Apples and Sharpened Pencils

I'd like to claim the gift of prophecy when I predicted that my originally consistent stream of posts would dwindle, but I can't. Blame it on self-knowledge. Now that I've developed more of a regular life here, less has happened that would seem to deserve updating. Going to Stonehenge definitely deserved a post, but a series of days that varied only slightly from one another do not exactly inspire writing. But then again, they are what I call "normal" simply relatively. "Normal" in Oxford is relative to Stonehenge, but not at all to Athens. My high school friends were very right in giving me a survival kit to counteract extreme anglophilism (yes, I'm making up a word for it) because I am slowly falling in love with this whole experience.

Most of my days are very laid back. I have but four classes a week, each for two hours, and as of yet no papers (that will change on Saturday). So I spend the productive part of my days reading for class. And this is no light "read Chapter one for background to Thursday's lecture" type reading. So far, and let's take into account my procrastination, I have read Thomas More's Utopia, Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own, four or five short pieces from Woolf, Bronte and Austen about women and fiction, Shakespeare's Richard II, Marlowe's Edward II, Austen's Pride and Prejudice (okay so I more just skimmed this one as I've had it practically memorized for years), two circa 15-page articles on P & P, Shakespeare's Coriolanus and Julius Caesar, and tomorrow I shall read Massinger's The Roman Actor and Austen's Emma. If that alone does not excuse my lack of posting, you shall never forgive me. What I've found fascinating is that with each of these assignments we have to read beyond high school book report summary, we have to look for deep contextual themes, postulate our own theories about how the author is responding to feminism or contemporary issues, and then defend those in class against incredibly smart professors (or Dons) and about ten of my peers. I am in heaven - a very busy heaven that comprises a lot of typed words.

Most meals I eat at Keble dining hall, save for when the mile walk seems too long to be parted from a book or when the meal is scheduled at 10 AM on a Sunday. I mean really, who wakes up that early? ;) I have fallen into a nocturnal sleep cycle where I stay up until 1 or 2 and then sleep until at least 10, if not later. Today I surprised myself and slept a full twelve hours, rolling over in bed and literally gasping at the clock which read "1:00 PM" I wish I could claim that I am working to escape this vicious cycle, but as I type, it is 2:30 in the morning.

The past two nights, I've gone together with some friends (Houston, James, and tonight Mary Catherine) to cook meals. I admit, I love that. We cooked some group meals in New Zealand and, especially at the beginning, they were experiences I'll never wish to forget. There's something magical about getting a group of friends and making food while talking or even singing. Last night, Houston and James whipped up these amazing mashed potatoes and pork in a mustard/white wine sauce and tonight Mary Catherine (with a little help from me) made chicken parmesan over spaghetti with a salad. We listened to jazz and Sinatra and laughed at how much food we made, enough to feed several more people.

My life is pretty much made of of wonderful moments like these, vain efforts to hide from the looming texts to be read, and excursions out into wonderful Oxford. We have been incredibly fortunate as far as weather, which I've learned is a word-that-shall-not-be-named. Saying "rain" supposedly brings forth torrential downpours. I hope the same does not apply to typing said word. I believe it rained a bit tonight around 10, but other than that, we've had beautiful blue skies and a light breeze. I've started to notice the changing of colors. There is a house on my walk to Oxford which is covered in red ivy. I'm not entirely sure if the ivy is meant to be red year-round or not, but it's a beautiful sight. I suppose I should take a picture of it. Apologies for the lack of pictures to accompany this post. I've tried to ingrain myself more in the culture here and carrying around a camera hardly helps.

I went on a wandering tour of Oxford the other day, and although part of me wishes I had my camera, it was much more fun meandering with no clear purpose. We set out to find an antique bookshop and though we only found one, we traversed the whole of Oxford. Houston supposes we walked about 8 miles, but I would guess even more. At any rate, you get the idea. I, unfortunately, got completely turned around. Oxford is a rather small city, but we'd walk up and down streets repeatedly so that my limited sense of direction just completely flew out of my head. At some point, we saw Christchurch College, which is beautiful. I think if I applied here, I'd either be very ambitious and apply to that College, or recognize my failings and apply to a college where I'd hope to find less competition, such as Nuffield College which we also passed. (No offense to anybody out in cyberspace with a fondness for Nuffield. I just found the name somewhat unusual). I now feel much more acquainted with this gorgeous city. Apologies for not taking my camera, and therefore you, with me on the trip. Perhaps one day soon I shall repeat parts of my journey.

As far as applying to Oxford, I'm steadily falling for the idea. Some of the people on this trip are here in part to visit schools for post-collegiate opportunities. I had always assumed such options to be completely out of the question, but (and I can hear my family gasping from here) I'm starting to reconsider. Getting a doctorate in England takes only three years, as opposed to something like 7 in the states. The tuition is not much of a yearly difference, and when compounded with the much quicker graduation rate, I'd even be saving money. Not only that, but getting a doctorate in British history or British literature (still haven't decided) in Britain makes perfect sense. Never fear, Katherine, I still look upon my American flag from time to time and remember my roots. I don't think I'll ever become a complete expatriate. Perhaps I'll be the eccentric Anglophile professor who begins lectures with a declaration of love for all things British while remaining in country. We shall see, nothing decided, just reveling in possibility.

As it now approaches 3 in the morning, I guess I should sign off and go read Emma before falling asleep. Definitely not my favorite of Austen's works. All my love for the people back home. I hope the leaves on the trees in Georgia (and wherever you are) begin to change and fall to the ground just as they are here. And as we approach fall, I hope you too are reminded of the smell of sharpened pencils and apples; autumn always made me feel more scholarly.