Hobbits In Rivendell

…until next time, when we will have sorted out this mess you see before you, and can then return to living a proper life, one that includes SWEATERS, scarves, tights, bread pans, mugs larger than thimbles, metal knitting needles (can’t take those on planes, don’t forget) the yarn stash, four pounds of raisins (WHY did we pack that??), all manner of flour, candied ginger, oat bran, and all manner of other good things.

UK friends can look forward to us sharing more goodies now. Huzzah!

We have had the ASTONISHINGLY good blessing of having only one glass broken, the fender on D’s cruiser bike slightly dented, and ONE bottle of paprika inhabited with strange gray… apparently paprika-loving grubs. Other than a little dust from sitting for two weeks in a freezing cold warehouse, our possessions – opened thus far — look like we could have packed them up yesterday. We are feeling very, very grateful, having heard horror stories of how bad it can be.

We sleep tonight in a room full of boxes, but under our very own blanket at last.

– D & T

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It’s a small start, but a start nonetheless to our wee herb garden. In the United States, we’d pop into a pharmacy – or, what would be considered a chemist – and pick up packets of seeds along with shampoo and hand lotion (which, now that we think of it, is a bit weird, but at every Long’s Drugstore that we ever knew of, there were potted plants for sale out front. Hm!), or a grocery store, or a plant nursery — we had access to seeds all over. Here, we don’t know where seeds are in our small neck of the woods, so we have taken to simply trying to root cuttings of all of the fresh herbs which we buy.

We have several varieties of mint (thanks, Mary!) sitting next to the sink, and are hoping to grow a bit of watercress and broccoli sprouts when our little sprouting flats get here. (Yes, we know, you’re sick of hearing about what we DON’T have – so are we! We’ll soon change our tune, by the grace of God — as our things are a mere ten miles from us… Anyway, we hope you’ll bear with us until then…)

Here’s a dictionary moment: The OED defines the word ‘scheme’ as “a systematic plan or arrangement for obtaining some particular object or putting some plan into affect.” And that’s the definition that’s used widely in the UK. In the U.S., however, the second definition of ‘scheme’ is commonly understood: that of the verb form, in which ‘scheme’ is “a secret, or underhand plan; a plot.” Thus it is with some amusement that we read the BBC News briefs which hourly come into our in-boxes. There are schemes for free school meals (breaking and entering in the cafeteria, obviously), schemes to ban street flyers (by sneaking up and forcing them to fly on the sidewalk, of course,), schemes to promote conservation (freeing the animals from the zoos), schemes to build new clubs (er… that’s a tough one. Overnight moving disco balls into government buildings?). The face of the news is suddenly a great deal more interesting, with a schemer on hand, rubbing his hands together in malicious glee, waxed mustaches twirling, shoe-blacked eyebrows wriggling madly…Every time I read the word, I picture Dr. No from the old Bond series, stroking his fluffy white cat….

The long-awaited moment of shoe shopping has almost arrived. We find ourselves eying the footwear of strangers, as we have found that so much walking has really put serious wear on the few pairs of shoes we have with us. We are somewhat (*cough* LAZY!!) unmotivated shoppers, but shoes are okay, since you can’t waste a whole day in a store trying them on. (Oh, wait. You can? Sorry, my bad.)

We can’t do our usual lazy thing of mail-ordering the same shoes of the same brands in the same size that worked so well before, alas. Now we have the joyous UK sizing thing to add to the confusion. So, it looks like we’ll have to (groan) actually GO INTO A STORE AND SHOP. (Please note that T is now writhing on the floor in agony. A predisposition to hate shopping was somehow grafted onto her genes, and this, she fears, just might kill her. The suggestion of Marks & Spencer as a painless place to shop has been duly noted, and she strides forth this weekend… [maybe]. Details to follow [unless they’re far too gruesome]).

Another bit of random fluff for our UK readers: has any of you ever seen a badger or a hedgehog? We are hoping to see at least one each before we go back to the U.S., so we have a solid three years to start (gingerly) poking under bushes during our trips to Edinburgh, Manchester, and other places where we have to go for Conferences anyway. We’re hoping to see live ones, mind you, so any directions (other than “outside of Glasgow, you dolts!”) helpful.

