In Summary

I’ve been in Cheltenham for 68 days now.   That means only 63 days left. 

 

I can’t believe it.  It’s gone by so fast.

In honor of the fact that I have now passed the half way mark (and here it would be good to note that I’m Way past the half way mark for weeks of classes—There’s only two and a half weeks left, excluding exam week), I’ve decided to write a blog of summarization.

Here goes—

While in England I have visited: Bath, London, Gloucester, Tewkesbury, Stonehenge, Portsmouth, Bristol, Birmingham, Oxford, and Stratford.  I’ve seen dozens of absolutely stunning Cathedrals, Abbeys, and Churches.  I’ve gone on quite a few tours.  I’ve visited quite a few shops.  I’ve bought way too many postcards.  I’ve been to a bona fide British football match and seen a performance by the Royal Shakespeare Company (King Lear).  I’ve walked at least a hundred miles (completely not exaggerating) and there’ve been many times I’ve come home soggy, damp, or absolutely soaked to the skin (but never too upset about it). 

I’ve explored the countryside around Cheltenham and Prestbury.  I watched the spring sneak up on the land and I noticed when the lambs first appeared.  I’ve decided that English birdsong is more beautiful than American birdsong and that there are very few places on earth as vibrantly green as the UK.  

I had “Christmas dinner” with my flatmates and celebrated more than a couple of birthdays.  I’ve made friends with students from the Christian Union and found a home church—St. Matt’s—filled with sweet people.  I’ve learned that the longest amount of time the kitchen will remain clean (i.e. look slightly better than a war zone) is about five hours tops—and I’ve learned to deal with it.  I’ve locked myself out.  I’ve made it through two Regency Hall fire alarms without having a heart attack.  I’ve drunk numerous cups of tea.

I’ve been to (on average) four classes a week.  I’ve written four big papers and a few smaller ones.  I’m celebrating the fact that Easter break is four weeks long, and trying not to stress over the fact I have no idea what to expect from my three exams which are worth half my grade. 

I’ve found that, on the whole, English people are incredibly nice with a pretty wry sense of humor. 

In summary: I’ve fallen in love with England.  

Places of Importance

Yesterday was another little adventure.  (There’s actually been quite a few that I haven’t blogged about, but I’ve been doing homework these last few weeks—amazing, right?—so I haven’t really been in the mood to write more than what’s going to be graded.)  Yesterday we took a BCA trip to Blenheim Palace, and from there, to Oxford.

The Palace was astounding because, I have to admit that I wasn’t really expecting to see a palace.  A mansion, yes.  A palace, no.  The Dukes of Marlborough have been living here for eleven generations (give or take).  Winston Churchill was born here during a party in a guest bedroom that was being used as a cloakroom.  (I never would have guessed that Churchill had long blond ringlets as a child.  It makes me look at him in a different light.)  Also, it was in the Blenheim gardens that he proposed to his wife.  The gardens—well!  I’d forgotten how beautiful the grounds surrounding castles/palaces could be.  There were huge man-made lakes, fountains, cascades, arboretums, fields of daffodils, and miles of walks.  It was gorgeous.   I would have been happy to set up my tent and live outside—forget the palace.

From Blenheim we took our coach to Oxford.  Wow—Oxford was crazier than London.  Smaller, but just as bustling.  Their traffic system seemed to need some work.  It just didn’t flow all that well.  Maybe that’s why people bike everywhere.  It’s a miracle that I didn’t get run over.  I guess it must be proof that I’m becoming slightly more city-savvy.

In Oxford, I saw the Oxford Castle (didn’t know they had a castle), the covered market, college after college after college—all of them beautiful, and the Radcliffe camera (still not sure what it was, but it’s famous!  How completely awfully stereotypically touristy).  I saw lots of students packing up their parent’s cars to go home for the Easter break (yes, already!  Their terms are only eight weeks long.)  I saw many attractive young men (attractive and brilliant—my search is narrowed down immensely.  Now all I need to ensure is that they follow Christ and are taller than me…).  I saw Christchurch and some of the staircases where they film Harry Potter scenes.  The great hall dining room is also at Christchurch, but it was closed for parent/student goodbye lunch.  Good thing I’m not a HP junkie or this would have been Tragic.  

All in all, another amazing day.  I love that there’s an infinite number of day trips from Cheltenham! 

As It Were, It's a Bit Like Heaven

It is Wednesday.  I am tired.  I’ve had three cups of coffee today, so the fact that I am tired doesn’t seem quite right.  (Can I have four cups without impairing my health?  What about five…?  Is this an addiction?)  I haven’t even done all that much schoolwork.  I did have to sit though an entire class on Byron, however.  Byron.  Sometimes I am envious of the way he gets to be extremely cynical and overly-dramatic and self-pitying in such a creative manner that people love him despite his faults.  Other times I just have no patience.   Whiny and childish.  Oh please give it a rest.

My tutor in the Byron class has a favorite phrase.  (I love those overused favorite phrases/words of my tutors, professors, or teachers.  Every time they pop up, I smile.  It makes class a little more interesting.)  This particular tutor always says: “As it were”.  As it were, what?  “And Byron, as it were, thinking that life ended with the tomb, though despairing…”

Yesterday I went for a three hour walk up that big hill again.  The entire top of the hill is designated “the Prestbury Reserve”.  I wish I could describe it with justice—I already tried and failed.  The best I can do is to say it was exactly what I hope heaven is like (minus the two huge telephone poles).

Up there, the horizons play with your mind.  People strolling in the distance look like they’re walking on the edge of the world.  There’s nothing behind them but hazy blue.  When you get to the crest where they had been, you realize that it's not an edge, but the brim of a slope from which you can see miles of wild grass crisscrossed with paths of greener grass.  There are little shrubby trees in clumps.  There are taller trees in groves.  There are trees on the edges of true precipices that have been bent in right degree angles because of the constant wind.

The wind is nice—it’s enough to fill your ears and to make your hair get wispy and go all over the place, but it’s not difficult to walk into.  It’s enough to make you feel alone, but not lonely.  It’s the kind of a wind that you could imagine God in.  (Am I the only person who feels God in the wind?  That sounds very Pocahontas-esque.)  Sometimes when you walk down a slope, the wind instantly stops, then there’s silence. 

There’s sheep on the top of one knoll (yes, a knoll), and behind them is a town I’ve never seen before.  I can see the tower of a church.  There’s cows in a valley.  There's a rider on a dark horse.   There's a wriggly black lab that wants to be friends.  There's a crunchy apple to be munched...

If this sounds too perfect, it can’t be helped, because it’s all true. 

What a precious gift of a morning.