This last week was a weird one for me academically. The source of this strangeness was the fact that I was ahead of schedule--rather an oddity considering the rigour of my studies here. I finished the essay for my primary tutorial halfway through Saturday even though it wasn't due until Monday afternoon. What a relief. Then I began the reading for my secondary tutorial. This was daunting, but not bad, and I only had to focus on one thing. Well what should happen Monday? My primary tutorial was postponed until Thursday. I sent in my paper that day regardless and was relieved to have three days I could dedicate solely to my secondary tutorial.
Well, of course I didn't dedicate them solely to my tutorial. With the extra time I did some writing, took a bunch of pictures, watched and reviewed another play, and spent some general time with my fellow students. There are some very cool people here. With this loose schedule, I was able to get the essay for my secondary tutorial done in good time and met with both of my tutors on Thursday. They both went well. I am really enjoying this tutorial system. I think I might miss it when the term ends.
Friday, there was an optional trip to Blenheim palace in Woodstock, where Winston Churchill himself was born and buried. We could not go into the palace itself, but we got to walk around the grounds, which are extraordinarily beautiful. I took hundreds of pictures. I also climbed a tree and chased a flock of sheep. Speaking of which, seeing a sheep jump is quite possibly one of the funniest sights nature has to offer. After touring the grounds and paying our respects to Mr. Churchill, we stopped at a small tea house in town. The tea was fantastic, but even better were the scones.
Now, I must explain, much in the same way that when a Brit says "chips," they mean French fries; and when they say "biscuits," they mean cookies; when they say "scones," they are not referring to a small triangular pastry filled with fruit and/or sugar. Rather, they are referring to something much more like what an American would call a biscuit, but a bit softer. This biscuit is then cut in half and spread with jam (what those of us Americans call "jelly") and clotted cream and then sandwiched back together. Here again, I must explain. Clotted cream sound disgusting and would seem to conjure images of scabs and heart attacks, but it is, in fact, one of Britain's most angelic creations. It is little more than cream and sugar that has been whisked until it begins to clot. It is as though you took whipped cream and kept whipping it until it reaches a consistency a bit softer than butter. There is nothing like it in America, and that is a tragedy.
Well, that was a delightful sojourn, and later that evening I had the pleasure of seeing The Godfather for the first time. I now know what all the hype was about. I suppose it met my expectations. It is not my favourite movie, but it is a good one.
The final thing I will leave hear is a poem. It has been a while since I posted a poem on this blog, and I think I am well overdue. God has really been calling to me lately. It can be easy to lose focus on what is important if I put too much pressure on my academic work, but I'm trying not to do that.
Hear from Me
I haven't heard from you
Not for some time
But when was the last
Time you heard from me?
I feel again
That need
That urge
Pressing against the walls of my chest
To shout
Shout what?
Why?
Shout at you?
At nothing?
To you?
Will you hear me if I'm louder?
Or is that the only way for me to tell you
All
In one gasp
An indecipherable syllable
To say I'm lost
I'm hurting
I'm angry
I'm sorry
Can you hear me?
Will you
Now that I'm speaking?
Now that I am sorry?
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