It’s a gorgeously bright, sunshiny (and quite cold!) morning, and the weather has shown periods of dazzlingly bright sunshine all day, but when it’s not sunny – wow. Yesterday we actually learned the definition of a cloudburst — the ‘burst’ has actually a sort of percussive sound when it begins to rain, suddenly and furiously. Wind whips up out of nowhere, and a half an inch of rain falls in about five minutes. Fortunately, both of us were indoors at the time, looking out the window with some surprise. Neither of us has an umbrella; we only used one if it rained when we were going to church, otherwise preferring to put our heads down and dash. That’s not much of an option, here; thus far we’ve just put our heads down and… kept walking like everyone else. As the golfing analogy goes, “the weather clears up on your back swing” anyway. Give it five minutes, and the sun will shine again.

Hope the sun shines for you,

– D & T

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My older sister has a practice of sending us the amusing bits of news that cross her path. Usually hers come from the Yahoo! home page or the Anchorage Daily News. Our favorite outlet for strange news comes from the Chronicle, our friend Neil’s blog (to which I am not going to link – for the sake of your sanity), various newspapers, and lately, the BBC News Scotland.

Not that it comes across as amusing or “weird” news to anyone else, but the BBC provides things that make me smile. Like the conker story. There has been an appeal for people in the Southern part of Scotland to donate their chestnuts for the Scottish Conker Championship to be held somewhere called Peebles. Now, if you don’t know what conkers are (and you can switch that webpage into English, look at the top right side of the page), you obviously did not grow up reading solid British lit’triture where kids had “jem sendwidges” in their pockets and a crowd of smeary little urchins with whom to take to the streets with their minds on assault. Conkers are chestnuts… the basic point of the game is that you somehow attach a piece of string to a conker, and …hit someone else’s conker. Or, hit someone else’s head. It’s a game teachers love, of course.

The other piece of newsworthy errata that amused me today I actually have witnessed. The United Kingdom has historically been made up of the Scottish, the Northern Irish,the Welsh, and the English, they of reserve and class and culture — at least according to, again, Lit’triture, the BBC, and Masterpiece Theater. Nowadays, the UK is made up of people who… kiss. As I’ve said, I’ve experienced this, and let me tell you — it’s bewildering. (Corrected the “ethnicities” listed above, so as to not ignore the Welsh, and not to lump the Irish in with Britain)

For one thing, friendly as Americans are rumored to be, they don’t kiss. Unless they’re religious, and you’re a member of their church, perhaps a longtime member they’ve known? Since childhood? And even then — they don’t kiss. They’ll certainly hug, bump fists (if they’re boys of a certain age), slap you on the back, punch you in the shoulder, wrestle you into a headlock… the violence escalates from there, but no kissing. Certainly no kissing between the more macho gender.

Yet, we’ve been kissed! Here! By strangers! Okay, not quite strangers, but close enough!! It’s been a little — startling, to say the least.

From whence does this kissing hail? What happened to reserve and starch and distance? Is it because the UK is home to many more kinds of people, and those customs and traditions are doing a little ‘melting pot’ thing here? Or is it that it’s cold, and people are looking for ways to have blood rush to their faces and produce immediate, embarrassed flushes? And anyway, how many of those kisses are you supposed to give? It amuses me more that much of the UK itself seems to be in a quandary over this. The BBC News Magazine even posts a guide:

Four: Paris

Three: Brittany, Netherlands, Belgium (if other person 10 years older), Egypt, Russia, Switzerland

Two: Spain, Austria, Hungary, Greece, some parts of France

One: Belgium

Close friends and family only: Germany, Italy, Middle East (except between male friends)

Don’t try it: Japan (bow)

I do note that the UK doesn’t show up on this list. Which leaves one wondering all over again…

It seems like this post should end with something very upper class, like air kisses, or cries of “Smoochies!” But we wouldn’t do that to you.

