Momma, I made it!

After an exhausting drive to Seattle  (it is by God’s grace we made it – thanks for the prayers, Momma!), a restless flight to Atlanta (there were children in the seat behind who were allowed to throw toy cars at the back of my seat through the entire flight), and a sleep filled flight to London (fell asleep an hour outside of Atlanta and woke up an hour and half outside of London - no children in the near vicinity) we arrived.  We made it through customs, to Paddington station just fine and found our hostel.  We’ve taken advantage of the lovely weather and been to Parliament, Big Ben, Westminster, Trafalgar Square, and Piccadilly Circus.  

David and Becca are pretty conscious of the volume of their voices.  Becca checks in every once in a while to see if her ”London voice” is quiet enough.  They are trying so very hard to respect the culture they are experiencing. 

I’ve found a kindred spirit in Brandon.  He enjoys all the same things I do so we are spending our day tomorrow together.  As a big group we are going to St Paul’s Cathedral, The Tower (to see from the outside, not actually go in)and Tower Bridge, and the British Library.  I had to bribe two of them to go to the British Library by telling them there were free bathrooms and water fountains to fill up their water bottles.  The other one only wanted to go because there are some Beatles song sheets there.  Crush my soul!  In one room are some of the greatest treasures of the world’s literature and the draw was free bathrooms.  This caused me to launch into a lecture about the tenacity of the human spirit and the very soul of generations before us being captured within these writings.  I was unable to change any minds with my impassioned plea.  They also refuse to go to the British Museum – citing it as boring and preferring instead to go to Harrods and Oxford Street (a mile an a half of tourist stores and shopping centers).  Again, my heart broke a little, but I refrained from a lecture this time.  You can only do so much in one day.  Brandon is my salvation; as I said, we like all very similar things so we are touring buddies for the week I imagine.  He also shows the proper amount of awe when we see cool stuff. 

Everyone was going to go to Phantom with us, but then they found out the guy who played Kramer in Seinfeld is in Arsenic and Old Lace and they want to go to that instead.  Again, it’s just Brandon for Phantom.  Which is fine – West End productions are worth it.  I’m glad they are going to a play instead of hitting the bars.  Never mind – Becca just looked up Arsenic and it closed March 5th.  They’ll probably go see Wicked instead.  Doesn’t matter to me – if my tookas is in the West End it is seeing Phantom!  Christine dumped him for another man; you won’t find me doing the same thing!

I’m tired, dirty, and in desperate need of a shower.  My feet are about ready to walk off my ankles they are so tired.  We covered some ground today and Brandon and I are planning on covering a heck of a lot more tomorrow.  In addition to the group’s happenings, we are headed to Westminster (we got to see the outside today but Brandon wants to see inside), The British Museum, The National Gallery, The Royal Albert Hall, a walk through Hyde Park, and whatever else our little brains cook up. 

The culture shock isn’t huge for everyone because they still here their language as the dominate one.  Little things, like how Londoners don’t smile and make eye contact and the fact that there are stairs everywhere are things they are picking up one but they haven’t quite picked up on the fact that the culture is vastly different.  I’m not sure if within this week there is enough time for them to see – it takes a while to work through trying to make this culture fit your culture – which is pretty solidly where most of them are right now.  It’s fun to watch how they react to things and the lens through which they see the world. 

I’m going to close for now, go shower, and write in my journal.  Love to everyone back home! 

“Him” has now become Carter

In a follow up post to “It has now become him” – “him” has been born.  Carter is three weeks old today.  Tom and Shareana decided on Carter Maximus Steele Keys for his name.   As one of my former RAs said, “That’s a seriously BA name…I wouldn’t mess with a kid who had a name like that.”  He’s a little guy but apparently not afraid of voicing his thoughts or opinions on any topic that strikes his fancy.  

