It's raining out there-- most of you are getting used to hearing
that. A steady hard rain whipping in silver streaks from the tin-gray
sky. We are so new to the climate here, could be just as usual ... but
we have been told that yes, although Wales is all about rain--that
it has changed. Normal is a steady, light, continous series of storms. These heavy deluges are new, and that is born out by the serious flooding and flash-floods
happening all over Wales, England, and Scotland in this past month.
And apparently it is snowing in the Los Angeles foothills ....
If I am writing for my audience then I really don't need to say
anything convincing about Global Warming, because I imagine you're all
on-board. We know its real, the science has been examined to the
point of the almost ridiculous (think, for comparison, of how little science
went into researching the effects of dropping a nuclear bomb before we
actually went and did it, and then did it again, and again....) There is data on climate for about 800,000 years that scientists have combed over. The big "scandal"
about a few emails that has been dutifully picked up by the media is a
big diversion orchestrated by the same groups who've been fighting
action on Global Warming for years (the ones, of course, who are
making so much money off of business as usual). The scandal isn't
those emails, but the lies and conspiracies of those groups ... But I
digress, sort of.
Yesterday was Day 1 of the climate change summit in Copenhagen and
it's a very big deal. I want to write about it but have been
wondering exactly what, in the scheme of things, I can offer. So
rather than writing on the science, or the possible litany of
disasters (desertification, entire countries drowned, millions
displaced, famines, cities underwater, hundreds of species dead,
genocide ultimately) I offer the view I can of an American abroad ....
About a week ago there was a programme on the BBC about climate change
and America. A British commentator traveled to America last February,
right after the innauguration, to survey the American public on
climate change--and then traveled back a few weeks ago to compare
where the country stood on the eve of the Copenhagen summit. It was
rather surreal to be an American in Britain watching a Brit in
America. While I have certainly moaned (okay, let's be honest,
railed) about the ignorance of American culture before when it comes
to things like public transportaion, global warming, war, knowledge of
current events, etc. there was something acutely mortifying about
watching this programme. The mood at the beginning was rather hopeful
for all that. Obama had presented some tough talk about making
climate a priority and while it was embarrassing to see the poor Brit
trying to travel low-carb (ie low carbon-footprint) in the Minnesota
suburbs (where, he explained, there was no efficient or viable bus
system) there was a heartening willingness in the small group of
Minnesotans who gathered to discuss climate change with him to accept
that there were some hard realities as work that would have to be
dealt with. Sadly the tale devolved from there. After a few buses,
some hitch-hiking, and one train ride, the man finally gave up trying
to travel any way except by rented car or plane.
[Here is a note of one major perspective issue. Brits (and I imagine
Europeans, too--and if what the young Chinese student I spoke to
yesterday was true, urban Chinese and Japanese as well) really can not
comprehend the serious economic and logisitcal issues surrounding any
attemp at low-carb travel in the U.S. They are baffled by Americans
seeming unwillingness to get out of the car--but most don't realize
not only the scope of the country but the giant hole that Americans
dug themselves over the past 50+ years of uban/suburban
"non"-planning. Everything is miles and miles away. Raillines were
dug up decades ago (often by oil, rubber, and gas companies looking to
make cars the ONLY option--which they succeeded in doing), and the bus
system is, well, pathetic. Most often public transportation turns out
to be more of a financial hardship, for the poor people who need it,
than a car would be anyway .... Now, all that said--and I admit to
being suprised at my own willingness to offer any kind of "excuse" for
American ambivalence--there is ultimately no excuse for not MAKING
this an issue. We are going to have to someday, if only on the day
when there is simply no more oil, or too little money to buy gas and
at that point it will be too late to create and re-create the massive
infrastructure needed for a real and meaningful public transportation
system to exist. To give you a presepctive from the Brit side, it is
being seriously considered here, in Parliament, to ban all national
air-travel--something I can't even imagine in the States but here
would be hardshipe for some, but not necessarily a change in the
fabric of the culture (which it would be in the U.S.)]
Perhaps the most harrowing moment of the programme was when he
ventured into the basement of a restaurant for a meeting of locals in
a town in Virginia, near D.C. Here the button-down, platinum blonde
crowd was discussing the all out war that was imminent if the liberal
administration didn't quit trying to push its "fascist" agenda onto
freedom-loving americans. The most hair-raising moment? When a woman
spoke earnestly about how she'd just read Orwell's 1984, and how
eerily like 1984 the world was becoming, thanks to Obama's
administration.
I've done some surfing of US papers vs. British ones and sadly I have
seen little coverage of the Climate talks in the US (you all will have
to tell me if I am wrong)--and most of what I've seen is posited amid
"continuing questions about the science of global warming". It's a
sad comparison, but I am not really that surprised by it. I've harped
on the "electronic curtain" behind which Americans continue in
ignorance, for a long time. And so there is part of me that thinks,
well, damn them if they want to bury their heads in the sand. Go
ahead world, leave American out of the loop on this one. Leave it
trailing behind in its own exhaust fumes.
But of course national boundaries are not geographical but imaginary
and pollution and climate devestation don't respect borders.
What is so ironic is that American opinions, ignorance, apathy, and
policy on Climate Change is headline news everywhere in the world
except the United States. They all want to know what the hell America
is thinking, what the Senate is stalling on, whether Obama will bother
to show up. Because the reality is without the U.S., who with 5% of
the population makes around 27% of the CO2, anything to come out of
Copenhagen will be meaningless.
This time right now is key, precious, a pivot--even if we may already
have tipped over the other side ... With carbon at 390 parts per
million in the atmosphere now, and scientists having agreed that for
life "as we know it" to continue on the planet it cannot excede 350
ppm, we need something (and by something I mean a lot of really
drastic things) to happen, well, yesterday. I wish there were some
way that change could happen without the U.S.-- but as an article in
the Guardian said, "7.4% of Americans can block humanity's efforts to
save itself".
Again with the irony ... but in the end the most revolutionary aspect
of this moment in time may not be the amazing science and technology
that are telling us what is happening, could happen, and what might
help save our asses, nor the economics that will and must change on a
drastic scale to make any climate policy mean anything, and not even
the politics and politcians that will have to get over the usual
squabbles and posing to be useful--the real revolution could be,
should be, must be one of perception. Americans have to wake up and
realize how important they are. More irony, because we as a nation
are notoriously self-congragulatory. But its not about imagining
ourselves as world police or white knights, as some fictional great
nation leading the charge for a new global era (clearly we are
not--dragging our feet while the poor nations in South America,
Africa, and Asia right now are on the cutting edge, bringing the most
radical and realistic ideas to the table) but to see ourselves for
what we truly are: reponsible. We have a heavy responsibility to the
world (to our children) for our way of life. Its one thing to sit
around patting ourselves on the back for being the "greatest nation on
earth" or for being "the global leader" -- it is quite another to
actually realize what that means.
And in the end what all of this comes down to is that the American people have to realize that inaction, ignorance, apathy, and fear are not valueless personality traits or unfortunate cultural quirks. They are choices that have
consequences.
