The Abode

"My humble abode." Bleecchhhk. I cannot even talk about 'abodes' without automatically thinking of the notable Mr. Collins, from Pride and Prejudice, and how he goes on and on about "his humble abode" that Lady Catherine de Bourgh has so "graciously" provided for him. I don't have anything against the literary character of Mr. Collins as such. However, if you are like me and you immediately think of the greasy portrayal of this character in the 1995 BBC miniseries version, then you understand -and even further you feel- my aversion. 

By the way, I'm pretty sure all I need to do is say "Pride and Prejudice 1995" and just about all the people I know (my husband excluded) would know exactly what I'm talking about. There's comfort in that thought, there really is. 

While we're on the subject (I promise to move on shortly), have you seen this? 

"Swoon"- as one person put it.

In case you missed it (and how dare you be counted among one of my friends if you did), it's just a huge statue of Mr. Darcy in a London lake, because...why not? You can read more about it here.

But surely, I digress! I believe I was discussing our "humble abode" when I launched into the Pride and Prejudice talk. So yes. Linton Road, Oxford. M Block. I have discussed this but I haven't displayed photographs. Nor have I discussed the interesting thrifty ideas I have had since we got here. 

The thing about living in a foreign country is that suddenly, due to the expense of things, or the exchange rate which does you no favors, or simply off-your-rocker-craziness, you start to get thrifty in ways you didn't think possible. For example, I now hoard aluminum foil like a clever magpie. Not just because it's shiny (sorry, fellow magpies), but because when I pass it in the grocery store and note the price (and exchange rate calculations ensue), I get shivers that run a cool chill up and down my spine. Well played, aluminum foil. You have now taken over my life. Well, it's not really that bad, but some things are just too expensive to justify wanton use. Gone are the days where I use a long sheet of aluminum foil to cover a plate of leftovers and then carelessly toss it in the recycle bin or trash after one use - ha! The thought makes me want to get on my knees and plea with the gods of thrift.     

So I now save ever last scrap of the stuff. I rinse it off and air dry it, too. Why am I talking about this? Because this, my friends, is good old American waste-not want-not!  

I purchased this old bicycle basket for 25 cents at a charity sale, and it turns out it won't work on either of our bicycles. I was advised by my non-insane husband to just get rid of it, give it away. But we never got a wastebasket for the bathroom... So....Exhibit A: 

Guilty as charged.

I used a pound of mushrooms that I had purchased at the grocery store, and after using them up I noticed that they were in a green plastic container. I could recycle it. But I could also repurpose it! The storage in our bathroom is pretty bad, and prior to this moment I was constantly rummaging through a bag of disorderly makeup, until now:

Yes, it used to have mushrooms in it- but I promise I washed it twice!

Anyway, for those moments where you just can't bear spending money on something, I can help. I have more crazy ideas that haven't reached fruition yet. Luckily for me, Oxford's first few weeks are full of student giveaways and discounts. We have free coffee vouchers, free book vouchers, and some 20% off things as well. So there is a lot to live for. Generally, I'm enjoying this thrifty attitude, and I feel  somehow like I'm bonding with my ancestors who lived the Great Depression, only for me it's the Great Britain. 

So without further ado, here are some photographs of where we live!

The outside of our building, M Block. (Our place has the three windows on the right, on the top floor).

The view from our balcony, looking left (the building is L shaped, but called M Block, makes sense right?) This was the day the hot air balloon came out!

Our balcony:

Again, the front of our building. Our three windows are there on the top floor, left hand side now. (One of our bedroom windows is open):

A willow tree on the Wolfson College grounds, near the river:

The view from one of our building's windows as you go upstairs to our flat:

Bedroom desk:

Bedroom windows:

Our huge closet!

The living room (there are many, many more books on the shelves now that we have been to the library):

The kitchen (my celsius conversions are getting better):

A walking path down through the wood on the Wolfson grounds:

Our backyard:

 So that's that! About all the photos I have taken of our place so far. I am very pleased that we have goldenrod colored curtains, as it's one of my favorite colors. It's too bad we live in a newish building and not one of the Hogwarts-y places, but our place is very solid and well built and quiet. Also, since we are on the third floor, and you need two keys to get in the building and then into our place, it feels very SAFE. That's important. 