Spencer is staying with Mom and Dad while I am in Europe and Mom and Dad plan on going up to see Carter in a little over a week.  I’ll be interested in Spencer’s take on the little man.  It will be the first time Spencer will have to really share his Gran with anyone.  I can see Gran holding Carter and Spencer deciding it is his turn and just diving up into Gran’s arms without so much as a glance at the junior human he is trampling.  That’s my boy…such a gentleman.  Spencer has never really been a fan of children – he’s pretty patient with Leigh (an RD friend’s daughter) but that only lasts for 10 minutes at a time.   It should be interesting…

I’m going back…

I’m 48 hours away from driving out of Corvallis headed towards Seattle which will ultimately take me back to the UK for Spring Break. Some friends and I got some truly amazing deals on tickets and we are taking off for Spring Break in Europe. I love the sound of that…slightly decadent, don’t you think? Anyhoo, we are flying over to see the sights as well as catch up with four of our friends who decided to abandon us for study abroad. Here’s the rough itinerary:

Saturday: Leave home for UK
Sunday: Arrive in London and kick off the London 2009 Tour with a trip to the British Museum and Library. I’m not flying thousands of miles and not making a trip to visit Beowulf of Jane Austen’s writing desk…that would be crazy! And since I am going with four people who have never been to London, I figure starting the trip with a tiny Brit Lit lesson followed up by some time spent in the Egyptian section of the British Museum is a good way to kick off our time there.
Monday: Tour London with friends and go see Phantom of the Opera. At least that is what Brandon, Becca, and I are doing. I’m not sure if Sparky and Katie Belle are up for Phantom but I have faith I will be able to convince them.
Tuesday: Some of us are taking day trips outside of London, others are staying in London to see more sights. I’m going to see Stonehenge (could care less), Lacock (Cotswold village where they filmed part of the Colin Firth Pride and Prejudice…be still my beating heart) and Bath (where Jane Austen lived for several years…soooo excited).
Wednesday: Chunneling to Paris and hooking up with Aisling who is flying up from Spain to see us. Look out Paris here we come!
Thursday: Hooking up with Kevin and Trevin who are coming up from Angers to see us and more Paris.
Friday: I think Kevin and I are going to Versailles for part of the day and then saying goodbye to Aisling, Kevin, and Trevin and chunneling back to London for one more night and to see Jaimie.
Saturday: Catching a plane to JFK (where I will spend 10 hours of my life in a layover I will never get back) before catching a plane back to Seattle.
Sunday: Arriving home sweet home back in Corvallis and kicking off Spring Term!

We have selected “home-base” locations that provide computer terminals so I will be able to post on my blog on a regular to semi-regular basis and keep you updated on all the fun and fantastic things we are doing and seeing.

Right now I’m concentrating on getting lots of sleep and rest to get over the crud I came down with as well as doing practice runs of packing. I’m committed to taking as few things as possible so I can pack gifts for everyone in my pack and not have to purchase another bag to get things home. I am currently taking 2 pairs of pants, two tops, jammies, extra underclothes, three pair of shoes (one is a shower shoe – because I don’t trust hostel showers), my little baggie of liquid products, a brush and toothbrush and my journal and camera. I have about 1/3 of my backpack full so as it stands everything goes in the carry on with plenty of room to spare.

I’m going to try to go back to sleep for a couple more hours. I went to bed super early last night. It felt deliciously divine to shut the ringer on my phone off and crawl into bed so early.

Domestic Diva….or not….

You know how every once in a while we’d all like to be someone we aren’t? I’m not talking about being another person entirely, though if I could switch bodies with Catherine Zeta-Jones and she wasn’t married to Michael Douglass and didn’t have two small children, I’d be all over that. I’m talking more about experimenting with activities that are well outside the normal comfort zone. Normally, I’d say it’s a good thing to extend ourselves beyond that which we normally do. These activities encourage growth. These activities lead to new passions, new experiences, new realtionships. This is a bunch of crap – they cause painful physicl damage to the only body I’m going to get on this planet.

I state this based on some of my summer activities. Mom and I went down to visit my grandparents around the first of July. During that time we helped Gramma clean out one of her closets. I own that I am a pack rat, but after working with Gramma I have come to the realization that it’s genetic and I can’t be completely blamed. But that’s for the next post. As we were digging through the mounains of fabric she will never use, we came upon a little bag and in that bag were embroidery pieces I had started when I was six or seven. Started and never finished. It is obvious my tastes have refined since then…I had started to embroider the teddy bear’s night cap in pink…no offense Leanne. Anyway, 21 years later I decided to finish what I started…after ripping out the pink. Sheer stubborness is the only reason that teddy bear’s pants got embroidered on him. Dear Lord! My fingers were so full of holes I could have had a glass of water and give the houseplants a good sprinkle with my fingertips. Did I learn my lesson? Why no! Of course not! And again my fingers pay the price.