Tuesday 8 December 2009
Friday 27 November 2009
Thankful
Yesterday I sat in my comfy chair, with my computer on my lap, and wrote for five or six hours straight. Sun streamed in through our big bay window, looking just that much brighter for being rare, until of course the clouds came in with a dashing of hail and wind and rain. Sun, rain, sun, rain. Monkey-showers and more tiny, instantly melting hail.
Christien and I walked through the park in the late afternoon (late afternoon here is 3:30, the sun is going down by 4) -- through the marshy grass, and mouldering leaves. Bare oaks and cedars. I'm not sure if I've written yet about the oak trees here ... I will, and will use pictures too, at some point. They are amazing--enormous, knotty, twisted, slicked with moss--mostly bare now. The silhouette of an oak at the top of a darkening hillside is enough to send me deep into an English novel moment ... some kind of half-real, half-literary experience where the slanting light through branches and the half-remembered words of Austen or Hardy or Elliot or Bronte ripple through my body like water over pebbles (words along the spine).
We made lentil loaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, brussels sprouts, apple cake (and you all know already about the tangy pickled beets alternative to cranberries ... ah well, it was red). A luxury of food! We drank cider and watched the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving show (albeit not as good as Halloween or Xmas).
And then we were able to see our families (actually in real-time) via computer! What a world we live in. What a way to stretch out the day perfectly--to be able to travel at the speed of light (almost) all the way across the Atlantic, across the continent, into those living rooms that are so loved and missed. Not as good as being there, but amazing all the same.
For all the trials and frustration, the worry (and I am a worrier) and stress, confusion--how amazing to be here now, to have the chance to spend 6 hours writing my new novel, to be able to eat mashed potatoes and gravy, to talk to family. And when I think of the state of the world, the lives of hunger, poverty and distress--there are no words for how amazed and grateful I am to be here. And of course it is only because our family have loved us and supported us in all our half-brained, willful, oddball, artsy schemes.
So, although not a stir was made here in the UK over such an American holiday ... I feel as though this Thanksgiving was one of my most significant--because for all its loneliness, it has helped me to remember just how much I have to be thankful for. So ... thank you.
Christien and I walked through the park in the late afternoon (late afternoon here is 3:30, the sun is going down by 4) -- through the marshy grass, and mouldering leaves. Bare oaks and cedars. I'm not sure if I've written yet about the oak trees here ... I will, and will use pictures too, at some point. They are amazing--enormous, knotty, twisted, slicked with moss--mostly bare now. The silhouette of an oak at the top of a darkening hillside is enough to send me deep into an English novel moment ... some kind of half-real, half-literary experience where the slanting light through branches and the half-remembered words of Austen or Hardy or Elliot or Bronte ripple through my body like water over pebbles (words along the spine).
We made lentil loaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, brussels sprouts, apple cake (and you all know already about the tangy pickled beets alternative to cranberries ... ah well, it was red). A luxury of food! We drank cider and watched the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving show (albeit not as good as Halloween or Xmas).
And then we were able to see our families (actually in real-time) via computer! What a world we live in. What a way to stretch out the day perfectly--to be able to travel at the speed of light (almost) all the way across the Atlantic, across the continent, into those living rooms that are so loved and missed. Not as good as being there, but amazing all the same.
For all the trials and frustration, the worry (and I am a worrier) and stress, confusion--how amazing to be here now, to have the chance to spend 6 hours writing my new novel, to be able to eat mashed potatoes and gravy, to talk to family. And when I think of the state of the world, the lives of hunger, poverty and distress--there are no words for how amazed and grateful I am to be here. And of course it is only because our family have loved us and supported us in all our half-brained, willful, oddball, artsy schemes.
So, although not a stir was made here in the UK over such an American holiday ... I feel as though this Thanksgiving was one of my most significant--because for all its loneliness, it has helped me to remember just how much I have to be thankful for. So ... thank you.
Sunday 22 November 2009
Surveillance and Fear
A few weeks ago I received a notice from Swansea U.--a new policy was in place to monitor and track all of its International students. A two-fold program, students are required to present themselves monthly at the library to prove they are 1. doing their programme, 2. not breaking any employment laws, 3. haven't moved their address. And also, monthly attend "all" the required department meetings, lectures, etc. Thus proving oneself on two counts (at least) monthly. It's not just Swansea of course, following new regs that C & I encountered while applying for our visas (it was rigorous), all international students in the UK will be facing such attendance monitoring. In fact all Muslim students were required to register with the police on arrival.
That is not unfamiliar. While at UC Davis, in the tidal wave of proclamations and realignments that followed the "state of emergency" declared on Sept 14, 2001--all the students from particular countries (read Muslim) were required to appear at the school's administration to register themselves.
I don't have to report to the police, but having to check in and prove myself innocent of any sort of misbehavior on a 2x monthly basis doesn't really make for a warm and welcomed feeling. But then this is a state of affairs I likely should have expected from the CCTV cameras that form a network across the whole of Britian. The UK, like the US, is a surveillance state.
And, apparently, the US is still in a condition of fighting off imminent invasion, because on Sept 10 Obama renewed that very order Bush began back on Sept. 14 2001--keeping the US under a "State of Emergency". (Did that make the news in the US? Not likely--go to Commondreams.org to read the article). Effectively that means that the president maintains the power to do a variety things without reference to votes or checks, including seizing property, declaring martial law, regulating travel, deploying troops, seizing transportation and communications, etc. Now, by law, congress is required to review such an order every 6 months. But it never did so from 2001 to 2009 ...
A colleague said to me once that surveillance didn't bother him because if you were innocent and had nothing to hide you were fine. Only those who were guilty would worry about surveillance. But what is guilt in a "free" society? Friends of mine in Pomona were held at gun-point in the middle of the night, had their home ransacked and computers taken because of a suspicion, never substantiated, that one of the house-members had set a lot of SUVs on fire. The FBI was never required to give proof. The young man was held in jail for over a year before finally being set free, innocent, but with his life damaged. Why were they targeted? Because they were different. I maintain its because they were deviants from the norm--vegans, peace-niks, environmentalists. They offered free classes to their neighbors on organic gardening, vegetarian cooking, and solar-panel installation.
On paper, in theory, only the guilty should have to worry about surveillance--but of course it all depends on what the state, and all the fallible individuals within it, decides to deem a "guilt-worthy" infraction. Violence? sure. Going to Anti-War meetings? ahhh.... Going to Animal Rights conferences? ummmm. Practicing a certain religion? hmmmm.
It's a fine line. Our fear allows us to bend our heads just a little, just enough. It lets the state gather up that much more power, to centralize infrastructure and information to make it just that much easier to take the next step. And how many steps are there between a free society, a surveillance society, a benevolent dictatorship, and a totalitarian state? It's all for our own good, after all. To protect us. To keep us safe. The way the German government protected its people by making sure that all the dangerous intellectuals, deviants, and followers of a certain religion were locked away. The way the U.S. kept its people safe by locking up all the descendants of a particular race in wartime as potential enemies--even the children.
