As a Rule

So, I have a confession. Instead of doing homework last night and getting into bed at a reasonable hour, I found myself writing this little story. I love people-watching, especially in lines, at airports, and on trains. Since moving here, I've been on a train or bus very often (California needs to work on its public transportation system), and I love it. This story was pieced together from bits of people-watching and, of course, my imagination.
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As a Rule

The 6:10 train was four minutes late. This set Henry on edge –– he nervously shifted his weight from one loafered foot to the other. Cold wind whipped through the station, combined with the warm rush of inbound and outbound trains on either side of him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, wishing the headache away. When the train squealed up to platform 12, Henry was chilled and irritated. The roast he'd left in the slow cooker this morning would probably be chewy and flavorless now. Read the rest: http://calliesshortstories.blogspot.com/

On Being United

Us humans can have such a difficult time in our relationships. We clash, we get irritated, we have trouble just plain meshing. We get jealous and competitive, condescending and snippy. There are times when small talk is painful, and even dear ones exhausting. But then inevitably, because God is good, there are days when you get into bed smiling –– brimming with the lightness of friendship and frolicking, of good conversation and laughter.

The topic of "unity" has come up a lot over the last few weeks. We are going through Philippians in bible study and 1 Corinthians at church. Both books have the theme of unity thread throughout, so it's been on my mind. And today, I was given such a lovely picture of what Christian unity looks like.

The first part of my day was spent with Sara and Sarah (I know, my parents must've missed the naming memo) running all around Kirkstall Abbey. It's only a 45-minute walk from our flat to "one of the most complete examples of a medieval Cistercian abbey in Britain."  First of all, who am I that I can just wake up in the morning and decide to walk (which is free-of-charge and quite healthy so they say) to real-life medieval ruins (which also has free admittance. They'd definitely charge you at least $15 for anything half this pretty in the States). We just walked through town, and then there among the shops and brick townhouses was a lovely park with water and grass and small children riding scooters through puddles –– and this park just happens to have some amazing stone abbey ruins. We ate lunch on a picnic table inside the crumbled walls, and talked of God and faith and growing up. We ran around on the tops of rocks and hid inside crevices along what used to be a library or a kitchen. Then, we sat on a bench in the sunshine and read/crocheted until us California girls couldn't feel our fingertips.

I could have gone home fully content right then –– I'd had a peaceful day of communing with red maple trees, of good girl chats, and taking loads of pictures. But the day just got better. Church was great, a service where you find yourself smiling all the way through worship. And afterwards we got kidnapped for dinner by the sweetest couple. It was a potentially awkward situation –– being required to make socially-acceptable small talk with four strangers (2 guys came along as well) without my getaway car (we were driven because their house was far away and fog had rolled in heavily). But it turned out to be an incredibly warm evening of candlelight and stew and laughing and playing Bananagrams. One of those evenings where the hours pass comfortably and swiftly because you're among friends and genuinely good people.  On the way home, Sara and I dropped by Katie's house and sat around another kitchen table laughing and talking even more. You'd think I'd be worn out at this point; I'm a bit of an introvert and being with people all day can absolutely wipe me out.  But then (I know, stop gushing, right?) I got to talk to bosom buddy Bethany on Skype for a few hours. I laughed so much today that, combined with the all walking and the talking, I definitely burned off any extra carbs (yes, in my world talking burns carbs).

I am going to sleep a happy girl. And all this got me thinking:

Here I am, miles away from family and friends in a new culture. They might speak English here, but I still find myself saying, "Huh?" more than I like to admit. I mean, they'll say things like "plaster" instead of "Band-Aid" and "courgette" instead of "zucchini."  My flatmates have never seen snow and their Facebook pages are entirely in Portuguese.  Yet, basic humanness brings us together–– cooking or relationship woes or tripping on the street. There are universal things to show we're all basically alike, just with different sets of backgrounds, cultures, families, climates, experiences.  But today, I also really noticed the beauty of the connection of Christianity.  When you believe in the same God, another layer of difference is stripped away, and that's when the "unity" and the "body of Christ" the Bible's always talking about becomes so sparkling clear.