I’ve officially moved into Finley, which has an adorable little kitchen. I have been kitchen deprived for two years so it excited me beyond reaon that I now have a stove, oven, actual cupboard space, and a freezer. Saturday I went picking blueberries with colleagues . I froze two gallon bags of lovely blueberries and then decided to attempt to make my Mom’s chicken salad (the most divine salad ever created!). I bustle about my little kitchen thinking I am just the next Donna Read; seriously I was a string of pearls and pair of heels away from the perfect 1950’s housewife…in my own mind. I’m boiling, mixing, chopping, washing dishes as I went (which should tell you just how deep I was into this little fantasy of mine) and after finishing up I walked to my adorable red hutch to grab the package of Saran Wrap so I could slide my fantastic salad, in its adorable bowl, into my marvelous refrigerator so the flavors could meld. The Saran Wrap was a new box so, rather than read the directions on the box that mentioned a pull tab (would June Cleaver bother with silly directions), I slid my finger under the tab and ran it down the side of the box…and that little metal strip with all the flesh ripping tips. Honestly, the Spanish Inquisition has nothing on these stinkin’ Saran Wrap boxes. After sucking half the oxygen out of the room with my pained yelp, I reached for the paper towel to stem the flow of blood. By now Spencer, who heard me yelp and came running, is bouncing around my feet trying awfully hard to help his momma. Nice thought but in the end it only made for a nice trip (literally) to the sink. Who new fingers bled so much?

I’m not a domestic goddess. I can cook. I throw a decent party. I know how to clean and can be coaxed into doing it by the possibility of using my leopard print broom but I’m not a fan. My skills come out when I am behind a desk…my fingertips safely positioned on the keys of computers, phones, and calculators. Sometimes it just pays to stick to your strengths.

Goodbyes…

…absolutely suck.

European Children

If you have followed my blog at all you know my good friend, Emily Boling, gives me crap about my belief that European children are different than American children.  Normally, I work hard to avoid all children like the plague regardless of nationality; a part of me believes they might actually be carriers of this feared and dreaded disease.  Stop and think about it – the germs that crawl all over children. They pick their nose and eat it (perfectly acceptable way of building up immunities in my brother’s mind…at nearly 25 years of age he probably still engages in the activity), they crawl on the ground through things they shouldn’t, stick their fingers in their mouths after playing in things they shouldn’t – children are petri dishes of filth and disease. It’s just a fact. As such, I try to avoid them because while their youthful little systems are fighting bugs and infections like gung-ho iguanas mine is a little more laid back.

So I’m going through the UK successfully ignoring and avoiding children. Until London. London brings a new set of challenges for this little country girl…the tube. Last time I was in London, I didn’t even bother with the tube. It’s color coded –  you would think this would be my thing. You just find the color that takes you where you want to go, hop on the one going in the right direction, and hop off at your stop. Easy right? A woman with a masters degree should be able to handle this, right? Wrong. The only tube line I could handle was the Circle line…it went in a, as you might imagine, circle so there were no divergent tracks. All the other lines I had to ride on had divergent tracks and I could never figure out where I needed to be. This coupled with the fact that I get claustrophobic easily and I know I am waaay the heck underground caused some panic. As I’m staring at this map thing trying to figure out where the hell I need to be a young man comes up and asks me if I need help. Is the Pope Catholic?!?! He explains the tube system to me (all which I had previously read in Rick Steves’ guide to London book thing) and I thank him making my best attempt at looking confident in my ability to navigate the tube.   And the Academy goes to…not me. He comes up behind me and says, “I’ll take you to your platform.” I almost weep with thankfulness.  As we are meandering through tunnels and hallways we start talking.  He asks me where I’m from, I tell him.  He asks me where I live, I tell him.  He asks me what I’m doing in the UK, I tell him.  He stops walking.  This 14 year old child, who has been so kind and helpful, looks at me incredulously and says, “You almost have a master’s degree and you don’t know how to figure out the tube?!?”  To which I reply, “I am a human services type student – not a rocket scientist.  You want to know what identity is most salient to me at this moment, I can tell you.  You want me to describe inclusivity, identity, and building identity and community into the collegiate experience, I can talk for hours.  But this is well beyond my abilities.  Dump me on a gravel road in the middle of nowhere, I’m not worried.  I know I can find my way out but I am not a mole.  Being this far underground is unnatural and weird.”  He shakes his head, gets me to my platform and wishes me well.  With many thanks for his help I turn to get on the tube.  Because I was so intent on thanking him I turn to get on the tube just as the doors start to close and almost get mashed.  I turn to wave one more time with a sheepish look on my face and the look on his face was “Wow.  That lady doesn’t have a prayer of surviving this place.” 

Fueled by this failure to understand the tube system, I found a coffee shop and sat down with my tube map.  There are a lot of things I am not good at in this world but I am a damn good student.  I have never failed a class in my life and I didn’t intend to fail learning the tube system.  So I read from Rick Steves again, compared my tube map to his writings and talked to locals until I felt confident in my ability to tube.  I bravely descended the escalator of Victoria Station to put my new knowledge to the test.  I hopped on, and hopped off, switched lines, got lost, found myself again, and scooted here and there.  I figured the tube system out! 

On my way back from the Portobello Road market I hop onto the tube to go to Harrods to pick up a gift for my sister-in-law, proudly hop onto the nearly empty car, and think to myself rather smugly…this is fantastic, I can handle anything.  God has a sense of humor.  A brutal sense of humor.  Out of nowhere, 47 (yes, I counted them) children in red school uniforms descend and all manage to get on the car upon which I have walked.  They are blocking the exit.  I can’t get off.  And then one of the three, only three for 47 little monsters, chaperones apologizes to the four of us on the car.  It’s bad when the chaperone apologizes before the car has left the platform.  The car takes off and the little girl who sat down next to me started poking me.  So I asked her to stop.  She didn’t, so I gently took her hand and more firmly request she stop.  The car slows down and stops – there is no platform.  A voice comes across the car and says that to help even the spacing of the trains we are going to be stopped for a bit.  Hell no.  I am stuck in a tube car, where I can’t see the sun or breathe fresh air with a child poking me for an untold period of time.   So God and I chat for a bit. The conversation goes something like:

Jacelyn:  Very funny, God.  Kids and claustrophobia.  Did I do something to tick you off?

God:  —

Jacelyn:  Okay, so perhaps I was smug and a little arrogant about the whole learning to ride the tube thing and I really should have said thank you for sending me that great little guy to help.  I’m sorry. 

God: —

Jacelyn:  Thank you. 

God: —

Jacelyn: Not to sound like a raving shrew but this kid is driving me nuts.  If you have a free second, could you please do something about her?  Thanks

God: —

The tube started moving. 

Jacelyn:  Thank you so much!

The child is still poking me two stops later.  So I look at her and simply say, “Enough, Child!” She stops, looks at me, and says, “Do you have any candy?”  I am at this point truly done with children, European or not…and reply, “Have you ever heard the story of Snow White?  You might want to think twice before taking things from strangers!”  I get up and move towards the doors, wading through an ocean of children. 

As I tell this story to some of the people on the trip some look at me aghast.  I’m just doing my part to ensure that my friends in the counseling world are employed for years to come. 

 

 

Dalkeith

Britt asked me what Dalkeith was like I realized I hadn’t really shared much about the town in which we are staying.  If you really want a detailed ”picture” of Dalkeith, I suggest you tune into Britt’s Blog (www.brittinbritain.wordpress.com) as she will be here longer and will be able to give a much fuller picture of the town.  If you want my impressions, read on.  By the by, the English Major in me is out in full descriptive force.   

As you drive away from the Edinburgh airport you are greeted by quaint stone cottages, woolly lambs, and fields of vibrant yellow rapeseed.  Everywhere you look the hills are coated in vivid shades of green and dotted with livestock, rabbits (hundreds of them), or the yellows of scotch broom, rapeseed, or some other colorful bloom that flourishes in this land of rain and mist. 

In Scotland, when it is misty they say, “The sky is low today.”  Fog is not the same here…we have a much dryer fog than they do - even on the coast the fog is not as dense as it is here in Scotland.  I had forgotten what Scotland smelled like until I started walking around Dalkeith.  One of my favorite smells is home after a rain; because of the uniqueness of the land and botanical life in has a smell like no other.  Scotland is the same.  Oban has the tang of the ocean and Dalkeith has the earthiness of the woodlands in which it is nestled. 

The freeway type road from the airport quickly gives way into the smaller country road that winds slowly into Dalkeith.  The first thing you see as you come down the small hill is a church spire and around the corner the bus turns to another spire and a rock bridge.  After crossing the rock bridge you meander through a residential section for just long enough to spot the chimneys and start humming a rousing rendition of the Mary Poppins classic.  A left on High Street (every town has one…it is the equivalent of our Main Street) takes you past the post office, a few fun pubs and Franco’s…and amazing fish and chips place that also serves up pizza, fried cheeseburgers, and a good helping of fun conversation. 

Down the bus goes to a cobblestone path that leads through black gates.  An immediate left and you are a few short feet from Dalkeith Palace.  If you decide to google it, know I don’t see the same thing you do.  Like many places in the UK it is covered in scaffolding having repairs made to its roof.  This is going to be a long process, but I am amazed by the lack of concern for risk management – in comparison to what I am used to.  OSU folk…remember when Weatherford was having the first part of its face lift and how the fences kept people well back from the scaffolding and work?  The fences here touch the scaffolding and we walk underneath it everyday.  When we first drove up the first thing I thought was, “Oy Vey!  That’s a Drew Desilet nightmare right there.”  A fire escape door appears to be completely closed because of the scaffolding and no one seems to mind.  I’m almost positive they don’t have flamex around here. 

Down the road from the palace is a bridge, farmlands, and forests thick and dark.  People come to walk their dogs on the estate – Spencer would love it! Dalkeith is a small, quiet little town, off the beaten path and content to stay that way.  It offers few of the tourist fluffery you will find elsewhere, but provides you with wonderful friendly people willing to talk about themselves, and anxious to learn about you all in a picturesque setting worthy of any postcard. 

Itinerary

I thought it might be fun for you to have an itinerary of where I’ll be and what I’ll be doing since after leaving Dalkeith, I’m not sure what kind of internet service I’ll have.  Shareana, could you please share this post in it’s entirety with Mom?  It might help her knowing where I’ll be.  For the rest of you, Shareana is my sister-in-law and she is keeping my mom up to date because Mom’s computer isn’t working…which I imagine is really hard for her at this moment. 

Prior to putting the itinerary down a few more housekeeping items.      Emily, I love that the thing you will always remember me for is that I think European children are different than American children.  Mock me all you will, but I still believe it.  One, they have better accents (seriously, whining in a Scottish accent is far more endearing than the whine of an American accent.  If I whined to you and Gerard Bulter whined to you, I promise he would sound better.  And be easier on the eyes.  Whoa!  Kind of glazed over there for a second). Two, their cultural values are different thus their identities develop differently…which is what I meant in the first place, and you know that but fine, continue to mock me.                                     Thomas, simply put, you are wrong.  I refuse to further debate the issue because you bring a lens of imperialistic snobbery generations old that is as ingrained into your being as your DNA.  But do know that I know, and on some baser level you know…you are wrong.  No amount of sucking up in the world is going to get you in good with my mother after she reads your last comment.

Itinerary

Day 4 (today):  University of Edinburgh and University of Glasgow…going from 8:00 to 17:00 (it is your job to translate out of military time because it’s not something I do easily).  Sleep back at Dalkeith.

Day 5: Depart Dalkeith for Alnwick (the Harry Potter castle).  Sleep at Alnwick.

Day 6: St. Cloud University – Center for British Studies @ Alnwick (pronounced Anick with the ”A” being the same pronunciation as apple) and hang out at the castle time. 

Day 7: Depart Alnwick for York.  Tour the cathedral go to York St. John’s University.  Stay at a Holiday Inn. 

Day 8: Arrive in Cambridge and take a tour including Queens College.  Meet with the Director of Admissions for the Cambridge Colleges Jesus College (keep in mind education and religion is inextricably linked here in England.  Separation of church and state is a value of America not the UK).

Day 9:  Free day in Cambridge.  There is a lot of fantastic historical stuff to see (because it is the UK and everywhere you look there is fantastic historic stuff to see).

Day 10: Depart for London.  Check into Residence Hall – once that is done a free time in London.  It’s a Sunday so I’m not sure what I’ll be doing but it’s London, I’ll find something.

Day 11: Free Day in London.  This will include trips to visit the Beowulf manuscript, Jane Austen’s writing desk, the British Museum and a variety of other fantastic Museums to roam. 

Day 12: London Metropolitan University and National Union of Students

Day 13: Free Day in London with closing group dinner.

Day 14: Head to Gatwick and fly home. 

Day 15: Leave Detroit for home, home.  Hug my Mom, see my puppy and start getting over jetlag. 

That’s the plan.  I’ve got to scoot…I have to find a way to do my hair (though I used the converter my hair dryer died…as did all the other dryers on this trip and three of the flat irons.)   I guess it’s Shirley-Temple-stuck-her- finger-in-a-light-socket hair for the rest of the trip. 

Hairy cows and baby lambs…

 

Palaces and Castles

Seriously, all I need now is Prince Charming.  Where the hell is he!?!?!

The room in which I am staying at Dalkeith was the former nursery (the irony is not lost on me, Emily) which was the primary play area of hundreds of generations of Douglass and Buccleauh  (it is very probable I misspelled that) children.  The room is lovely shade of cream and pale mint green.  Though that was written with a good dose of sarcasm, for a nursery, I guess it’s not bad.  The crown molding is original to the palace…that’s original to 1711.  For those of you who haven’t brushed up on American History recently that’s more than a couple years before we gained independence from England.  Staying in a palace older than my country, I am…as Yoda would say.   

The nursery has three huge windows set in a semi circle shape.   Though currently it is filled in a somewhat random manner with seven beds and a variety of vanities and wardrobes (it is the home of seven students for four months normally), the room still has a charm that stems from something more than it’s furnishings or industrial style carpet.  The entire house has an undefinable presence that may just come from hundreds of years of history.  Imagine what these walls have heard in the course of the last almost three hundred years.

Going to Edinburgh today.  Speaking of which…my hair is wet and I need to go change for the day and prepare for the day trip into town.  I might head back to my room by way of the grand staircase and ballroom…

Castles, palaces and cobblestones…

Step Three…

I need to get to bed and get some sleep since I did not sleep on either plane and am now 29 hours without sleep. 

The accommodations are AMAZING!  Dalkeith is indeed a palace (to earn the title palace, evidently, royalty must have stayed at the building) complete with a lovely ballroom (yes, I have twirled in it), a grand staircase (yes, I have put my heels on and descended it gracefully twice…okay, three times), magnificent grounds and a rich history.  Charles IV, James I, and Queen Victoria have all stayed here.  Seriously, think about it.  I am staying in the same place, walking the same halls that Queen Victoria did.   

I took my camera, yours too Cyd, out for a walk around the grounds and met some lovely people out walking their dogs.  A Cocker Spaniel (Hunter) thought I was something pretty special and I would take him home in a heartbeat but I think Spencer might have some issues with that.  I’ve been to town twice and had some delicious food.  The people are so nice.  It’s funny because in the UK you have to ask for water with your meal and they don’t add ice to it.  I am an ice girl – I love nothing more than a cup full of ice topped off with a little beverage.  When I ordered my meal tonight the waitress was so funny.  She brought me my water with three ice cubes and just looked so proud of herself.  She said, “Your American right?  You like ice in your water correct?”  It was so thoughtful of her, and I truly appreciated it. 

Okay, really need sleep.  Off to a free day in Edinburgh tomorrow.  I’ll say hi to everything for you, Jaimie!