To me it begs the question of just what exactly is being protected ... If you think that the people as voters have power, remember the political coup that reigned from 2001-2009 in the form of 2 terms of a NON-elected president. And it might be worthwhile to look back at history and remember that the US government was structured exactly the way it was (a system of 3 co-equal branches sharing and checking power) because the men who wrote the constitution and the bill of rights knew that government would always tend towards consolidation of power. Of course just because Obama has the power to declare martial law, seize your house, or re-channel the means of production to some purpose that he deems necessary doesn't mean he is going to do it. Because we are all protected by something greater than those potentialities ... one thing standing between us and a totalitarian state--the notion that Obama is a man of conscience ....
Yes, I feel much better, too.
That is not unfamiliar. While at UC Davis, in the tidal wave of proclamations and realignments that followed the "state of emergency" declared on Sept 14, 2001--all the students from particular countries (read Muslim) were required to appear at the school's administration to register themselves.
I don't have to report to the police, but having to check in and prove myself innocent of any sort of misbehavior on a 2x monthly basis doesn't really make for a warm and welcomed feeling. But then this is a state of affairs I likely should have expected from the CCTV cameras that form a network across the whole of Britian. The UK, like the US, is a surveillance state.
And, apparently, the US is still in a condition of fighting off imminent invasion, because on Sept 10 Obama renewed that very order Bush began back on Sept. 14 2001--keeping the US under a "State of Emergency". (Did that make the news in the US? Not likely--go to Commondreams.org to read the article). Effectively that means that the president maintains the power to do a variety things without reference to votes or checks, including seizing property, declaring martial law, regulating travel, deploying troops, seizing transportation and communications, etc. Now, by law, congress is required to review such an order every 6 months. But it never did so from 2001 to 2009 ...
A colleague said to me once that surveillance didn't bother him because if you were innocent and had nothing to hide you were fine. Only those who were guilty would worry about surveillance. But what is guilt in a "free" society? Friends of mine in Pomona were held at gun-point in the middle of the night, had their home ransacked and computers taken because of a suspicion, never substantiated, that one of the house-members had set a lot of SUVs on fire. The FBI was never required to give proof. The young man was held in jail for over a year before finally being set free, innocent, but with his life damaged. Why were they targeted? Because they were different. I maintain its because they were deviants from the norm--vegans, peace-niks, environmentalists. They offered free classes to their neighbors on organic gardening, vegetarian cooking, and solar-panel installation.
On paper, in theory, only the guilty should have to worry about surveillance--but of course it all depends on what the state, and all the fallible individuals within it, decides to deem a "guilt-worthy" infraction. Violence? sure. Going to Anti-War meetings? ahhh.... Going to Animal Rights conferences? ummmm. Practicing a certain religion? hmmmm.
It's a fine line. Our fear allows us to bend our heads just a little, just enough. It lets the state gather up that much more power, to centralize infrastructure and information to make it just that much easier to take the next step. And how many steps are there between a free society, a surveillance society, a benevolent dictatorship, and a totalitarian state? It's all for our own good, after all. To protect us. To keep us safe. The way the German government protected its people by making sure that all the dangerous intellectuals, deviants, and followers of a certain religion were locked away. The way the U.S. kept its people safe by locking up all the descendants of a particular race in wartime as potential enemies--even the children.
To me it begs the question of just what exactly is being protected ... If you think that the people as voters have power, remember the political coup that reigned from 2001-2009 in the form of 2 terms of a NON-elected president. And it might be worthwhile to look back at history and remember that the US government was structured exactly the way it was (a system of 3 co-equal branches sharing and checking power) because the men who wrote the constitution and the bill of rights knew that government would always tend towards consolidation of power. Of course just because Obama has the power to declare martial law, seize your house, or re-channel the means of production to some purpose that he deems necessary doesn't mean he is going to do it. Because we are all protected by something greater than those potentialities ... one thing standing between us and a totalitarian state--the notion that Obama is a man of conscience ....
Yes, I feel much better, too.
Friday 6 November 2009
Guy Fawkes Night
For the fellow Yanks who've seen "V for Vendetta" you will have a little idea of who Guy Fawkes is and what Guy Fawkes/Bonfire Night is ...
"Remember remember
the 5th of November
the gunpowder, treason, and plot
I can think of no reason
the gunpowder treason
should ever be forgot."
Guy Fawkes was born April 13, 1570 in York--he converted to Catholicism at a time when there was repression and prejudice toward Catholics in Protestant England (in the year he converted Mary Clitherow (the Pearl of York) was executed by being crushed to death for harboring Catholic priests in her home). In 1605 he became involved in what came to be known as the Gunpowder Plot -- a plan to blow up the Houses of Parliament on the day of the State Opening when the King, most of the royal family, members of Parliament, and heads of state would be present. (Think of it as if someone blew up Congress on State of the Union night). If the plot had succeeded it would have effectively destroyed most of the power elite in one act. On November 5th Guy Fawkes was caught (someone had sent an anonymous warning note to the authorities) in the basement of parliament with 1800 pounds of gunpowder. He was taken to the Tower and tortured but only divulged the names of conspirators who were either already dead or had already been caught. On January 31 1606 he was taken to be executed.
On the night of Nov 5th Londoners were encouraged to celebrate the Kings escape by lighting bonfires throughout the city. And so every 5th November since 1605 (think of that oh young nation, 404 years of 5th Novembers) in England Guy Fawkes Night is celebrated with bonfires, fireworks, and the burning of the "Guy". A celebration of the survival of the state against a terrorist plot.
Of course in later years certain groups came to think of Guy Fawkes differently--Anarchists hailed him as, "The only man ever to enter the Houses of Parliament with honest intentions." And even as a villian he inspired a lot of poetry, including Milton's very famous Satan in Paradise Lost. He's recently made it to lists of the top 100 British people in history and even has some islands in the Galapagos named after him ....
So there's the background ....
So last night Christien and I wandered out into the streets, making our way down to the beach near the Cricket fields. Throngs swarming the roads, the parks, the beach all up and down the Bay. Bonfires large and small all along the sand, and people with firecrackers, sparklers. Explosions and whines. The smell of cordite and woodsmoke. Then the fireworks displays started all up and down the coast--from our perch on the dunes could see the pop of red, white, green, purple lights from the other side of the peninsula, out in Mumbles, down in Black Pill and around in Port Talbot. And then the display at the Cricket fields started to music that ranged from Carmena Barrana dramatic to soft pop to the theme from Doctor Who. College kids, teens, parents with little kids, elderly--all milling through the sand, with the waves coming in closer to the walls, lights and smoke, the smell of beer. I thought, "It's like the 4th of July but without the unpleasant associations (for me)." Shower of sparks in the sky like the bloom of fireflies into stars. No pushing or violence, a few beery songs, everyone bundled in the chill sea air.
Lovely. And so very not American, for all its familiarity.
And so then we wandered in our stateless state (strangers in a strange and yet familiar land) up to the Mozart pub where there was an open mic poetry reading and book launch (ah the poets in their goth and black, punk and skulls). One of the open mic readers read a poem called, "Guy Fawkes Night":
"How very British, to celebrate a failure ... Guy Fawkes failed to kill the king, failed to blow up parliament. Hurrah!"