Autumnal Glow

“I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.” -- L.M. Montgomery

Here is my yearly ode to Fall. If you know me at all, you know I love odes, and you know I live for Autumn. Every year around this time, I turn into a ten year old. A ten year old who, instead of being hyped up on the promise of Christmas or birthday cake, is high on red maple leaves and pumpkins and rainstorms. I know it's technically been Autumn since late September, I've been wearing a jacket since I arrived here, and there's been numerous rainstorms. But still, I was waiting. I was waiting for that feeling –– a feeling which inevitably hits me and lets me know that Autumn has finally arrived. Yes, Autumn is a combination of its own smells, sounds, and a feeling. Really, it's 6th sense I have. Not as cool as seeing dead people, but still.

It all started last night, when I began feeling that Autumn-tingle while walking to a party with Sara. There was no moon in the sky to be found, and the night was thickly dark. The kind of dark that makes you want to tell scary stories and burn a big bonfire. You could see your breath, and the air held a thin chill that's sharp and clear against your lungs. Then, all day today was spent in my favorite bakery, lost deep in the vampire world of Transylvania because I'm reading Dracula for one of my classes. Too perfect for this time of year, right? On the way home, we chased the last of the sunlight through Hyde Park, but it had bent behind the tree line before we reached the patch of sunny grass. The trees in the park and along the pathway home are all turning–– bits of vibrant yellow and red in the green. And the air still held the clear cool that manages to smell slightly smoky.

When I get this Fallish-feeling, I have to give in to it. Giving in means that when I got home this evening, I immediately had to bake an apple crisp, which is browning and bubbling in the oven as I type. It means I have to dig out my favorite Winnie the Pooh fuzzy socks and re-read favorite passages from the Anne books. It means it's time to watch Little Women and the BBC Pride and Prejudice. It means I start daydreaming of the time when I'll finally live in a place with a wood-burning fireplace and an overstuffed armchair. It means baking oatmeal cookies and creating soups in the crockpot. A time for pumpkins and hay mazes and countryside hiking jaunts in boots and woolen scarves. It means I might never change out of the jumper (sweater) I bought at the charity shop, and it means I might keep myself awake at night just listening to the rain against the window.

Now I will finish my rant, my ode, my soliloquy and return to homework and cleaning up the mess I just made in kitchen. But the smell of cinnamon clings to my sweatshirt, and there's the promise of pumpkin-carving in the very near future. Autumn is here, so it deserved its own post.

As my L.M. Montgomery would say, “Why do dusk and fir-scent and the afterglow of autumnal sunsets make people say absurd things?”

Jonah Day

I had one of those days today. One of those days that starts with not hearing your alarm and ends with crawling into bed by 7pm to watch the Kardashians. One of those days where your outfit is completely wrong (I chose a thin blouse on the day the fog rolled in and it decided to plummet to the 40s), and you're sure the whole world can see the sore on your lip or the pimple on your forehead. You find yourself stuttering to make basic conversation.  One of those days where the syllabus is wrong and you show up for class (the day of a presentation you're giving) having read the wrong story. You manage to get miffed at/ irritate half your family members, even being across an ocean. One of those days where between seminars you end up sitting in a crowded pub eating leftover Cheerios from the Ziplock bag in your purse because you forgot your packed lunch in the fridge at home and you're too cheap to buy a pasty or sandwich.

It was one of those days where nothing all that terrible happened. But to quote my favorite character, Anne  (yes, the one of Green Gables), it was just a "Jonah Day." A day where all that's left to do is hole up in bed with the blanket I'm crocheting and a few chocolate-covered biscuits. Okay, more than a few. I think I've eaten my weight in Digestives since I've been here. And if you count how many pounds  (meaning British $, not weight –– though better be careful now that I'm thinking about it) Sara and I have spent just on these cookies, we might be able to help lower American debt or something.

But if there's a sure-fire way to turn my bad day better, it's to re-watch one of my favorite childhood movies. Tonight's pick: A Little Princess. While watching, I was thinking how the movies we watch and books we read when we're young inform our developing views of life. From A Little Princess, I learned that Daddys always like to dance with their daughters. I learned that goodbyes and death and cruelty are part of life, but that doesn't mean life loses its luster (I love the part where she dances out in the snow, flinging out her hands and giggling at the wonder of snow flakes. Even though she has nothing to be happy about, she finds magic.) I learned that imagination keeps life vibrant, and good stories are intoxicating. I learned that kindness will be rewarded in turn with kindness (even when you thought it went unnoticed). I learned to work on upper-body strength in case I'm ever hanging by my fingers out a 5th-story window in the rain and need to pull myself up. I learned that friendship should be extended to the different, the strange, and even the bullies. I learned that bad guys never win, and that your dolls come to life when you walk out of your room.