– D & T

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The more things change, the more they stay the same!

Choral rehearsals are pretty much the same here as they were at home. We both look forward to them, and dread all the work and bad notes. The sopranos snark about how screechy they sound, the tenors roll their eyes when the conductor stops them, the altos hate their part, the conductor climbs up on a box and complains that no one is watching her, and on any run where one has to both count and do a complicated sequence of notes in time, everyone loses their place at least once.

Singing Haydn’s The Creation this time has one difference that has nothing to do with being in Scotland — at least not in this century. We are singing the Anne Hunter version, as first written for English-speaking audiences in eighteen-something-or-other after the English-language premiere when Haydn visited these shores. Everyone is having an equally hard time replacing familiar words —‘The Heavens are telling the glory of God/ The wonder of his work displays the firmament‘ with the tongue-twisting, strangely scanning and counterintuitive ‘The heavens are displaying the Glory of God/ Those fires never ceasing he placed into the sky…‘ But we’ll get there eventually. Our performance is December 2nd, and the tickets are already almost sold out.

A list of small things for which to be thankful: one, the the reminder that we have much for which to be thankful – for instance, we have electricity! And two, that though the oven isn’t fixed, tomorrow, it will be …replaced. Whatever mysterious ailment that made the convection fan vibrate like a badly tuned aircraft was apparently a manufacturer’s problem (and apparently the flat owner’s daughter Moira didn’t cook much — else how could she stand that noise?!), and we will be back to baking healthy and nutritious foods to combat the cold and wet weather. And it didn’t pour on us on the way back from choir rehearsal, there was a gorgeous pink/purple/blue sunset, and we got to see the museum all lit up at night; also, we found out that the Strathclyde PD rides white horses at night — (that must be seen to be believed!); and, our favorite grocer sent us home with candied apples (reminding us that we need to find an orchard and try out this tasty looking recipe for oven-roasted apple butter).

We sent an email to the shipping company, and it bounced…(!) But, other than that, it’s been a pretty good day, thank God.

– D & T

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The pictures of Strathclyde PD are thrown in merely because … well, because it was rather entertaining to encounter a pair of mounted police deep within what’s known as The Merchant City district of Glasgow. The horses weren’t particularly happy to be walking about, and were foaming at the mouth a bit. It’s a different world, I can tell you.

T. says that I should write something about how my studies are going, because people are interested. And, after all, the reason we’re here is for me to study … so, here goes.

Essentially, the biggest challenge so far as been in determining what’s required and what’s optional. It appears that lectures are semi-optional, whereas tutorials are semi-required. Now, I go to everything, of course, because that’s the way I am, and because I worry that I don’t know things. Yes, those of you who’ve had personal experience with me find that hard to believe, but, deep down, I don’t really believe that I know things. It’s part of what drives me to perform: that underlying belief that I might be missing something.

To be thrown into a system which doesn’t clearly define objectives is … well, sort of like telling me to go fast & then not giving me anything by which to pace myself. To put it in clear terms: I wear a heart-rate monitor when I cycle, because otherwise I end up with my heart working too hard & pass out. It’s a fundamental part of the way I work, so to be here, with so much, ambiguity is difficult.

This explains to you why I’ve been largely absent from the internet world for the past few weeks, as I’ve been reading philosophy texts during just about every spare moment. The idea of going away for the weekend is rather nerve-wracking, as I’m certain that I’m behind already.

As things are settling, I’m understanding a bit more, and coming to know that the people I’m learning with and from aren’t necessarily that far ahead of me, and that I do have a brain of my own. It’s just that it takes an adjustment period every time I start something new, during which I worry. So, give me another few weeks & everything will have settled out, and I’ll start to be bored again, because I’ll have read everything I’m to have read for the entire term. Again: the way I’m wired. I hope this explains to some small extent what’s been going on inside my head.

