Day 87: Persuasion and the Worst

I’ve written 1.5 papers today, and cruised through some other things I needed to do. It’s becoming problematic, because I slept through the first 15 minutes of class today and definitely missed some announcements—what we all could use would be one giant checklist of what the profs need before we all leave Europe. Technically, we just need to get it all in before grades are due on the 20th, but it’s so weird to have things due to people who live next door, who never seem to penalize for lateness (to the point where some girls are getting really pissed.) Whatever, I’m just getting it in on time because I need to practice not procrastinating, and so far it’s worked just fabulously. I’m just hoping the organization can hold water this last hectic week, for profs and students alike. The last thing we need is for them to lose our work.

We got to watch my favorite version of Persuasion, finally, except that Penny hates it and was criticizing it the whole time. But I did my best to enjoy it through her tactless comments and was excited for the last day of class to be over. I sure love Persuasion; the idea that one bad choice based on someone else's judgment can ruin your life makes this novel neither comical nor entirely fictional; if anything, it feels autobiographical. I sure hope Jane could still have a happy life, even though a man was not necessarily in her life.

We could sure use a fire in this building—it’s so cold. I’ll be glad to go home and feel my fingers and toes again. There’s a yellow pashmina I’ve had my eye on down on Queensway; the real question is whether going outside into the Arctic is worth it. Anyways—Off to bed here shortly. I had a heroic nap today and was not tempted in the least to go outside. I hope to get through the rest of this homework before spam hits the fan, which it will. But it’s only twelve credits! What’s the worst that could happen?

Day 86: Double Cream and Dinner with the Crandalls

The Tube strike continues. Today we went to have dinner with the Crandalls, and silly me, I forgot to wear tights. We waited outside for a bus for some twenty minutes afterward; I reached down to rub my knees, my skin felt like a corpse's. Little unnerving. But walking outside seriously feels like wading through snow. I'm just glad it hasn't snowed yet--so wet and cold that we'll lose some of the girls for sure.

Dinner was delightful! Such American food: pulled pork sandwiches, jello salad, and pumpkin pie. The six of us sat around for something like two hours, talking about the most embarassing things we'd ever done, horrible dating stories, how the cute couple got together...so fantastic. I didn't want to leave; the fireside that evening was straight up Christmas singing (not caroling, just singing). It took us ages to get home, so we only had to sing one last song before everyone got candy. I sure would like to be a senior missionary with my husband, have a little living room and bathroom and kitchen, teaching everyone how to use the new Family Search. I sure hope I can see them again.

Day 85: The Holiday is Over

Studying

Everyone just got home from Thanksgiving and I was really getting used to just playing on my own, without the interruption. 40+ people in this building is way too many. The stress will hit tomorrow night and everyone will freak out, including me--but just because I freak out when stressed out people freak out. It's like when someone flies off the handle and starts yelling, I immediately yell louder. I hope all the bonding or whatever doesn't shatter this next week, anyway. I have a hard time studying in this house as it is.

Tomorrow is church. In a few hours, or even in the morning, Carolyn will find out she has a talk, and it was my fault for telling Brother Eden she'd be okay giving it. So she'll be mad at me, but I just gave a talk and I can't do it again. This is all stupid. And it's not like I can write a talk titled Thoughts on the Savior when they're MY thoughts, and not hers. So I sort of want to hide until disaster strikes. Standby.

Anyways, it sure was nice to be out on my own today, playing in town, walking through Regent Street and Leicester. So fantastic to breathe deep the London air, see the photographs in the National Portrait Gallery, and write yet more papers. They're like proof that I've gotten smarter? At least Kim is feeling lots better and ought to be released very soon. Her sister and Andrea are total best friends now, having bonded over Hatchard's Bookshop and a certain hardcover Winnie-the-Pooh. Andrea is now fretting about how to get her books home...there are like fifty of them. I would prolly pay for another bag to be checked...maybe...

Day 83: A Very British Thanksgiving

Late Dinner

So a few days ago, Julie Shuler invited me to Thanksgiving Dinner. Flattered, I asked whether there was anything I could do or bring, but she and her sister (and subsequently Jay-man) insisted on taking care of everything. Without any idea as to what this would entail, I went my merry way to town and promised to be back by seven.