And then the headliner was an expat American reading from his new book -- all about what america means to him as an expat, his love and hope for the country....So fresh from this place he called "America" we had a hard time matching the words to the place that we know, but all the same, perhaps America is as much a place as it is a state of mind?
State. State of Mind. Stranger and stranger. You can leave your country, but it might not leave you.
And Guy Fawkes the villianous Catholic terrorist becomes in 400 years a (if somewhat dubious) heroic martyr. Time. Geography. Fireworks. Shifts of state. And today the rain is softly falling, grey on grey, on all the sand and charcoal remnants of 5th November.
"Remember remember
the 5th of November
the gunpowder, treason, and plot
I can think of no reason
the gunpowder treason
should ever be forgot."
Guy Fawkes was born April 13, 1570 in York--he converted to Catholicism at a time when there was repression and prejudice toward Catholics in Protestant England (in the year he converted Mary Clitherow (the Pearl of York) was executed by being crushed to death for harboring Catholic priests in her home). In 1605 he became involved in what came to be known as the Gunpowder Plot -- a plan to blow up the Houses of Parliament on the day of the State Opening when the King, most of the royal family, members of Parliament, and heads of state would be present. (Think of it as if someone blew up Congress on State of the Union night). If the plot had succeeded it would have effectively destroyed most of the power elite in one act. On November 5th Guy Fawkes was caught (someone had sent an anonymous warning note to the authorities) in the basement of parliament with 1800 pounds of gunpowder. He was taken to the Tower and tortured but only divulged the names of conspirators who were either already dead or had already been caught. On January 31 1606 he was taken to be executed.
On the night of Nov 5th Londoners were encouraged to celebrate the Kings escape by lighting bonfires throughout the city. And so every 5th November since 1605 (think of that oh young nation, 404 years of 5th Novembers) in England Guy Fawkes Night is celebrated with bonfires, fireworks, and the burning of the "Guy". A celebration of the survival of the state against a terrorist plot.
Of course in later years certain groups came to think of Guy Fawkes differently--Anarchists hailed him as, "The only man ever to enter the Houses of Parliament with honest intentions." And even as a villian he inspired a lot of poetry, including Milton's very famous Satan in Paradise Lost. He's recently made it to lists of the top 100 British people in history and even has some islands in the Galapagos named after him ....
So there's the background ....
So last night Christien and I wandered out into the streets, making our way down to the beach near the Cricket fields. Throngs swarming the roads, the parks, the beach all up and down the Bay. Bonfires large and small all along the sand, and people with firecrackers, sparklers. Explosions and whines. The smell of cordite and woodsmoke. Then the fireworks displays started all up and down the coast--from our perch on the dunes could see the pop of red, white, green, purple lights from the other side of the peninsula, out in Mumbles, down in Black Pill and around in Port Talbot. And then the display at the Cricket fields started to music that ranged from Carmena Barrana dramatic to soft pop to the theme from Doctor Who. College kids, teens, parents with little kids, elderly--all milling through the sand, with the waves coming in closer to the walls, lights and smoke, the smell of beer. I thought, "It's like the 4th of July but without the unpleasant associations (for me)." Shower of sparks in the sky like the bloom of fireflies into stars. No pushing or violence, a few beery songs, everyone bundled in the chill sea air.
Lovely. And so very not American, for all its familiarity.
And so then we wandered in our stateless state (strangers in a strange and yet familiar land) up to the Mozart pub where there was an open mic poetry reading and book launch (ah the poets in their goth and black, punk and skulls). One of the open mic readers read a poem called, "Guy Fawkes Night":
"How very British, to celebrate a failure ... Guy Fawkes failed to kill the king, failed to blow up parliament. Hurrah!"
And then the headliner was an expat American reading from his new book -- all about what america means to him as an expat, his love and hope for the country....So fresh from this place he called "America" we had a hard time matching the words to the place that we know, but all the same, perhaps America is as much a place as it is a state of mind?
State. State of Mind. Stranger and stranger. You can leave your country, but it might not leave you.
And Guy Fawkes the villianous Catholic terrorist becomes in 400 years a (if somewhat dubious) heroic martyr. Time. Geography. Fireworks. Shifts of state. And today the rain is softly falling, grey on grey, on all the sand and charcoal remnants of 5th November.
Friday 30 October 2009
the several stages of cultural acclimitazation
About 6 weeks here so we've passed through several stages:
The: "Oh, this is no big deal" phase
The: "Oh my god, what the hell are we doing here" phase
The: "I LOVE CHIPS!!!" phase
The: "Wow, the UK is just so much better than the US" phase
The: "I love 1 and 2 pound coins, nice heft" phase
The: "Wow, the US is just so much better than the UK" phase
The: "Why is that person staring at me" phase
The: "I love chips but not more than 3x a week" phase
The: "I have nothing to wear for this climate-- its cloudy, drizzling and 50 degrees but I'm sweating in my jacket" phase
The: "Please, please be my friend--oh wait do I seem desperate" phase
The: "Don't people know how to make way on the sidewalk, dear lord please get out of my personal space" phase
The: "I love chips but maybe only 1x a week" phase
The: "Hey, I think I've got the hang of walking right next to someone without touching them, who would have thought" phase
The: "Prawn cocktail, roasted chicken, BBQ bacon potato crisps--Really?" phase
The: "Could there possibly be more bureaucracy" phase
The: "I love chips and could have them 2x a week" phase
The: "How in god's name can beer be more expensive in the UK" phase
The: "I am tracking the dollar every day on-line and terrified of the exchange rate plunging any more" phase
The: "Am I supposed to leave now?" phase
The: "What are those girls thinking with their tights and shirt barely covering their ass" phase
The: "So it really is free (ie healthcare)" phase
The: "I don't think I can live without Mexican food" phase
The: "Why is Guinness made in Nigera when Ireland is right here" phase
The: "Oh my god the public option on the House bill is going to be linked to current insurance pricing and therefore provide no incentive for prices to drop while forcing the uninsured to now purchase insurance they can't afford what the hell ever happened to single payer ..." phase
The: "Gorse, heather, and horse chesnuts--I must be in an English novel" phase
The: "I love chips unconditionally" phase
The: "You mean there are 50 different brands of hard cider in the supermarket" phase
The: "4 visits from the plumber later we might have hot water or maybe not, is this New Mexico" phase
The: "I love Indian food" phase
The: "Why is the 10 pence bigger than the 20 pence?" phase
The: "Asian markets are crazy cool" phase
The: "Seagulls call to me every morning trying to lure me to the sea but I'm not going" phase
The: "Seagulls call to me every morning trying to lure me to the sea and I have to go" phase
The: "Walking in the rain without a raincoat and not caring" phase ......