In the movie, Sarah (aka the Little Princess) draws a circle around herself –– for in her imaginary stories, that circle will protect her from any real harm. I couldn't help but think how comforting that would be to have a "safe circle." On days like this –– or those so much worse –– you could pull your legs up to your chin and sit in safety, away from heartache and pettiness and disappointment and sin. But then, come to think about it, I do have safe circles. I have sweet childhood memories (like this movie) that taught me the beauty of kindness and patience and laughter. I have a Dad who danced with me. I have a good imagination. I have friends and family who accepted me. I have a God who can allow a man to get swallowed by a fish and still live to tell the tale. I'm not naive enough to think that sin and hurt won't ever touch me, but thanks to A Little Princess (and some life experience), I am still optimistic enough to know the bad guy doesn't win.

Rain, Rivalry, and Rugby

I feel as though I should describe my first British rugby game. On Wednesday, I went to the University of Leeds (referred to affectionately as Uni) versus Leeds Metropolitan University (not-so-affectionally referred to as the Met) varsity rugby game at the Headlingly stadium (is it only because I'm in England that I kept thinking it looked like a Quidditch field?). The two schools have a long-standing rivalry, making this the game of the year. I had a wonderful time. It was kind of one of those experiences that's difficult to put into words, but for the sake of remembering, I have to try. So let me recount the many glorious things the experience taught me:

• When it decides to properly rain (and it was a downpour), even if you are wearing a beanie, a hood, two jackets, a sweatshirt, and carrying an umbrella, you will still look like you just got out of a shower by the end of an hour. I'm not sure how that's even possible, but I have pictures to prove it. 
• It is a smart idea to make the Uni students and the Met students go in separate entrances and sit on opposite sides of the stadium. Even so, fights will still break out in the stands and on the pitch. Oh, and there's a standing tradition of streakers. 
• When the queue to get into the stadium is miles long (not hyperbolic), you find any means by which to queue jump. Desperate times call for desperate measures, as they say. 
• If you lose the people you're with, that's pretty much a permanent problem. It's impossible to hear phones, it's dark and raining, and everything is non-descript. "I'm over near the pillars and the chairs in this crowd of people by the steps" just isn't a good enough locator.  So, hold hands for dear life.  
• Pushing, shoving, and squeezing my way through a tight thicket of bundled-up, wriled-up students to the opposite side of the jostling, rowdy crowd (just because a confused-and-stressed-looking attendant in a vested jacket told me that's where I needed to go to pick up my pre-paid ticket). . . not an easy task. Saw my life flash before my eyes a little bit. 
• When there is complete chaos, you have to just join in. When I couldn't get into the right queue from where I was, I hopped a barrier rather than going back through the afore-mentioned jostling crowd. How's that for rebellious? 
• The Met students have way better cheers, even though they're meaner. I'm sorry to say this, but it's true. The Uni students just chant "Un-i," over and over. Because everyone has an accent, it sounds like "Uuuuunn-naaay-aaay." I felt very school-spirity joining in (which as you might know, I'm not the best at being school-spirity, so yay for me).  
• Rugby is kind of like American football, but kind of not. That's all the expertise I can bring to the subject. 
• They weren't selling hotdogs, but you can get deliciously warm meat pies. Love it. 
• A "scrum" is when all the rugby players make themselves look like a human spider. It's a word that either makes me think of a dirty, sweaty old T-shirt, or a scrumptious cookie crumb. . . cannot quite decide which. 
• You will leave smelling like beer. Apparently winning means "Let's throw nearly-full pints out into the crowd." 
• If we win (which we did!), Uni students get the right to run around in the streets yelling "Uuun-naay-aay," but will get honked at by irritated bus drivers and anyone who is not a student and does not care about the epic rivalry, or understand why their commute home has been turned into a harzard.
• The words "I'm putting the kettle on," and "Would you like some warm socks?" will never sound so good.