  I asked, "Do you even know what a GPA is?"  "Well, sort of," she said tentatively, "mostly just from watching films."  (I guess American movies are useful for many reasons.)

Pancake Day

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday.  And the day before was Shrove Tuesday... or, as they call it here, Pancake Day.

I had never heard of Shrove Tuesday or Pancake Day, only Mardi Gras, which I have never understood very well.  But I had no trouble figuring out how to celebrate Pancake Day.  Our church small group had a big pancake dinner.  We were told to Bring Your Own Pancakes, pre-made, which was new to me also, but I managed to transport my stack of pancakes on a bike without damaging them, even though they got cold by the time I arrived.

British pancakes are different.  The first time we made them (from a mix), we were concerned that they kept turning out flat (literally).  Eventually we realized that  British pancakes are supposed to be flat and squishy and dense, more like crepes:

And, like most things, they come in small quantities.  One of the mixes in the store had a serving size of 2.  Only 2 pancakes?  There's a reason we get groceries several times a week.

I decided I like Pancake Day.  Mom and Peter, let's celebrate this next year!

Thing 1 and Thing 2

Roommates!

I have two of them while I'm here:

One goes to school in Georgia, and the other in California.  I'm smack in the middle:  Dordt College, Iowa.  I was pleased that they both knew where Iowa was.

Here's Sonya, from St. Louis:

She almost always has this same sweet smile on her face.  She likes singing, reading Shakespeare out loud dramatically, sturdy walking boots, and scarves.  We met by chance in the noisy Heathrow airport the day we arrived.  She came up and said, "Um, are you by chance going to Oxford?"  "Yes!  You are too?"  "Yes -- I'm Sonya."  "Oo-hhh -- I think you're my roommate!"  She gave me a big hug.

And this is Meredith (Mere), from Oregon, looking deceptively scholarly in this photo:

She likes hedgehog socks, making tea for people, and biking fast down hills.  She is determined to make me cultured (mainly by playing Frank Sinatra music and making me watch Lord of the Rings).  She reminds me of my sister (she calls me names like "Punk," talks to me in odd voices at odd hours, threatens to curl my hair and take other liberties, and makes me proofread her papers).  She is perceptive and endearing and companionable.

...And here's the three of us together, out for Mere's birthday dinner at the Eagle and Child: