IKEA…Killer of Relationships

I was recently posed a choice – purchase a TV armoire from Pier One that was completely assembled for $370 or purchase a TV armoire from IKEA that required complete assembly for $310. I opted for the later thinking that the $60 I would save was worth the hour and half to put together the armoire. I should be slapped.

My Mom came down for my birthday weekend and while she multi tasked making 17 bazillion dozen cookies for a program I had  and cleaned my apartment (yes, my mom is officially the coolest) I attempted to put together the TV armoire. The directions were semi-clear. When putting something together, I am exacting in following the directions…or I was prior to this little Norwegian excursion. There came a time that the directions became useless because it showed a series of four indentations into which I was supposed to screw the funkiest looking screws ever. Simple right? No! There were three sets of four indentations that looked exactly the same. Turns out, you have to be able to envision the end result and intuit that you are starting to build from the back forward for the directions to truly make sense. When I realized that I had used the wrong set of four indentations not once but twice I got a little edgy. Perhaps an understatement – I turned into a rabid dog intent on ripping to shreds the first thing that unwittingly crossed my path…in my case, my poor mom. Someone knocked on my door and I had decided not to answer (in a complete huff, mind you) and Mom simply asked “What if it’s Katie?” To which I replied (it should be noted that by replied I mean, spoke in the most condescending, clipped, self righteous tone I could possibly take with this woman who had driven all the way to Corvallis to help me celebrate my birthday and had spent the entire day cleaning and making cookies for my residents) “I said I don’t care who it is.” At which point she left the scene of the disastrous daughter and didn’t return. Small wonder – if I could have left me, I would have too. By now I was in hour three of the miserable process that was supposed to take an hour and a half.

Fast forward two hours (yes, you read that correctly) my mother has still not poked her head back into the living room, and why would she? Her daughter had become an unrecognizable, joy destroying monster. Everything was done with the TV armoire save the doors.  Each door had two decorative hinges that needed to be screwed in and naturally the screws didn’t want to fit into the pre-drilled holes.  They hula danced all over the placed which really, really ticked me off.  As in at one point I pushed the door across the room (which while childish and immature to be sure, beat the heck out of drawing an effigy of the CEO of IKEA on the wall and beating it with the door, which is what I really wanted to do).  Finally in a royal huff I decided I was done with the doors and I wasn’t going to mess with them because it wasn’t worth it.

I tossed myself on the ground and stretched out the muscles in my shoulders and arms that absolutely ached and told my mom (who had braved the fire-breathing dragon and her lair) I would do the doors later.

Fast forward five weeks.  Stop judging…it was a busy five weeks.  I have now attempted twice since my re-materialization into a real human being from that of a carnivorous rabid animal to screw the hinges onto the doors.  At this point in time I decide the directions be dammed.  It’s not going to work and I’m going to find a new way to take care of this crap.  So off to Winco I go to find the strongest super glue I possibly can.  Home I toddle and in less than five minutes the doors and their hinges are bonded in holy glue-tromony until death do them part.  And seriously, when they part it will be the death of the TV armoire because I will take an ax to it.  Thus far, I have had no problems but from this excursion into furniture assembly I have learned four important lessons.

1) If you can buy it assembled…do it.  Penny pinching just isn’t worth it in this case.

2) Always assemble furniture by yourself.  This is to protect your relationship with the ones you love.

3) Short cuts – say glue – are completely acceptable.  In fact, these should be looked at as sparkles of genius by everyone.

Finally and most important…

4) I won’t ever put furniture together with Prince Charming.  If furniture can’t be bought pre-assembled and delivered or we don’t have the money for it then we don’t need it/it’s not worth it.

Relationships and Ulcers

I’m not married.  One day I would like to be married.  Until that time comes, I am spending time watching married couples around me like a hawk to take away all the little lessons I possibly can during my single years that will make me a better wife and partner later in life.  I’ve learned a lot from the people I spend time watching. 

Mom and Dad:  Their relationship has, of course, been foundational in how I think about marriage, husband/wife communication, and raising children.  It reflects both things I think are good ideas and things I don’t plan on repeating.  My Mom always tells my brother and I that we won’t make the same decisions she and dad made – we will make our own.  It’s so true.  In the past, I think Tom and I have gotten a little high and mighty and think we are going to have better marriages and be better parents (that’s definitely a Tom thing as I plan on not being a parent) because we saw the mistakes our parents made and therefore won’t repeat their mistakes.  Having watched my brother in his almost two years of marriage I can see that we aren’t going to make all the same mistakes our parents did (some of them to be sure though) but we are going to make a brand new set of mistakes that belong solely to us. 

Which brings me to…

Tom and Shareana: I’ve learned that marriage is a transitional process and that while you are in the middle of the  lovey-dovey-mush-and-bilge-water crap of the first few months of your relationship as well as the nitty gritty work  of learning how to live together and what give and take truly means, it is important to be cognizant of your relationship with your family.  For example, when and if I find Price Charming, I am going to make sure I come home by myself to visit my family on occasion.  It’s important to be a big, inclusive family, but it’s also important to recognize that this is a relationship change for the people that have been used to having you all to themselves for however many years and that those relationships need special nurturing through this transition.  It’s a balancing act to be sure, but I really think it is important to make sure you are integrating your new other half into the family as well as continuing to build your own individual relationship with your family members which can’t be done if you are connected at the hip 24/7 to the new Mr. and Mrs.   Another thing the brother and sister-in-law have affirmed in my mind is the importance of your own individual activities and friends.  Is it important to do things together…well, duh.  Is it important to spend time together in mutually exciting activities?  You betcha!  Should every spare moment of free time be spent together, should his friends be my friends and vica versa, and should we never do anything unless we are together?  Dear God I hope not because if that is the prerequisite for marriage I am probably going to fail that course.   

And then there is…

Gramma and Grampa: When you have been together over 60 years there is most definitely something there to teach younger generations.  Gramma gave to Grampa in the first half of their marriage in that she moved all over the world so he could pursue is career in the Army.  And now Grampa is giving back to Gramma in that he has let her choose the place and home where they are spending the end of their life right down to the ugly maroon carpet.  If approving of and paying for maroon carpeting isn’t love then, friends, I don’t know what is.  I think I would prefer to have a more give and take in the moment relationship.  I know it worked for Gramma and Grampa but I also know my personality well enough to know that all give for 30 years in exchange for all take in the next 30 years (a slight exaggeration but you get the point) is not going to work for me. 

Which makes me think of…

Brad and Kaylene:  Didn’t expect to see your name here did you, Kaylene?  These two have just recently celebrated their second anniversary so I have been gotten to watch their formative marriage process.  I don’t know if I could have constructed a sentence that sounds more clinical and less personal, but given time I probably could.  Seriously though, this was an opportunity for me to watch a relationship of my peers form.  I watched my brother’s relationship but because I was so close to one half of the relationship I couldn’t really objectively observe.  With Brad and Kaylene I have been able to watch as they give and take in their relationship.  I love the way that Brad genuinely cared for Kaylene through all the ups and downs of grad school.  Friends, there are some serious emotions involved in grad school; my mom had to deal with me most of the time but Brad was helping his new wife.  That’s a lot of pressure, but the way he worked with the stress was impressive.  There were times when he was firm and told her to just let it go and other times when he was gentle and reassuring and still other times where I am sure he missed the boat completely and his response was less than what Kaylene needed.  The point being he tried and I loved that.  Perhaps my greatest learning from this couple came, when at the end of the first year of grad school, Brad applied for and got a job in White Salmon, Washington.  This necessitated a move for the Herman family to Washington…three hours away from Corvallis.  I remember thinking as Kaylene told me Brad had gotten the job, “Wow, that is going to be hard on their marriage.  For her to stay in Albany and him to be in Washington.  I feel for them.”  And then Kaylene told me she was going to move with him and if that meant she didn’t get her Master’s then that is what it meant.  I think a tiny part of my brain blew up at that thought.  I remember actually being mad at Brad that he would jeopardize her degree that way but Kaylene’s response confused me.  She was willing to give up her degree for her family.  I knew in my heart what she was doing was the right thing but I also knew there is no way I would have made that choice (probably why the Lord has not sent Prince Charming my way).  I have watched over and over how the Lord has blessed that choice – which frankly must have been a really super scary leap off a cliff into oblivion and I am so proud of her.  Kaylene has truly set a Godly example for me through how she thinks and works within her marriage. 

Last but not least….

IKEA: I find at this point that I am a little too tired to complete this final section but tune in next time to the great relationship wisdom imparted to me by IKEA. 

All this watching processing, thinking, and learning…relationships are work, a lot of it.  I wonder if they give people ulcers.

Packratiosis

Packratiosis. This is a genetic problem that seems to plague people in my family. My mother’s mother suffers from it. “Save that piece of lace, honey,” I hear as I attempt to clean out her craft closet. “Seriously, Gramma?” I respond, incredulously, as I look at a tiny bit of lace not big enough to trim a Barbie Doll’s apron. But save it we do, because who knows when her arthritic hands might be miraculously healed enough to use that microscopic piece of fluff on the cards she makes.

My father’s mother suffers from it…to the extreme. Here is a woman who saves everything because saints alive, “It might be worth something some day!” Got news for you Gramma – a collection of Wonder bread sacks through the years are never going to be auctioned off at Sotheby’s for millions.

My father suffers from it to an annoying level. “Don’t toss that copper wire, if we hold onto it until the Armageddon maybe it will hit $3 a pound.” “Save that old refrigerator, I’ll turn it into a smoker” – fast forward 6 years to Tom hauling it out of the barn and to the dump…the poor thing having never experienced the wonders of becoming a smoker. And my absolute favorite – “I could get $1,500 for that car!” Really? The one that doesn’t start, with four flat tires, a pealing roof, dead battery, and is home to a colony of mice? Since when did we become a magician there, Pops?

My mother and her father do not suffer from packratiosis. They fall to the other extreme. “Toss it today, regret it tomorrow, but clean it ALL out right now!”

It is from this mingling of genetic material that I come. Mom has been after me for over a year to clean my room. I used to give her a bad time that she’d clean Tom’s room whenever he left but not mine, but upon spending nine hours in my room one day cleaning things out, I see why. And honestly, I tend to be umm…fussier, than Tom about my things. The Saturday before leaving home to come back to Corvallis, Mom had finally nagged me enough that I grabbed a garbage bag and hauled it upstairs to tip toe through a collection of about 13 years of my life.

Now I don’t have a big room but I do have a little cubby hole that can be used as storage…or in my case, a landfill. I pulled the good, the bag and the ugly out of there folks. Stuff even I was surprised to find peered up at me through a thick layer of dust. Most people talk about dust bunnies…there were dust creatures in there that could have swallowed Spencer and never unhinged their jaws. Mom and I went through boxes and boxes of stuff and drawers and drawers of stuff only to then go through sacks and sacks of stuff. At some point in my life I must have been into T-shirts because I’ll bet I threw away 50 of them. There were socks, and jeans, and pleated shorts that all bit the big one. My undergrad books went by the wayside (the boring writing theory, rhetoric, and tutoring books…I kept all the good literature books) and I tossed out all my papers, journals, and writings from undergrad. 14 bags of garbage got hauled out of my room and to the dump. I’m talking 14 bags of 50gallon hefty, hefty, hefty sacks, not wimpy, wimpy, wimpy sacks. It was liberating to get rid of so much stuff and in the process I learned where I stand on the scale of packratiosis. I am an emotional mover (I’m sure that comes as a shock to many of you) so when I move I tend to throw away a lot of things from the previous move and hold on to things that represent the phase of my life I am leaving. When I packed to leave grad school I threw away a lot of stuff from my years in Bend that I had been hanging on to. When I was packing to come back here I was able to throw away three more bags of garbage I wasn’t ready to let go of in June. When I move on from my current job I am sure there are things I will be ready to get rid of that at this point in time I can’t imagine parting with. Actually, I was unpacking my office today and ran across some things from last year that just hold too many fresh memories to toss but I know when I pack to leave next time, I’ll be ready to say goodbye to, so I just put it all in one box so I could look at it one last time, relive the joy of spending time with my students and friends right before tip the box into the dumpster and be content that the memories will always be with me even if the objects aren’t.

Why do we say the things we say….

I’m going to be an aunt. My brother and sister-in-law are going to have a baby in March. You all know kids really aren’t my thing but I find I’m kind of excited at the prospect of being Aunt Diva (I so christened myself because I like the sound of it so much better than Aunt J). If it’s a girl they are going to name her Cassydee June and I will look forward to influencing her thoughts about shoes, college preparation, financial aid, housing options, getting involved on campus, following her dreams, and making a difference in her world. If it’s a boy, I’ll enjoy the same things but will scale the lecture on shoes back to a simple, “Make sure there is plenty of money in the checking account for your wife to buy the shoes she wants – no woman should be shoe deprived.” But above all of this, I think what excites me the most is the realization that my little brother is going to get paid back for every broken necklace he stole from me and then sold back to me, every tear he ever made me cry, and every mean thing he ever said or thought of saying to or about me. Mom was right when she said, “In the end, Jacelyn, God will deal with your brother.” So true, Momma, so true.

Anyway, it struck me as odd while we were going through the process of calling grandparents and family friends to tell them of the news that each and every one of them said, “Congratulations!” as though we had performed some exciting feat. I had nothing to do with this – why congratulate me? I had nothing to do with the creation, will have very little to do with the preparation for, and will have nothing to do with the birthing of Junior Human Keys. (I got in trouble with my mother for calling the baby “it” – and then my friends Tim and Kaylene looked at me as though I were quite possibly the Wicked Witch of the West when they found out…bring on the ruby slippers. In my defense I called the baby “it” because I didn’t want to get too attached to any gender until Tom and Shareana announced, but SOME people thought I was being horrible…no names mentioned: Mom, Kaylene, Tim.)

When I told my former boss that I was going to be an aunt, what were the first words out of her mouth? “Congratulations!” When I told Kaylene? “Congratulations!” When I told Tim? “Really?” He’s worked with me for two years, he probably feared for the child, but I digress. When asked why you congratulate someone for something they had nothing to do with, the only response Kaylene and Kaila could give me was, “That’s just what you say.” Though not satisfactory, I really couldn’t mount an argument against that.

Then today I was outside walking Spencer and someone said, “Your dog is just the cutest thing!” My first thought was, “yeah, well that’s because he didn’t run through the house this morning playing ‘keep-away’ with your bra” but because it was a pre-teen boy I kept that bit of education to myself. Let his mom give him that lecture. Instead, I said, “Thank you.” And again, I wonder why. I have absolutely no responsibility for the pairing of genetic material that created the little bra thief. I’m not the breeder; I didn’t raise his parents. I have absolutely nothing to do with what he looks like and yet, I said thank you as though I had carefully selected the sire and dam, bred them, and was in some way responsible for his little life on this planet (which after this morning I am responsible that his life is still on this planet because I wanted to strangle him). Trust me, I’d have bred for a toothless dachshund – it would save on power cords, ear buds, and bras.

The things we say automatically without reason or thought are truly amazing. Good morning is another one – seriously, save for Christmas, has there ever been one?

The Job Search

Theatre and the job search have one thing in common with each other…it’s a life a rejection.   Job application number one was a rejection…a tough one.   I’ve found that the job search requires soul searching and personal reflection because the rejection tends to be a blow to the self-confidence.  I’ve really had to question my fit in student affairs in a whole new way – I’ve also had to dig deep and truly trust the Lord for my future.  I think that has, in many ways, been the most difficult.  I thought with a Masters degree, surely, people would look at my years of experience, my fantastic education, my heart for and proven work with students and think, “That, girl!  We need her!!”  This has not proven to be true thus far, again, sending me back to the emotional drawing board to reevaluate my values, philosophies, and personal view of myself.   It’s not that there is anything wrong with my values and philosophies, they are grounded in theory and rooted in experience but rejection tends to leave one wondering why and in the job search there are no answers.  It’s easy to go to the dark side and think, “They didn’t want me…I must suck.”  From that statement I start questioning if I belong in the field and quickly I can sink into the depths of despair.  Then I shake myself and think of what I would say to a student who was having the same thoughts as I and I talk about fit, faith in abilities, not letting the rejection rattle confidence, and being authentic throughout every job search process.  It’s amazing what good advice I am full of until I have to turn it on myself. 

One thing I notice different about my interviews now as opposed to pre-master’s degree days is the way in which I speak about the world in which I work.  I speak openly about community, relationship building, investment, student empowerment, and engagement in a way I never have before.  I speak of these things from the heart and with true commitment to student development.  More than that, I speak from a background of knowledge and understanding of what is vital in student affairs.  I’m really excited about the way in which interviews are a sharing of values, philosophies, and visions at this point in my life.

So onward and upward in the job search process.  I’ll keep you all posted!

 

Cambridge

 

I had a truly amazing time in Cambridge.  I went to the Wren Library with Lesa – I saw Lord Byron’s handwriting.  And Tennyson – not to mention Isaac Newton’s cipher book and various writings: the original Pooh Bear scribblings, and various early biblical passages.  Truly phenomenal. 

 

We went to Emanuel College and even though it was closed to the public because the students are in their final examinations, Lesa talked to the porter and got us into the chapel.  Emanuel College is significant because it was the college to which John Harvard belonged during his time at Cambridge.  As we sat in the chapel the realization dawned on the three of us (Heather, another gal from BGSU was with us) that we were sitting in the same chapel John Harvard had sat in and learned from…the man who brought about the foundations of the higher education system we so love explored, grew, and learned in the halls we were walking.   There was some quiet squealing going on in that chapel. 

 

It also really connected in my brain how irreversibly linked religion/faith and education are to each other.  In America, we have separation or so we think, but the traditions and indeed founding principles are all rooted very deeply in faith and religion.  This is going to take more pondering but I see the connection from entirely new vantage points because of my time here in Cambridge. 

 

After Emanuel, Lesa and I meandered about, shopped a little bit, and ended up at the Cambridge Waffle Factory.  Oh, friends.  I ordered a sweet waffle; the waffle was set on a thick bed of chocolate syrup, topped with a scoop of chocolate ice cream which was drizzled with chocolate sauce and adorned with Cadbury chocolate buttons and Smarties (the UK version of M&M’s).  Oy vey!  Utterly divine and so rich I couldn’t finish it. 

 

After ingesting enough chocolate to put your average diabetic into a coma, we walked over to King’s College Chapel for the evening Evensong.  The ceiling of the chapel was amazing and the voices of the choir reverberated off the stones in such a way that you could feel the music in your bones.  It was awesome to realize that I was worshipping in a church that hundreds of years ago historical figures I read about in grade school sat and prayed in.

 

About myself I have learned – I don’t do hostels.  We have stayed in one for two nights which is two nights too many.  The pillows are flat…the duvets are questionable though the rooms are sizeable.  The heater in the room emitted a high pitched squeal all night long…both nights.  The bathrooms are…functional…just.  What I wouldn’t give for a can of the scrubbing bubbles.   The showers are cold and have very little water pressure.  I’m not sure I have yesterday’s soap out of my hair let alone today’s.   I hope the residence hall in London is better.

Wow…just wow

Today I left my beloved Scotland. Gertrude Stein wrote, “America is my country, but Paris is my hometown.” Though not a town, her quote expresses how I feel about Scotland. It is like coming home for me and I love this beautiful country.

This day has brought so much for me. I feel as though I completed a personal pilgrimage today…without all the walking, which is a bonus in my book. Two years ago I went to Iona, the birth place of Christianity for the UK and indeed much of Europe. As I was in the bus I saw stones that marked the pilgrimage walked from Iona to Holy Island in England. Many years after St. Columba(father of Christianity in the UK) died those who carried on his work were forced out of Iona by the Vikings. Some returned to Ireland with the Book of Kells, others refused to leave the land and people they loved but knew Iona was no longer safe so they began a pilgrimage that ended at Holy Island, the cradle of Christianity. Today I was at Holy Island. I sat in the amazing medieval ruins of the priory and cried. LikeIona, there is the tang of the ocean, rolling hills full of lambs, and a very small community. Twice a day the island actually becomes and island when the tide comes in, flooding the causeway and cutting the town off from the mainland. It is peaceful and serene with only the sound of cooing doves, the gentle lapping of the North Sea, the wind in the grass, or an occasional sheep bleat to interrupt the quiet.

Though Holy Island will never mean to me what Iona does, I was reminded of the lessons I learned while on Iona and how important personal communication with God is. It was a humbling, focusing experience for me that has come at a crucial time in my life as I prepare to transition into the unknown. I was able to just sit and listen; it always amazes me how much I hear when I just listen.

Any description of the priory (which dates to 1110) could not do it justice. The stone is a blend of creams, reds, pinks, and greys. The size is phenomenal and one is left to wonder how the architects of yester-year managed to build buildings that still stand and today a few years after we put something up it is shifting and leaking.

After Holy Island we piled back into the bus for the trip to Alnwick. I fell asleep so I have no idea how long we travelled or what I missed. I woke up five miles outside of Alnwick Castle. The castle defies description. I feel as though I have failed my literature professors – I have no words to describe this place.

Alnwick Castle is owned by the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland – they are currently in residence. I’m staying at a castle and the Duke is in. He is the second wealthiest man in the UK – the Queen is no popper but she doesn’t own nearly as much as His Grace. Wealth is evidently based on many different factors in the UK – the Duke is land wealthy. He owns picturesque rolling hills and several corners of London, as well as industrial real estate etc. Please don’t think he is land rich and cash poor however. For his recent 50th birthday several hundred of his nearest and dearest friends were brought in by helicopter. Because you know, in England, huge country that it is, driving is such an arduous task.

This story perhaps more fully demonstrates his wealth. A while back a painting was found in his archives (read: he has more, many, many more) he thought it was nice but decided to sell it. The English raised a fit about it being sold outside the country. Though he didn’t really understand the conniption fit because neither he nor the English people knew he had it (read: he has so many this one wasn’t on the radar) before someone was going through the archives but he decided if they wanted him to keep it in the country, he would put it on display so it could be seen by all. As a part of the process the painting (small thing actually, not one of the big grand ones) was appraised….at £21 million. Mom, now is a good time to translate that into dollars. His Grace had a $42 million painting he didn’t even know about. That, ladies and gentlemen, is wealth…or very poor record keeping on someones part.

For those of you Harry Potter fans, I’ve walked on the area where they learn to fly. I’m sure this will mean something to someone, but it means nothing to me. Some of the folks with me seemed to think it was very cool. There was squealing.

Lesa, one of the gals from the group, I had dinner and then walked to St. Michael’s Parrish. The cemetery was amazing. The oldest headstone we could read was from 1740. There were many we couldn’t decipher so weathered were the stones.

Tomorrow we go over the St. Cloud program here and then I have free time in Alnwick. I can’t wait!

Much love!

Edinburgh

Edinburgh is a million times better when you have someone to see it with rather than all alone!  The first time I was here, I was alone for most of the experience, but this time I meandered the streets with folks from the program and thoroughly enjoyed myself. 

We started with a bus ride into Edinburgh which I admit had my tummy in knots.  The last time I was on a bus in the UK was the last time I was over and was in the Cotswolds.  I seriously wanted to stop the guy, give him a lecture on defensive driving, take over driving the bus.  Scottish drivers are much better (sorry, Thomas).  That said, pedestrians = road kill.  Even with that, no one pays attention to the walk signs – if a car is a ways off people dart across the street.  I had forgotten that part of the UK.  I embraced it and began darting out just as the locals, though always aware that to a driver my butt was just one large hood ornament if I got in their way. 

Anyway, we toddled down to Holyrood (the Queen’s official residence in Scotland…Balmoral is her estate, this is her official residence) with a stop at the house of John Knox.  John Knox is basically responsible for the reformation in Scotland – in America we know the denomination he brought to Scotland as Presbyterian.  His movement was grassroots, started small, and then grew into a firey passion for many people.  On the other side of the spectrum is King Henry who decided he wanted a divorce and told the Pope where to go.  Both methods are effective: one was fast, while the other took time but was also born out of passion (bad analogy, I guess they were both born out of passion…just different kinds).  Interestingly there were only three things in the world John Knox truly hated: the French, women, and Catholics.  Ironically, during the time he was reforming Scotland, Queen Mary (Henry’s daughter and Queen Elizabeth I’s sister) was on the throne…a woman, who had French Blood flowing through her veins, and was a staunch Catholic.  They had issues.

We stopped at Parliament.  I hate the Scottish Parliament building.  Really, you should google it; it is a horrid piece of miserable, modern architecture.  In a city with the most beautiful range of architectures in the world, they put the Scottish Parliament, which these people have fought to have the right for for hundreds of years, in a perfectly ghastly twig like structure that just makes you want to vomit.  It can be hard to get past the structure to realize the symbolic significance but all you have to do is badmouth the parliament building in earshot of a Scot and they will agree that the building is gross but then talk about the importance of the parliament and what it means to them.  The light in the older gentleman’s eyes with whom I spoke was so precious.  (Thomas, if you are rolling your eyes right now, stop it. Take your imperialist attitude and stuff it.  If you aren’t rolling your eyes, good for you…I’m surprised.)   

Last time I was here I didn’t go to Holyrood.  This time I was determined to go but because the Lord High Chancellor was in residence the palace was closed.  I was a bit miffed.  Really, I don’t mind missing a palace for the Queen but come on…Lord High Chancellor.  Poo.  So rather than pout, I took some video of the palace through the gates and then went to the Mews (which have been converted into a little tea shop) and had tea and scones.  Fantastic! 

Next, I walked up the Royal Mile with everyone to my beautiful beautiful castle…note how I have claimed ownership.  I took lots of video for you, Sunshine, and took lots of pictures for you, Cyd.  I cried when I saw the Stone of Destiny again.  The Scotsmen that stand guard over the Honors (the crown jewels of Scotland and the Stone) got a kick out of me as I’m standing their wiping my eyes.  When you look at it, it’s just a sparkly rock, but when you listen to the fervor in the voices of the people to whom it matters and understand truly what this stone means, it takes on a life and spirit of its own that is so powerful and so meaningful it defies description for me.  And Thomas, before you say it is just a rock, kindly remember that the English “borrowed” it for 700 years, so even to them, it has great significance.  It was finally returned to the Scots in 1997 with the condition it return to London for all future coronations.   

After toddling about in the castle, my little group and I toodled down the royal mile to the coffee shop where J.K. Rowling wrote most of the first Harry Potter book.  To which I say, who cares but it was significant for others so whatever.  It was full, so we hopped across the street to a lovely place where they served water (that we didn’t have to ask for) with ice in the glasses (full of ice, mind you…also that we didn’t have to ask for) in a fantastic water pitcher that had a few springs of fresh mint, a cucumber spear, and a thin slice of watermelon.  That was the best water I have tasted in recent memory.  Utterly divine.  I had crusty bread with herbed olive oil and balsamic vinaigrette and flash fried veggies.  This all for £4.5.  Mother, DO NOT translate that into American money…I am not in America and we don’t play the translation game, remember?

We then went to a place I can’t really talk about because I bought gifts for people and I want it to be a surprise when I get home.  But I will say, I bought the gifts for my mother, brother, and dad, not my RAs because it was a very un-RD-like place to buy gifts for my RAs.  I did however take video, and Dave, you and Sunshine would love this place! 

We then toddled about some more in Old Town Edinburgh before taking off for Dalkeith again, where we went to a little pub and indulged in chocolate confections.  Patty (who runs the Wisconsin in Scotland program here at Dalkeith) and Wade (who runs the Alnwick study abroad program) had a reception for us that included Haggis.  I tried it.  I don’t like it.  I think I’d be fine if there were different herbs and spices used, but as it stood, I wasn’t a fan. 

I have a busy day tomorrow that includes a trip to Glasgow and a trip to the University of Edinburgh so I need some sleep.  Miss you all a lot, but am having a simply fantastic time. 

Rainbows and unicorns…

Step One….

I am in Detroit.  I have come to the conclusion that traveling is waaay more fun when you are with someone else.  This will be the second time I have gone to the UK alone and I’m going to own a little homesickness and some pretty good sized loneliness issues right now.  As Mom, ever the voice of reason, pointed out – no UK, no degree.  It does make it a little bit easier to fight the urge to say to heck with it and book a ticket home.  As I was packing Wednesday night I verbalized for the first time to Mom how much I wanted to just stay home and that I had thought of calling Jackie (for non-OSU friends and family, she is my major advisor) and asking if I could postpone graduation and do my internship over the summer so I could stay home and enjoy the last few weeks.  Mom asked me what Jackie would say to a question like that so I proceeded to model the conversation between Jackie and myself.  It included a few tears on my part (I had to make it realistic – I’ve only had two meetings with Jackie in our two year relationship where I did not cry) some calm logic on Jackie’s part and a series of questions worded in such a way that I was free to make my own decision but nudged in the direction of just getting the heck on the plane, going, allowing my emotions to exist but not rule my decisions, and bringing back memories and learning experiences for the people with whom I work.  Jackie Balzer is an amazing woman…she doesn’t even have to be in the same room and can advise me. 

 

My emotions thus far have certainly given me greater perspective on the experience of our exchange students.  I remember at the beginning of the year an international exchange student came to my office because she could not make her phone card work and she wanted to talk to her parents.  Her eyes started to well up with tears and instantly I remembered being in Edinburgh and just wanting to talk to Mom.  I told her I would stick with it until she could talk to her family.  Sadly, it took us about 15 minutes to figure out the phone card (again, some days I wonder how my committee saw fit to recommend me for a degree) but she got to talk to her Mom and Dad and it made a world of difference to her.  It will take some time for me to be able to fully synthesize (that was for you, Beth) this experience but if I work as an RD in the future, things will change for my international students – I am thinking about some creative support systems to put in place that meet the needs of the spirit and soul rather than just the basic needs. 

 

Mom came down on Tuesday to help me pack and to take care of Spencer while I finished up things.  She washed a million tubs of clothes and my dishes; which was a godsend because I am pretty sure had she not washed the dishes by the time I got back there would have been enough mold in my kitchen sink to supply a third world country with penicillin for 10 years.  As it is, my apartment looks like a clothing bomb exploded in it.  Shoes and clothes are strewn all over the place – the packing fall out. 

 

After saying a tearful goodbye to Spencer, who didn’t make it easier by whining as though his little heart would break (I do not delude myself – he was whining because he wanted out of the car not because he was missing Mommy) I said a tearful goodbye to my own mom (rough emotional trip thus far) and got on to a plane that was blessedly child free.  I do believe this was God’s way of saying, “I know this is tough, but I’m still here watching over you” because seriously a screaming child would have sent me over the edge.  To top the blessings off I was able to switch my middle seat for a window seat and the aisle seat person didn’t show up so the gentleman sitting next to me scooted over – save for a first class ride sitting next to McDreamy, a plane trip doesn’t get much better.  The Captain announced at one point the Twin Cities were under tornado watch and assured us there was an alternative place for us to land should there be a need.  My groan must have been audible because the gentleman next to me asked me if I had a problem with tornados – my response was the same I gave my brother earlier in the day, “If a tordano messes up my flight so help me, I will make the Wicked Witch of the West look like a vacillating cream puff.”  We discussed our general dislike of being inconvenienced while flying for a bit before he went back to his paper and I nodded off, hoping not to wake up in Oz or hoping that if I did, I just woke up with the great shoes already on as opposed to having to find a house to drop on someone. 

 

The Twin Cities airport has a wide variety of establishments that serve fine quality adult beverages.  Enough said.

 

The trip to Detroit was also child free.  So sorry, Thomas, I know this disappoints you greatly.  I, however, loved it.  It was one of those funky planes where there are three seats on one side and two on the other.  I had selected the window seat of the two seat side and whomever was supposed to sit next to me didn’t show up – I slept through most of the flight. 

 

Arriving in Detroit, I hopped a shuttle and found my way to the hotel, only to realize, I didn’t know what airline I was supposed to meet everyone at the next day.  I called Mom, again in tears (seriously, I need to drink a bathtub full of water to re-hydrate) and after talking me down she told me to go take a hot bath, go to sleep, and deal with it in the morning.  I have no cell phone numbers for the people in charge and no email has been sent with directions.  For those of you familiar with the requirements of the internship class, this will be a piece of my reflection on the challenges of this particular internship.  I send off an email before I head for the tub asking for the airline – while in the bathtub I think, why not just check the flights online and see what airline leaves from Detroit on its way to Edinburgh via Amsterdam?  Hot water apparently makes me smarter – it also makes me sleepy so upon awakening this morning I check various flights and realize I have to be flying Northwest.  Seconds later I get an email from the organizer telling me I am flying Northwest.  Disaster averted, again, thanks to Mom. 

 

I sit now in the lobby of the hotel, waiting for my shuttle to zoom me off to the airport.  I have a couple of key concerns, one being once I take off my cell phone will no longer work which severely limits my contact to the people I love.  Given that my cell phone and I are rarely without each other, I am experiencing some separation anxiety.  My other concern is that introverted Jacelyn is out in full force right now.  Being perky is really hard right now and I worry that when I meet everyone there will be some kind of ice-breaker that requires me to be an extrovert. What I really need is quiet one on one conversations.  I’m not sure I can handle a human knot experience right now and even two truths and a lie is pushing it. 

 

I guess I will sign off.  Next time you hear from me will be from a palace in Scotland. Love you much!

 

Rainbows and unicorns…. 

Curling Irons, Children, and Midori Sours

Four days to departure and I have a list of things to get done that rivals War and Peace in size.  My amazing Mom is coming down on Tuesday to help me get ready and take care of Spencer while I take as much time as I need to get stuff done in my office.  Mom rules!

 

People keep asking me if I am excited to go – which on the surface may seem like a dumb question;  hello, going to Europe to check out some of the institutions that provided the foundation of higher education in this country, and on top of that I get to visit the Beowulf manuscript and Jane Austen’s writing desk…OF COURSE I’m excited.   But as I nod my head, smile, and gush with the excitement I think everyone expects there is a part of me that is sad to go.  Crazy right?  I’ll miss my students – my time with these people is so short.  I’ve known some of my residents and one of my RAs for two years and feel very close to them.  They are each moving on next year and our relationship will change; I can’t help but feel a little bit of melancholy at the change.  I’ve so enjoyed my time with these amazing people.  I can only hope I will be able to stay connected with them in the future to see where life and their gifts take them.   It’s at times like these the reality that everyday is a once in a lifetime opportunity and we truly never have these opportunities again becomes especially salient.  Wow!  Look at the introspective downer go – on to happy thoughts. 

 

I did some shopping for my trip today.  Odds and ends mostly but I am especially excited about the power converter I picked up because this time, ladies and gentleman, I am taking a blow dryer AND a curling iron.  Last time I took a blow dryer, which I blew up on day one because I forgot to switch it over to the appropriate voltage (I find myself wondering why my committee granted me my degree), and no other styling devices.  The heck with that, friends.  If my hair is allowed to dry naturally I look like Shirley Temple got her finger stuck in a light socket.  I want product and styling equipment this time around.  I find myself caught in a quandary:  I want to look hot, but for me it takes so long to make that happen it just isn’t worth it.   I resent getting up early to put make-up on and do my hair – I figure if a beauty ritual takes longer than 15 minutes, it simply isn’t worth it.  I had it down to a science – from stepping out of the shower to walking out the door it only took me 15 minutes.  Then the portfolio happened and I didn’t have time to get my hair cut so it got really long and out of control (think Chia pet) and it was taking 25 minutes to get everything done because of the time it took to dry and style my hair.  That’s 10 extra minutes in the morning!  Unacceptable.  I had almost four inches taken off my hair (which no one has noticed yet so either it looks like crap or I live and work with some really unobservant people) so hopefully it will dry faster. 

 

Is it unreasonable to hope there are no children on any of my flights?  Inevitably there is a baby on my flight…with an ear infection…directly behind or in front of me.  Or if not a baby, a little monster with legs too short to reach the floor but just long enough to kick the back of my seat…continually…with no perceptible rhythm I can settle into.   It’s enough to make a person rethink their stance on population control.  On my flight back from the UK last time there was a seat kicker behind me.  I kept looking over my seat casting the disapproving glare at the little wart and his mother.  Finally, I turned around and asked the mother to please have her son stop, to which she replies, “He’s just a little boy, it’s a long flight.”  I’m thinking, “Yes, Ma’am and that combined with limited spaces to hide a body is why I’m having this conversation.”  I respond with, “I understand, but it’s not a short flight for me and I’d really appreciate you having him stop.” She gets that huffy, inconvenienced look on her face before she snaps, “Well, I don’t know how you expect me to stop him.”  My interior monologue screams, “Jinkies, I don’t know, tell him to stop, spank him, if all else fails tie his legs down.  Three perfectly valid methods of child control, lady, pick one!” What I actually respond was something to the affect of, “I don’t know…I’m not his mother.” 

 

At the very least I think airlines should compensate those of us who are stuck next to that child on a flight.  Seriously, I don’t have kids and it’s not like on the little map when I am picking out a seat there is a color code that lets me know a child is scheduled to be in my vicinity.  I am forced, against my will, to sit next to that which I dislike the most.  Does this sound like good customer service to you?  If I can’t pick my seat and be assured it is away from a child then I should be compensated when I am seated near screaming, kicking, or generally annoying children.  Reasonable compensations could include…free midori sours (I should never see the bottom of my glass), free upgrade to a child free section in first class, or free tickets to a destination of my choice.  Frankly, give me the drinks and I’ll be a comfortable if not happy customer.

 

Until next time…