The evening rolled around and I showed up to hear many voices coming from downstairs and in the servery. The sitting room yielded Penny chatting with another American woman, a Norwegian guy named Anders, and a Fijian named Marcus. Andrea showed up later to play chess with a very enthused Anders while I tried to make conversation with the others.

Dinner was not downstairs in the Shulers’ flat because the entire singles ward seemed to make an appearance that night—in Great Hall fashion, some fifty people crowded around the two dining room tables (Javery creeping around underneath), and food starting spilling out of the servery—dishes and dishes of maple ham, butter whipped potatoes, green bean casserole, creamed fruit salad, cranberry chutney, and the most delicious turkey I’ve ever had, not to mention pitchers of home-made root beer. Brother Shuler offered the prayer and all of us tucked in (it was after 8pm at this point). I sat next to Andrea, Anders, and another American who worked on graphics for Harry Potter and Avatar (no idea of his name or his company); we had some great conversation and both guys were heartily abused by the Shuler sisters for being tactless or something, I forget. After an hour, the eating had stopped but it was obvious no one wanted to move…a madhouse of dishwashing would ensue later.

The best part of the night was laid out in the servery—a smorgasbord of desserts, pies, cookies, fudge, strudel, and homemade whipped cream. I was impressed with how quickly everything was cleared away, and I was so excited about the pumpkin pie (something almost nonexistent in the UK that I immediately scooped a piece and considered the London Underground Edition of Monopoly (free parking actually made sense! Hooray!) A fun night for all, and so full of food. I retreated upstairs for some nothing-doing and watched all of Gone with the Wind. Bless Andrew for teaching me how to operate the VCR.

Day 82: Holiday and Dreams

Thanksgiving Luck

So everyone has left on holiday--off to Prague, Dublin, Endinburgh, Amsterdam, Brussels, Venice, and Madrid. Everyone except me and Andrea; Kim's still super sick in the hospital after her surgery, so I'm going over there tomorrow morning.

Around ten, I took the train to Leicester with my last forty pounds in my wallet. I went up to the ticket booth and said, "I have twenty-five pounds. What's the best seat I can get for tonight?"

The man was ruddy-faced and jollier than typical English men. He pulled up the chart and said, "Well, it's a little obstructed..." he pointed at the very first row, cornered with the pit and the stage. "It's twenty pounds." I asked how obstructed the view was, and he said that you couldn't see people lying down in the back because you were so close. I stuffed money into the window and laughed out loud at my good luck. So cheap! Les Mis in London! I still can't believe my good luck.

Queen's Theater

That evening, I got my act together and headed to the show. I sat next to a pair of girls who had seen the show fourteen times (no joke), and almost blew out my ears leaning too close to the orchestra pit (timpany just below). It was so close, I could see the beads of sweat on everyone's foreheads.

The show was unbelievable. The set was like a wooden transformer, changing from a front gate to a bar to a broken down fort so effortlessly. Traveling through the exposition meant a rotating stage, crazy costumes, and some really delightful shining stars. I'd seen Les Mis in Provo, and I think their Jean and Fantine were so fantastic, but the London Javert, Epponine, and the small boy were totally boss. The show's messages of suffering, slow redemption, loss, trying so hard and still not making it, really draw crowds more than the happy-go-lucky messages of other musicals. I think it's because we all don't know what it's like to be happy, but we all know what it's like to be miserable. The show brings that out in those moments when we hope that everything will be okay for those fictional characters, and it's not. If only we could protect that boy and tell him not to go over the fort. But we can't. And we keep coming to the show, to feel once again that we can't control much, that other people matter more than we, that we need to care about them or our lives are just a waste.

I guess a show like this helps us remember that we all can fall, and we all can rise again. Those relationships we have make us who we are and maybe ideals aren't the only things we should fight for. That's what I came away with. If anyone gets the chance to got to London, go experience Les Mis.

Day 81: Another Year

Film Review

Plans for Christmas lights got hosed--so I marched down Bayswater to the Coronet, toward the mobs of people trying to get in and see Harry Potter. I approved of the healthy push and shove so missing in this country. But I wasn't there to see Harry (not again, anyhow); I wanted to see Jim Broadbent.