Gladys

I am happy to report that I have found my very own Gladys. My Gladys. If you have absolutely positively NO idea what I am talking about, then you need to get yourself down to the nearest bookstore (or type www.amazon.com with your fingertips moments after you finish reading this sentence) and buy the Flavia de Luce Mystery books by Alan Bradley. Most notably among them, 'The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie', which is the first in the series. 

These books are so good! Intrepid Flavia de Luce is an 11-year old girl living in England back in the 1950s, who solves crimes and performs interesting science experiments using one of her ancestors' old chemistry sets, which dates back to the time of Isaac Newton or something like that. She is a sleuth. A sleuth, I tell you! She is a truly vibrant character (the author himself says that he wrote these stories with a theme of "youthful idealism" because it sadly gets forced out of children nowadays). 

So before I go on and butcher more summaries of these books (seriously, just read them! I can't do them justice), I should say that one of the things Flavia is known for in the stories is jumping on her bicycle named Gladys and cycling madly into the town of Bishop's Lacey to snoop out a crime scene. 

I am currently reading "The Weed that Strings the Hangman's Bag" in the series, just in case you wanted to know.

Back to business! This past week I found my Gladys! For those of you who aren't privy to my Facebook or Instagram (you're not missing much), here is a photograph of my beauty:

A mint green Peugeot made in France with minimal rust! (I know I have a knack for describing things in the most romantic way possible, don't I?) 

Nota Bene: In between taking the photograph and now, I purchased a basket and put it on the back, which has made grocery shopping a MILLION times easier. Although, the first time I loaded and strapped my groceries in I didn't realize how heavy my rucksack was until I started riding- heavy weight back there can really throw off your balance! 

In case you didn't know, Oxford is a cycling town. People just do not own cars. Still, this doesn't mean that the streets are quiet. Not only are there double decker buses whizzing past every minute, but there are a lot of taxi cars and the crazy folk who do put up with the stress of owning a car, as well. So there is noise in the streets, yes. But since there are so many people who bike around, the bike lanes and car drivers make cycling a safe option. Way safer than in the United States. Everyone just assumes there is a cyclist next to their vehicle at all times. Phew! Either that, or the English happen to be particularly polite safe drivers...even though....they.....

DRIVE ON THE LEFT...!

Seriously England- why?!?! I had to grab Max's arm a couple times in the beginning when we'd be walking around and he would instinctually look for where he thought traffic would be coming from. It is so different! 

When I went to meet the guy to buy my bike (it was sort of a Craigslist-y operation, had to go to his house, thought he was going to murder me but ended up nice sort of thing) I remembered that now I had to partake in this madness and ride my bicycle on the left. It's been going well. That first day none of the huge buses came next to me, and I (on accident!) found a way home that only involved left turns. 

That's right! FREE LEFT TURNS. All day every day. God help me! 

I've got it - that's how you'll find me- I'll be the only girl cycling in Oxford making exclusively left turns. If you've seen the show New Girl, Jess's dad only makes right turns, for exactly the same reason. Although the show takes place in the United States where people are sane, right side of the road drivers.

I'm really kidding- riding on the left is easy and you get the hang of it. Still, it was pretty funny that the first day riding I went home doing all left turns. 

Another fairly big culture shock is that it is common to see parents strap in a baby or toddler to the "carseat" on the back of their bicycles. I can barely handle having my groceries in my rear basket- I worry about how well I packed in my crackers and cheese. I can't imagine having my child back there. The more favorable alternative for parents is that they buy one of those ridiculous contraptions that places the child lower down and in front of the bicycle, much like the big things they put in front of grocery carts in America. They are almost always a blinding neon color, and the parent can ride with up to two children sitting in front. This still scares the (asterisk-poundsign-dollarsign-exclamationpoint, or *#$!, since I have to spell it out for you) out of me. 

All I have to say to the cycling community of Oxford parents with toddlers is: you rule the earth and deserve the respect of all. I bow to you, oh brave ones. 

That's all for now! Be back more later with stories in which I sing in choirs, meet more people, and get sucked in to an hour long conversation with the Wolfson College Porter!