The: "Oh, this is no big deal" phase
The: "Oh my god, what the hell are we doing here" phase
The: "I LOVE CHIPS!!!" phase
The: "Wow, the UK is just so much better than the US" phase
The: "I love 1 and 2 pound coins, nice heft" phase
The: "Wow, the US is just so much better than the UK" phase
The: "Why is that person staring at me" phase
The: "I love chips but not more than 3x a week" phase
The: "I have nothing to wear for this climate-- its cloudy, drizzling and 50 degrees but I'm sweating in my jacket" phase
The: "Please, please be my friend--oh wait do I seem desperate" phase
The: "Don't people know how to make way on the sidewalk, dear lord please get out of my personal space" phase
The: "I love chips but maybe only 1x a week" phase
The: "Hey, I think I've got the hang of walking right next to someone without touching them, who would have thought" phase
The: "Prawn cocktail, roasted chicken, BBQ bacon potato crisps--Really?" phase
The: "Could there possibly be more bureaucracy" phase
The: "I love chips and could have them 2x a week" phase
The: "How in god's name can beer be more expensive in the UK" phase
The: "I am tracking the dollar every day on-line and terrified of the exchange rate plunging any more" phase
The: "Am I supposed to leave now?" phase
The: "What are those girls thinking with their tights and shirt barely covering their ass" phase
The: "So it really is free (ie healthcare)" phase
The: "I don't think I can live without Mexican food" phase
The: "Why is Guinness made in Nigera when Ireland is right here" phase
The: "Oh my god the public option on the House bill is going to be linked to current insurance pricing and therefore provide no incentive for prices to drop while forcing the uninsured to now purchase insurance they can't afford what the hell ever happened to single payer ..." phase
The: "Gorse, heather, and horse chesnuts--I must be in an English novel" phase
The: "I love chips unconditionally" phase
The: "You mean there are 50 different brands of hard cider in the supermarket" phase
The: "4 visits from the plumber later we might have hot water or maybe not, is this New Mexico" phase
The: "I love Indian food" phase
The: "Why is the 10 pence bigger than the 20 pence?" phase
The: "Asian markets are crazy cool" phase
The: "Seagulls call to me every morning trying to lure me to the sea but I'm not going" phase
The: "Seagulls call to me every morning trying to lure me to the sea and I have to go" phase
The: "Walking in the rain without a raincoat and not caring" phase ......
Thursday 22 October 2009
wind and duende
Note: Oh great readership of 7 here, alas, is a rather lyric and maudlin contribution. Please skip if you're not in the mood ....
21 October
Fall comes with wind. Maybe this is true all over the world. Is it because the trees, itching to be free of their leaves, ready to plunge down into the dark sleep of winter, call out to it? I’ve wondered. In Los Angeles, despite arguments to the contrary, Fall does come … but it comes late, and sometimes with the winds come fire, not crisp nights, or snow. I remember my first real deciduous autumn, in Colorado, marveling that the golden leaved trees (cottonwoods, aspens) had only just fully turned, when they were raked by those sweeping winds off the Divide. It happens in New Mexico. In Iowa. In Pennsylvania. In New York.
Storms coming in off the Atlantic, over Ireland. From up on our hill today I saw the Bristol Channel was green (a certain kind of stone, lit by a certain kind of light …), rough. Clouds and light. Winds started a couple days ago. Leaves on the ground. Wet with rain. Hard rain … (until now the rain has been so soft, so fine, that from indoors the world appears to be wet with a rain that just passed by, but as soon as you go outside, there it is, falling all around you).
It is hard to break the habit of these late hours. Because in all of my time zones it is early evening, afternoon. Gives the sensation of being somehow unhinged … the body detached from the mind, the mind detached from time.
Went to a lecture by an American poet/teacher tonight. Three teachers and two students were there. I felt sorry for him. But of course he was fine, on his way to Ireland to do a reading. He lived in Swansea on a study abroad year 15 years ago. He’s from Iowa, studied for a while in New Mexico. His presentation all about the importance of going abroad for writers.
He brought up an interesting point—a relation to what the poet Federico Garcia Lorca called Duende … To Lorca the force, the essential struggle, of the artist is not with muse or angel as some have written, but rather with death. Duende is the dance on the edge of death, the dark blossoming into decay, the impish god inside us who, when we face him at last, is the skeleton in the mirror. It is the dark edge to the flamenco dancer’s rhythm, to the gypsy song. Zachary Jack (the lecturer) aligned the act of the writer in living abroad, with facing mortality, confronting duende.
To go away is to die. The self that was before the journey will never return again. It can’t. It will have changed. Heraclitus gave us this idea with his river. I said this before I left, and it was true: I feel as if I died at least a dozen times this past year. Between April and September we said goodbye, and goodbye, and goodbye. And each time it was a small death--not in that I imagined I would never see these people and places again … but that when I do, we will be, as we must be, all changed.
I wonder if trees, facing their own small death every year, ever hope the winds, this time, won’t come. Or if they stand in the wild whipping air and feel the earth below them, feel that the wind is bringing them news from far away.
21 October
Fall comes with wind. Maybe this is true all over the world. Is it because the trees, itching to be free of their leaves, ready to plunge down into the dark sleep of winter, call out to it? I’ve wondered. In Los Angeles, despite arguments to the contrary, Fall does come … but it comes late, and sometimes with the winds come fire, not crisp nights, or snow. I remember my first real deciduous autumn, in Colorado, marveling that the golden leaved trees (cottonwoods, aspens) had only just fully turned, when they were raked by those sweeping winds off the Divide. It happens in New Mexico. In Iowa. In Pennsylvania. In New York.
Storms coming in off the Atlantic, over Ireland. From up on our hill today I saw the Bristol Channel was green (a certain kind of stone, lit by a certain kind of light …), rough. Clouds and light. Winds started a couple days ago. Leaves on the ground. Wet with rain. Hard rain … (until now the rain has been so soft, so fine, that from indoors the world appears to be wet with a rain that just passed by, but as soon as you go outside, there it is, falling all around you).
It is hard to break the habit of these late hours. Because in all of my time zones it is early evening, afternoon. Gives the sensation of being somehow unhinged … the body detached from the mind, the mind detached from time.
Went to a lecture by an American poet/teacher tonight. Three teachers and two students were there. I felt sorry for him. But of course he was fine, on his way to Ireland to do a reading. He lived in Swansea on a study abroad year 15 years ago. He’s from Iowa, studied for a while in New Mexico. His presentation all about the importance of going abroad for writers.
He brought up an interesting point—a relation to what the poet Federico Garcia Lorca called Duende … To Lorca the force, the essential struggle, of the artist is not with muse or angel as some have written, but rather with death. Duende is the dance on the edge of death, the dark blossoming into decay, the impish god inside us who, when we face him at last, is the skeleton in the mirror. It is the dark edge to the flamenco dancer’s rhythm, to the gypsy song. Zachary Jack (the lecturer) aligned the act of the writer in living abroad, with facing mortality, confronting duende.
To go away is to die. The self that was before the journey will never return again. It can’t. It will have changed. Heraclitus gave us this idea with his river. I said this before I left, and it was true: I feel as if I died at least a dozen times this past year. Between April and September we said goodbye, and goodbye, and goodbye. And each time it was a small death--not in that I imagined I would never see these people and places again … but that when I do, we will be, as we must be, all changed.