Outside of it? Well, the British system of education is becoming increasingly clear … and increasingly bizarre. For example, over here one may graduate from University after 3 years and be said to have received a Master of Arts. In the US, I had to attend University for 4 years just to get a Bachelor of Arts, and then another 2+ years for a Master of Science. But, over here, you continue on to receive either a Master of Literature (a ‘taught’ degree) or a Master of Philosophy (a ‘research’ degree), rather than a Master of Science. It’s all very strange, and I begin to understand why people underestimate me – because they think I’m talking about having had 4 years of school after high school, rather than the 7 I’ve had!

The subject matter, of course, has the potential to be interesting. The department here is very much along the lines of ‘analytic philosophy’ which means that I’m having to pick up quite a bit of formal logic (i.e. math). It’s not so much of a challenge, with my computer background, but it certainly is a different way of looking at the world. I think that they’re in for a bit of a shock, when it comes time for me to move on to the PhD, as I’m very much in favor of the Philosophy of Language, particularly work by Jacques Derrida … which may be a problem for them, as Derrida didn’t necessarily agree whatsoever with the analytic school of thought. I’m also, of course, going to be coming from a rather Kantian school of Moral Philosophy, which is, again, something of a problem for this department. All of which makes for a rather good argument, of course.

I can look forward to around 3 years of argument, followed by a good oral defense of my dissertation. If possible I’m going to select members of different faculties to be upon my dissertation committee, and may end up doing a multi-disciplinary PhD when it all comes down to it, as one of the professors I’d like to have on my committee is from the English department & the other is from the Theology department (but has a PhD in English, specializing in Jacques Derrida’s work on Deconstructionism).

Mostly, though, I’m doing quite a bit of walking, as my classes are separated out into the lectures, which run in the middle of the day, and seminars, which are held in the evening (which are inevitably followed by a long drinking bout at the pub, which I do not feel obligated to attend). Coming home from having walked for 2 hours, to attempt to read philosophy? Not working too well, so I end up reading mostly in the morning, and trying to squeeze in a bit more during the lunch hours, but pretty much just dropping off after class in the evenings. It makes for a rather boring life at present.

There are any number of conferences to attend, however: right now we’re considering one in Edinburgh on epistemology; one at Glasgow Uni on Magic, Art, & Medication; and one at Manchester on Linguistics. Of course, there’s also one in Budapest, but … that may be a bit far to travel, and at least the one here in Glasgow and the one in Manchester would be of interest to both of us. So, perhaps Edinburgh loses out. 😉

That’s what the educational world holds at the moment. Now, I’ve to get ready to walk back to school.

One more thing: the University of St. Andrews is offering 6 Paid Studentships in Philosophy for next year. Could be that we’ll be moving further out into the middle of the countryside, as they specialize somewhat in the Philosophy of Language.

– D

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Greetings, all! This post is just a brief one, to explain that D. has finally gone ahead and gotten the film developed and scanned, so that we can at long last put some pictures up here other than the little ones taken with our phone cameras. Shown below is a The Crannog, as discussed here, in an earlier post. We think D’s pictures are quite as nice as the other one we posted, dare we say even nicer! For more of his photograph-all-of-Scotland endeavors, click here, and view the entire set of pictures from this wee fieldtrip. Learn how the Iron Age used lathes! Imagine the bugs in the thatch and the fleas in their beds! So realistic and well photographed, you can pretend you were there, swatting at midges too!

Also posted today were quite a number of pictures of Glasgow, so feel free to click through to that set, as well. Shown to the left is, of course, Glasgow University’s Bell Tower, as viewed from beside Kelvingrove Museum. Of particular interest to D. is the sculpture of soldiers in the foreground, contrasted with the tower.

Some of these pictures were simply taken one day while walking to class. D. took advantage of several recent clear, warm autumn days, and just looked at the colors of things now tinged with that bit of gold the light brings this time of year. Scotland is such a beautiful country, even here, in the middle of the city. We might not be completely ecstatically bouncing out of bed and dancing every morning (but we don’t normally do that worrying sort of behavior anyway… not without chemical enhancement), but we’re doing really well – we’ll be happier when our stuff arrives, but things are okay. Eventually, all that bewilders us will seem pretty tame and mundane.

Cheers,

– D & T

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