Brother Oliver

Sunday in Oxford was busy. Much busier than I expected. While it still has that old world, small town feel, it can get as jammed as a D.C. metro during rush hour on days like today. I suppose it might have been caused by all of the new students that had the good sense to arrive in the 1ST week of class. Well, it was either good sense, or it simply didn't occur to them that they could show up in the 0th week. I've already ran into quite a few confused new students who have shown up this week, since Sunday. One girl asked me what one of her orientation programs was going to be like, and blessed be, I was able to give her a pretty full answer thanks to all I've been hearing from Max. Then she walked past me later asking if I had a plug adapter for Denmark. Darn, can't say I do. So I'm 1 for 2 in the helpful game. If only I was Mary Poppins and could pull something out of my carpet bag! Speaking of bags, I just got this industrial olive green messenger bag for 50p (that's cents to you folk!) at a charity housewares sale. Everything was less than a pound, it was the highlight of my week. 

So, back to the topic of Sunday. We attended mass at the Oratory of St. Aloysius Gonzaga:  

http://www.oxfordoratory.org.uk

This will be our regular parish while we are here. It is only a 20 minute walk or 5 minute bike ride from Wolfson College. The community is alive and well, here. The mass was packed, and in Latin (novus ordo) just like it was at Thomas Aquinas College. The choir sang BEAUTIFULLY. (I promptly emailed the director to see if I could join, possibly with Max, and he said yes! Choir rehearsals are Sunday mornings). 

The choir posted their musical works in the bulletin that morning, and I didn't know my dad, Michael Wise, composed such great music in his former life! (see photo, right hand side of the page. Apparently he wrote the Exsurge Gloria Mea! Go dad!):

In this church, Bl. John Henry Newman preached and taught. He attended the University of Oxford and belonged to Trinity College. It just so happens that his feast day is THIS WEEK! As a result, the Oratory is having an evening walk/pilgrimage to the town of Littlemore by candlelight, and it all sounds magical and exciting.

The main reason I wanted to discuss the parish, though, is because we noticed that there was a new group for young people (ages 16-30) advertised at the church. It was going to be a free dinner that Sunday evening in the parish centre, so we figured, why not? We had NO idea what to expect. We ran our errands in the busy, jam-packed Oxford city centre (I gave up at one of the stores where I needed to buy some essentials because the lines stretched endlessly through the store), then, at 7pm, we left our flat and walked, somewhat trepidatiously, to the church for this free dinner and the chance to meet some young people. Oh, let the awkwardness ensue, I thought. 

We walked in and I was immediately taken aback. It was a small, cozy group of people all clustered about chatting, and in the back where the kitchen was stood a young guy in black robes, pouring red wine for everyone!

Due to our restricted budget, I won't be buying wine for a while now, and what a pleasant surprise it was to be given it freely. In a real wine glass, too. These priests and brothers, well, they know how it's done. That young guy pouring wine at the beginning of the evening was Brother Oliver. Assisted in the evenings events by Fr. Daniel and Fr. Nicholas, three of nine priests at the Oratory. 

Oh, and guess what Brother Oliver did to make this young person's group, with its free wine and food, possible? He jumped out of an airplane. To raise money for charity, Fr Daniel and Brother Oliver decided to sky dive, because, let's be honest, who wouldn't want to pay to see that?? Normally, they wear these long black robes. They are intelligent and kind, but most of all- dignified. When he told me he jumped out of an airplane to pay for the dinner I laughed. Really hard. 

Here they are, Fr Daniel on the left, Br. Oliver on the right, about to board the plane, sans robes (you can still see their collars though):

The best part is, they exceeded their goal of £10,000 for the parish building fund and charity, so the leftovers got to go to our new group, courtesy of Br. Oliver, whose idea it was. We will meet once a week for a free meal and discussion. (We will see if the games idea works out). And we end the evening with prayer in the old, fragrantly incensed church.  

In this group I already met a Doctor in residency from the local hospital (he says they really need volunteers, yay!) and a teacher who is about to travel to Kenya with her students, and a delightful Irish guy who looked at me and Max and said "I don't know what the plans are for this evening's group, but it better be good- I'm giving up Downton Abbey for this." Hahahahaha. 