I wonder if trees, facing their own small death every year, ever hope the winds, this time, won’t come. Or if they stand in the wild whipping air and feel the earth below them, feel that the wind is bringing them news from far away.
Saturday 17 October 2009
Goodbye Salsa, Hello Lemon Pickle
16 October
It’s 8 p.m. here and ah the long long hours of daylight you all still have left to play in.
Apologies for the significant pause in between blogs. There’s been a lot on my mind. But first off the good news is that Heather is healthy and so is baby James (and the rest of the crew). And that C’s dad had a successful surgery yesterday. A lot of relief on this side of the Atlantic.
Made spinach dal, basmati rice and besan pancakes (which are pancakes made from chickpea flour mixed with spices, garlic, veggies, cilantro, and ginger). We’ve discovered that our standby for a cheap and quick dinner, Mexican food, is really not much of an option here. Corn tortillas do not seem to exist on this island …. The only ones we did find had wheat in them, were 8 to a pack and cost the equivalent of $3.50! Ah, the long gone days of a pack of 25 corn tortillas for under $1. Latin America seems far away. So the new ethnic will be Indian. Goodbye salsa, hello lemon pickle. Other random and strangely expensive items include all paper products (after all they deforested centuries ago, I suppose … take that as a warning America), prunes (why do dried plums cost $10/lbs here?), peanut butter (it’s just not their thing), beer (I know, what’s that about?), mid-range wine (nary a California cab to be found), rice (again, huh?), nuts in general, tofu, steel-cut oats (pin-oats here) …. However, surprisingly and refreshingly lower priced are things like vegan margarine, soy yogurt, gluten-free corn pasta, crackers (oat cakes, ryvita), rice milk, hummus, potatoes, canned tomatoes….
It’s a month that we’ve been here. Seems both shorter and longer. I’ve gotten used to the tiny cars (it’s not so much the size—although when you see a camper smaller than a tahoe, it’s pretty stunning--it’s that they are ALL small), the shapes of the row houses, the narrow streets, and I even look right first when I cross the street. The accents are many and varied and I am mostly used to hearing and deciphering them. The only ones that give much trouble are the thick Welsh and thick Scottish. The more subtle things are coming into play now—like knowing when a presentation, meeting, or event is over … I am bad at that sort of thing to begin with so between my cluelessness of “get the hell out of here” signals and the very gentle and polite way that Brits seem to let things trail off to nothing … I might be hanging on well past my welcome for a few months to come.
Saturday morning: Well, his is certainly not the most entertaining or enlightening of blogs, but the main reason for it was to notify that there are several new albums of photos of Swansea on my facebook page (which I think all of you are on). I will just have to promise more sharp wit, insight, and searing social commentary in the future. For now I return to a few more minutes of 19th century novel (I’ve read three Nathanial West books in a row now and just had to take a breather between Miss Lonelyhearts and Day of the Locust) before I get myself back to work on my own. Perhaps a walk toward Black Pill today and the lure of this weekend’s Cider Festival ….. Love you all.
It’s 8 p.m. here and ah the long long hours of daylight you all still have left to play in.
Apologies for the significant pause in between blogs. There’s been a lot on my mind. But first off the good news is that Heather is healthy and so is baby James (and the rest of the crew). And that C’s dad had a successful surgery yesterday. A lot of relief on this side of the Atlantic.
Made spinach dal, basmati rice and besan pancakes (which are pancakes made from chickpea flour mixed with spices, garlic, veggies, cilantro, and ginger). We’ve discovered that our standby for a cheap and quick dinner, Mexican food, is really not much of an option here. Corn tortillas do not seem to exist on this island …. The only ones we did find had wheat in them, were 8 to a pack and cost the equivalent of $3.50! Ah, the long gone days of a pack of 25 corn tortillas for under $1. Latin America seems far away. So the new ethnic will be Indian. Goodbye salsa, hello lemon pickle. Other random and strangely expensive items include all paper products (after all they deforested centuries ago, I suppose … take that as a warning America), prunes (why do dried plums cost $10/lbs here?), peanut butter (it’s just not their thing), beer (I know, what’s that about?), mid-range wine (nary a California cab to be found), rice (again, huh?), nuts in general, tofu, steel-cut oats (pin-oats here) …. However, surprisingly and refreshingly lower priced are things like vegan margarine, soy yogurt, gluten-free corn pasta, crackers (oat cakes, ryvita), rice milk, hummus, potatoes, canned tomatoes….
It’s a month that we’ve been here. Seems both shorter and longer. I’ve gotten used to the tiny cars (it’s not so much the size—although when you see a camper smaller than a tahoe, it’s pretty stunning--it’s that they are ALL small), the shapes of the row houses, the narrow streets, and I even look right first when I cross the street. The accents are many and varied and I am mostly used to hearing and deciphering them. The only ones that give much trouble are the thick Welsh and thick Scottish. The more subtle things are coming into play now—like knowing when a presentation, meeting, or event is over … I am bad at that sort of thing to begin with so between my cluelessness of “get the hell out of here” signals and the very gentle and polite way that Brits seem to let things trail off to nothing … I might be hanging on well past my welcome for a few months to come.
Saturday morning: Well, his is certainly not the most entertaining or enlightening of blogs, but the main reason for it was to notify that there are several new albums of photos of Swansea on my facebook page (which I think all of you are on). I will just have to promise more sharp wit, insight, and searing social commentary in the future. For now I return to a few more minutes of 19th century novel (I’ve read three Nathanial West books in a row now and just had to take a breather between Miss Lonelyhearts and Day of the Locust) before I get myself back to work on my own. Perhaps a walk toward Black Pill today and the lure of this weekend’s Cider Festival ….. Love you all.
Sunday 4 October 2009
Elizabeth Gaskell and Shepherd’s Pie
4 October
We’re off to the library in a bit to get a couple more books, AND to check out the media room, where apparently there are hundreds of DVDs to be checked out for “free” (if you think of £9,000 tuition as free?). In fact, a little bird told me that they have the entire 7 seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer … and all 5 of Angel …. WHAT!!!? (And for those relatives and friends to whom I’ve just outed us, yes, we are die-hard BTVS fans. What can I say?)
Yesterday was a nice day of alternating rain and sun. We visited a Charity Shop (ie Thrift Store) right down the street and I found a casserole dish and a very tiny tortish type pan for baking (I’m thinking miniature apple cake …). And a copy of Elizabeth Gaskell’s, Cranford. Another shopper saw my Gaskell and asked if I’d read Cranford. “No, but I love North & South and Wives & Daughters.” “Oh, you’ll love it!” And when I passed the casserole over I was telling Christien, “Now we can make Shepherd’s Pie!” (Meaning of course our vegan version, Lentil Shepherd’s Pie, which, by the way, is scrumptious!) and the woman behind the counter said—“Ahh! Shepherd’s Pie--my kids love it--but I’d need a much bigger pan than that!” -- Of course you have to imagine all this in a Welsh accent …
Anyway, what is this place where shoppers on the street know about 19th century women authors and everyone loves a good potato mash??? Why, we’re in Britain!