Very British indie film--everything felt so real-life; there are sequences of people sitting, looking at each other during an awkward silence. It features a cute couple out in a place like Hampstead, complete with tomato garden and warm kitchen; their friends are struggling with the fact that they're growing old and their lives haven't turned out the way they wanted. It's hard to load those kind of struggles on two peoples' shoulders, even if they are happily married and have had a rich life together. I left the theatre convinced that 70% of your happiness depends on marrying the right person for you, and that it is possible to be happy together ages after the amour has faded.

The film is a lot like King Lear in the way that I know I'll appreciate it a lot better when I'm older. When you're young, your life changes pretty regularly in really major ways: marriages, babies, university, moving. But as you get older, those don't happen much at all. Your chance to "start all over" rarely presents itself anymore, and for many, death isn't much to look forward to when it's the only change left. But the movie was optimistic; things change, and sometimes they stay the same. Sometimes life isn't what you expected or wanted. But you can be happy anyway, really. Happiness is a choice--hard work. But that helps you mature and see the world better.

All the actors were top-notch, the screenplay felt so real, and it's so packed with awkward--you feel like you're eavesdropping on real peoples' lives. There aren't car chases or dramatic concepts developed here, no convoluted ending--just people living another year. Really marvelous.

Day 80: The Daddy of Mosques in the UK

Spiritual and Secular Knowledge

Ben and Andrew came downstairs this morning after humanities to see all the girls stuffing bits of toast into their mouths and trying out different styles of head-scarves--these ranged from Virgin Mary to Pirate to Taliban meets Professor Quirrel (Liz). I didn't even try until we made it to the front patio; I left my coat at home and remained pretty comfortable on our little walk across Regents Park. Sister Seely was nice enough to wrap most of our scarves so that they covered our hair (if you're a woman, get your head covered or you won't get in).

Our tour guide's name was Omar. Nice guy, mid-twenties, landowner in Pakistan. He led us into the main prayer atrium, where we shed our shoes and quickly realized the air conditioning was on. It was a large blue carpeted room, with a gold dome on top, a monstrous crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and gorgeous passages of scripture around the rooms. I loved the huge windows--everything felt very open and sacred to these people.

We all sat around him and he answered our questions. I asked what the biggest challenge being a Muslim today was--he told me, after a moment of contemplation, "Knowledge is power. And ignorance is not bliss." A lot of people found this very cryptic, but I didn't at all; we're Mormons, for crying out loud. Everyone thinks things from us marrying multiple wives, having horns, not believing in Jesus, and even stealing maidens in the night through secret tunnels under the temple and then throwing them into the lake. All of these are absurd. But a Muslim like Omar, who's a British bio-chemist and student, has to be lumped into the same category as oppressive (and oppressed) regimes in the Muslim community, lumped in with ignorant cultures, and lumped in with terrorists. He encouraged us to look at Islam socially and politically, as well as spiritually and religiously. This combination of secular and spiritual knowledge is what makes up all religions, he explained.

Although our fundamentalists haven't killed anyone yet, that's not to say they won't in future. Omar gave us a lot of passages from the Koran illustrating the inherent equality of men and women (Muhammed's wife, for example), living harmoniously with other religions (no compulsion, a struggle in the Middle East and elsewhere), and that one unforgiveable sin is to harm another person. He said that it's hard to hear about pockets of the community who oppress their women because that is not doctrinal. Before now, every Muslim speaker we've had have tried to acknowledge that such acts are upheld by Muslim belief, but Omar shut that theory down. He even called it disgusting.

Brother Seely told us that he believes Muhammed was inspired to create Islam in order to prepare lots of people to accept the Gospel. For people whose religion it is to submit to the will of God, it would not be much of a switch at all. Our tour was punctuated by call to afternoon prayers; a hundred or more men (including Omar) packed into the first ten or so feet of the room to stand, kneel, and prostrate themselves on the floor, recognizing the almighty God and approach Him in the best way they knew how. It was very humbling, actually; bit awkward to lie prostrate, but I guess sometimes we forget who we are and who exactly we're praying to. It was a great reminder being in the Mosque.