At the end of a beautiful Sunday, all I have to say is:

Thank you Br. Oliver! 

"Noughth Week"

That's right. You read it correctly. "Noughth week." Since English isn't already strange enough of a language, with our troughs, sleighs, and other differently pronounced t-h/g-h combinations, we made it more complicated by cramming both awkward consonant combos into one dashing word: noughth. Just like its brother word -'eighth'- the 'gh' doesn't really need to exist, but we like it there anyway. Noughth is pronounced roughly like 'noth', and it is as fun to talk about as it is to look at.

Noughth week is the 0th week of school, and you will see it printed in school schedules as '0th week'.  (By the way, why not 0rd? 0nd? I also wonder who decided way back when that we'd say first, second, third, and not firth, secord, thirst...oh, wait. Fair enough.) Truly the main reason I love this concept of 0th week is because I think zero gets ignored most of the time. It plays a vitally important role, as it marks the space between negative and positive, numbers and their opposites, but often gets ignored as meaningless per se. [insert mathematician objection here, promptly disregard and move on]. Zero is, all things considered, nothing.

The British response to this? Make zero matter! Keep Calm and LET'S START SCHOOL AT WEEK ZERO!  

So here we are in noughth week, my friends. It's a week at Oxford that sort of counts, sort of doesn't. It's not part of term, technically, but valuable events (registration included) occur in it. Some students have moved in, some haven't. But most have. Including us.

Michael (as his legal name will have it) and I are here. Our heads are swimming with events, registrations, orientations, etc. etc. but we have arrived! A kind old lady named Margaret Goodgame (I call her 'Lady Margaret' in my head due to her noble bearing) greeted us at the airport and when we asked where we could find the bus to Oxford, she not only told us where to go, but proceeded to walk us there herself, all the way to the farthest reach of London Heathrow territory while we struggled with our numerous bags and suitcases and topics of conversation. She went to Oxford back in the 1960s, so she has loyalties. Interesting lady.

We are situated at Wolfson College, Linton Road, Oxford. Here is our coat of arms.

It's the newest college, which was depressing at first (we wanted to be in the halls where Harry Potter was filmed, can you blame us???) But Wolfson has many, many, charms that make up for its lack of ancient-ness. Even though the buildings were built mainly in the 1960s to 80s, a period of architecture that usually makes me go BLEEHHH, the buildings look pretty good. Although it's a lot of concrete, they did NOT cheap out on construction, and every building feels solid and well made. Our kitchen/living room/bedroom/closets are big, and there is a balcony!

We have a beautiful harbor, with all these old wooden punting boats we can use at our leisure.

When the grad student gave us our tour the other day, he mentioned casually that we can grab a boat, punt up north in the river, dock at a cozy little pub and get out have a drink or dinner and get back in and row home I almost DIED. Fairy tale. Probably don't recommend drinking and rowing, though. That just sounds awful.


We live on the third (second?) floor of M block, directly across from the day nursery where the grad students' kids get to go all day while their mummies and daddies are working on dissertations and changing the world. Lucky kids! It works out well for us (me) because we (I) hear the sound of little English babies playing all day. And we have heard an ice cream truck go by 3 times already!

They say October is the rainiest month. But I don't buy it. We've had 4 out of 5 days with sunshine so far. Like I said, the ice cream man is out and about. I trust that this optimistic bubble will soon burst, and I will need the rain boots which I so painstakingly towed around at the airport. Eh, their time will come and the lugging around will be worth it.

The first few days we putzed around. Ran LOADS of errands, and got to know Oxford a little bit better. All of the buildings in Oxford are made from limestone, and it turns out limestone doesn't hold up well in the rain. Ha! So a lot of the buildings are undergoing re-cladding and the limestone looks brand new in some of the buildings. The Bodleian Library:

Where we saw an exhibit on Tolkien and C.S. Lewis' works:

So, Tolkien had amazing handwriting. Why don't we teach that anymore? Anyway, a trip to the pub where C.S. Lewis and Tolkien hung out, 'The Eagle and Child', is imminent.

I'll end here with a picture of a stile, on a country walk behind Wolfson College, where I went for a walk the other day. Toodle pip! Yeah, I just said that.