We’re off to the library in a bit to get a couple more books, AND to check out the media room, where apparently there are hundreds of DVDs to be checked out for “free” (if you think of £9,000 tuition as free?). In fact, a little bird told me that they have the entire 7 seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer … and all 5 of Angel …. WHAT!!!? (And for those relatives and friends to whom I’ve just outed us, yes, we are die-hard BTVS fans. What can I say?)
Yesterday was a nice day of alternating rain and sun. We visited a Charity Shop (ie Thrift Store) right down the street and I found a casserole dish and a very tiny tortish type pan for baking (I’m thinking miniature apple cake …). And a copy of Elizabeth Gaskell’s, Cranford. Another shopper saw my Gaskell and asked if I’d read Cranford. “No, but I love North & South and Wives & Daughters.” “Oh, you’ll love it!” And when I passed the casserole over I was telling Christien, “Now we can make Shepherd’s Pie!” (Meaning of course our vegan version, Lentil Shepherd’s Pie, which, by the way, is scrumptious!) and the woman behind the counter said—“Ahh! Shepherd’s Pie--my kids love it--but I’d need a much bigger pan than that!” -- Of course you have to imagine all this in a Welsh accent …
Anyway, what is this place where shoppers on the street know about 19th century women authors and everyone loves a good potato mash??? Why, we’re in Britain!
Saturday 3 October 2009
Cognitive dissonance
I was planning to write another blog about being here in Swansea and getting settled focusing on the walk around Swansea with Nigel Jenkins on Tuesday (which was great—and I will do) … but –
I think instead I will be very bloggerly and write about the first thing I’ve noticed that reveals a very large gap between British & American thinking: Healthcare.
Front page of the Guardian today was an article about how it’s been discovered that millions upon millions have been spent to combat Obama’s healthcare plan. Noted was that there are 6 health industry lobbyist for every member of congress ….
Healthcare has already come up several times in talking to people here. Intellectually they seem to understand that in America there is no public healthcare. But when I mentioned, “No, I haven’t had insurance for 5 years ago now… so I just haven’t been to the doctor.” The reaction is a blinking moment of silence. And when I told them about a friend’s son, age 21, who died of appendicitis in Los Angeles 8 years ago after being refused entry into two hospitals, they actually gape. The words don’t quite register. We mentioned how the famous poet, Ted Berrigan, died for want of healthcare, years ago in New York. One person I talked to said that when he was visiting friends in the states years ago one of his friends had gotten very sick, but rather than take him into the hospital, they had mopped his brow through the night, hoping for the best because they were uninsured. As he told the story of something that had happened so long ago, he still seemed perplexed by it. The response is: Shameful; Appalling; Horrific. The look on faces is one of total incomprehension of how a country so rich could fail to provide basic medical care for all its citizens. They don’t understand how insurance companies could have become such a huge part of the medical process. (Don’t think I do, either, really.)
I think their inability to fully grasp our system (or lack thereof) is mirrored by our own inability to really grasp the system here. We registered at the clinic. Appointments? No charge. Tests? No charge. And here in Wales--prescriptions? No charge. We received our NHS cards and on the back was text about, “make sure to present this if you are going to a doctor who is not your registered service provider… blah blah, or you might be charged.” And I thought, “AH HA!” But no, then you look down and read that you can get a refund of your money; it just means a lot of paperwork …
There is a lot to say about healthcare, insurance companies, Obama’s plan and the rest—I’ll leave that for another forum. Mostly I am trying to express, and maybe even trying to understand, to really feel, what it is like to be in a place where the idea of someone dying of something curable for the sole reason that they are poor has been written out of the lexicon. In the U.S. we hear anecdotes of insurance companies denying treatment, we see news stories, or know friends who have lost loved ones. Some of us are uninsured. But I think maybe eventually, even the horror we feel becomes habit. And the numbing, the repetition, eat away at our humanity and our outrage…
It is interesting to know there are places in the world where people can’t comprehend the US healthcare system.
I think instead I will be very bloggerly and write about the first thing I’ve noticed that reveals a very large gap between British & American thinking: Healthcare.
Front page of the Guardian today was an article about how it’s been discovered that millions upon millions have been spent to combat Obama’s healthcare plan. Noted was that there are 6 health industry lobbyist for every member of congress ….
Healthcare has already come up several times in talking to people here. Intellectually they seem to understand that in America there is no public healthcare. But when I mentioned, “No, I haven’t had insurance for 5 years ago now… so I just haven’t been to the doctor.” The reaction is a blinking moment of silence. And when I told them about a friend’s son, age 21, who died of appendicitis in Los Angeles 8 years ago after being refused entry into two hospitals, they actually gape. The words don’t quite register. We mentioned how the famous poet, Ted Berrigan, died for want of healthcare, years ago in New York. One person I talked to said that when he was visiting friends in the states years ago one of his friends had gotten very sick, but rather than take him into the hospital, they had mopped his brow through the night, hoping for the best because they were uninsured. As he told the story of something that had happened so long ago, he still seemed perplexed by it. The response is: Shameful; Appalling; Horrific. The look on faces is one of total incomprehension of how a country so rich could fail to provide basic medical care for all its citizens. They don’t understand how insurance companies could have become such a huge part of the medical process. (Don’t think I do, either, really.)
I think their inability to fully grasp our system (or lack thereof) is mirrored by our own inability to really grasp the system here. We registered at the clinic. Appointments? No charge. Tests? No charge. And here in Wales--prescriptions? No charge. We received our NHS cards and on the back was text about, “make sure to present this if you are going to a doctor who is not your registered service provider… blah blah, or you might be charged.” And I thought, “AH HA!” But no, then you look down and read that you can get a refund of your money; it just means a lot of paperwork …
There is a lot to say about healthcare, insurance companies, Obama’s plan and the rest—I’ll leave that for another forum. Mostly I am trying to express, and maybe even trying to understand, to really feel, what it is like to be in a place where the idea of someone dying of something curable for the sole reason that they are poor has been written out of the lexicon. In the U.S. we hear anecdotes of insurance companies denying treatment, we see news stories, or know friends who have lost loved ones. Some of us are uninsured. But I think maybe eventually, even the horror we feel becomes habit. And the numbing, the repetition, eat away at our humanity and our outrage…
It is interesting to know there are places in the world where people can’t comprehend the US healthcare system.
Monday 28 September 2009
frenzy & guitars
Absolute chaos today. Back and forth to school twice. Wrong times, angry loan advisors, squirrely librarians, student id cards, photo copiers, job applications, resumes, bad internet connections, bad intranet connections …. Anyway, I won’t go into it.
In the end, after walking and sweating and walking and screaming (inwardly, not sure how a giant scream in the library would have gone over) strangely things seemed to work out. Loans were processed. Tuition will be (half) paid. ID card not only in possession but has 45p on it and was used to check out Shelley biography, Joyce biography, Oppen, Austen, etc. 3 jobs applied for. Tofu and Oak cakes were bought. And I now know where the PS stacks (ie American lit) are. And I discovered the insanely un-user friendly world of the university’s intranet, including my uni email. AND even discovered all on my own how to print a document in the campus library from a memory stick. I know, impressive isn’t it. Phew!
Oh, and Christien’s guitar arrived today!!!!
And I came home to lentils over baked potatoes. (By the way, the potatoes (from the Farmer’s Market) are really really tasty and only £1 for 5 lbs. (that’s about $1.60 for 5 pounds of good local potatoes). Can you imagine what food we will be eating lots of?
For all that the walk to school is lovely. I’ve had some questions about it and think I will photo-document it soon. At least half the walk is actually through parks. In fact Singleton Park, which abuts the university, is huge and has an ornamental garden in it, among other things. Brynmill Park, just above that, has a pond with swans, geese, and seagulls. On my way home (1st time) today, a woman froze in terror as a squirrel rushed past her, up a tree. Are there really not any wild animals in Europe?
Tired now. Tomorrow will be exhausting too. Meeting with Stevie, then another PhD student, then there is the afternoon Swansea history walk, which from what I hear ends up at a pub … so it might be a late one.
With all that there is a lot going on back home right now … and it is taking up the background part of my brain, as well as most of my heart ….
In the end, after walking and sweating and walking and screaming (inwardly, not sure how a giant scream in the library would have gone over) strangely things seemed to work out. Loans were processed. Tuition will be (half) paid. ID card not only in possession but has 45p on it and was used to check out Shelley biography, Joyce biography, Oppen, Austen, etc. 3 jobs applied for. Tofu and Oak cakes were bought. And I now know where the PS stacks (ie American lit) are. And I discovered the insanely un-user friendly world of the university’s intranet, including my uni email. AND even discovered all on my own how to print a document in the campus library from a memory stick. I know, impressive isn’t it. Phew!
Oh, and Christien’s guitar arrived today!!!!
And I came home to lentils over baked potatoes. (By the way, the potatoes (from the Farmer’s Market) are really really tasty and only £1 for 5 lbs. (that’s about $1.60 for 5 pounds of good local potatoes). Can you imagine what food we will be eating lots of?
For all that the walk to school is lovely. I’ve had some questions about it and think I will photo-document it soon. At least half the walk is actually through parks. In fact Singleton Park, which abuts the university, is huge and has an ornamental garden in it, among other things. Brynmill Park, just above that, has a pond with swans, geese, and seagulls. On my way home (1st time) today, a woman froze in terror as a squirrel rushed past her, up a tree. Are there really not any wild animals in Europe?
Tired now. Tomorrow will be exhausting too. Meeting with Stevie, then another PhD student, then there is the afternoon Swansea history walk, which from what I hear ends up at a pub … so it might be a late one.
With all that there is a lot going on back home right now … and it is taking up the background part of my brain, as well as most of my heart ….
Sunday 27 September 2009
beginning
It’s almost 11 a.m. -- which in America means 7 a.m. to 4 a.m.
So here the sun is out, shining through the front window. And in New York it’s about sunrise, and in Los Angeles everyone is sound asleep.
It’s a little like having a secret. Or like being awake extra early on xmas morning, pre-sun, pre-siblings, pre-parents. Waiting in the darkness. Here the day has already begun to be whatever it is going to be. There it is still nascent. And part of me is here, and of course part is there.
But of course as those wise Marx Brothers (I believe) once said, “How can you be two places at once when you’re not anywhere at all?” And that about sums it up. I think this past week has been a daze. Notice the qualification, “I think.” Not even sure about that … I am trying to pay attention to it all. Also trying to pay attention to my paying attention … but I think sometime about a week plus 24 hours ago (sitting in Kirsti & Chris’ living room, bags at the ready, nervously awaiting the drive to the airport), as Christien said, “my soul left the room.”
So the “plan” to go to Mumbles today has been ditched in preference to a day of rest. Proper for a Sunday, after all. And in any case, can one really do everything in the first week? So instead, later, we plan to get a giant order of chips and walk down to the sea and walk along the water for a bit. And perhaps a beer … which we actually have not done yet. No pubs yet, but 3 indian restaurants.
In some ways it’s the little things that I want to mention most … like the enormous paper-wrapped parcel of chips with salt and vinegar (thought I’d hate vinegar, love it). Or our new addiction to Nairn’s Course Oatcakes (vegan, wheat-free crackers). Or having to remind ourselves constantly to look RIGHT first when crossing the street. Or enormous packages of Darjeeling tea.
There was a lot of running around back and forth at the school this week. Enrolling, etc. Chaotic. And in between times wandering around town trying to find where things are. It will continue this week. Banking and various forms here and there. Hopefully I will get my library card. And a tour of the library (like a lot of University libraries it is entirely mystifying at first glance).
Looking forward to Tuesday afternoon—Nigel Jenkins, who is the poetry professor here, will be giving a walking tour around Swansea, complete with history and stories.
More, there is a lot more … but I want to get his posted with a couple of pictures, and then send out an email to let everybody know about the new blog. In the end this seems more private than facebook—because only those who I want to know about it will ….
So here the sun is out, shining through the front window. And in New York it’s about sunrise, and in Los Angeles everyone is sound asleep.
It’s a little like having a secret. Or like being awake extra early on xmas morning, pre-sun, pre-siblings, pre-parents. Waiting in the darkness. Here the day has already begun to be whatever it is going to be. There it is still nascent. And part of me is here, and of course part is there.
But of course as those wise Marx Brothers (I believe) once said, “How can you be two places at once when you’re not anywhere at all?” And that about sums it up. I think this past week has been a daze. Notice the qualification, “I think.” Not even sure about that … I am trying to pay attention to it all. Also trying to pay attention to my paying attention … but I think sometime about a week plus 24 hours ago (sitting in Kirsti & Chris’ living room, bags at the ready, nervously awaiting the drive to the airport), as Christien said, “my soul left the room.”
So the “plan” to go to Mumbles today has been ditched in preference to a day of rest. Proper for a Sunday, after all. And in any case, can one really do everything in the first week? So instead, later, we plan to get a giant order of chips and walk down to the sea and walk along the water for a bit. And perhaps a beer … which we actually have not done yet. No pubs yet, but 3 indian restaurants.
In some ways it’s the little things that I want to mention most … like the enormous paper-wrapped parcel of chips with salt and vinegar (thought I’d hate vinegar, love it). Or our new addiction to Nairn’s Course Oatcakes (vegan, wheat-free crackers). Or having to remind ourselves constantly to look RIGHT first when crossing the street. Or enormous packages of Darjeeling tea.
There was a lot of running around back and forth at the school this week. Enrolling, etc. Chaotic. And in between times wandering around town trying to find where things are. It will continue this week. Banking and various forms here and there. Hopefully I will get my library card. And a tour of the library (like a lot of University libraries it is entirely mystifying at first glance).
Looking forward to Tuesday afternoon—Nigel Jenkins, who is the poetry professor here, will be giving a walking tour around Swansea, complete with history and stories.
More, there is a lot more … but I want to get his posted with a couple of pictures, and then send out an email to let everybody know about the new blog. In the end this seems more private than facebook—because only those who I want to know about it will ….
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