artykins

I would like to take a moment to clarify something. As I have been reading my rounds of blogs, I have noticed that my post about censorship has caused some slight paranoia amongst you all, my faithful readers. The clarification is simply this:

None of you, my faithful readers/comment-leavers, have been guilty of the said offense. The person responsible for censoring is unknown to our seemingly tightly knit group of writers. They generally suck whereas the lot of you rock. Well, everyone except DJ...and he knows why! :p

So, all that said, stop being paranoid!

And now I'm off to eat.

Later Days,
Arty

Really quickly...

I have returned to English soil and am officially back in the United Kingdom.

Rejoicing and tributes may now commence.

That is all.

Later Days,
Arty

It has come to my attention that certain members within the group of people I call dear friends is dealing with being censored. Not only that, this censorship is asinine and stupid (that's right, I said it...STUPID!) and anyone who wants to censor their writing simply because they 'don't like it' should be taken out behind the shed and pistol whipped.

Not only this, it's a blog. A blog. A BLOG! Oh yes, let's all run off to mommy and daddy and complain about it because you don't like it. Why don't we all just flood the police headquarters in every city and town known to mankind and complain that we don't like crime or violence. Will that result in a slap on the wrist that makes the police whip themselves into shape and start dealing with things?

Flipping get over it, you cows!

The practice of writing is, and always will be, a form of expression that is to be held sacred. Yes, there will be things that we all will disagree with, but there's a simple solution to that problem: don't read it anymore. If you're so self-consumed in whatever it is you're consumed in, that it causes you to constantly read something you dislike, then the last thing you should be doing is complaining about it. You're inducing it all on yourself and therefore it's your own fault. That's right. It's your fault. Just yours. Not the writer's. Not the writing. Yours. You dosey, dosey cows.

So, now that the rant is spoken, to my friend, I offer this advice:

Being a writer myself and knowing you the way I do, I realize and understand that writing is a major outlet for you and you should not (SHOULD NOT), under any circumstance allow yourself to be censored because your readers, whoever they may be, don't like what you have to say. Say what you have to. Say what you feel. Say what you think and never, ever, apologize for it or refrain from it.

It's what makes you uniquely you and to alter that, to fiddle with it, to supress it, is not only unrealistic, but it's one of the most unfair things that can be thrust upon you. Fight against that. Fight with every breath in your body and when the battle seems lost or hopeless, call upon your friends. Surely they will take up arms on your behalf and fight beside you until all things have either been lost or until victory is within reach.

That said, I would call upon my own friends to write their own blogs about what they thing censorship is and what should be done about it. If for nothing else, do it simply to know that you're helping someone who has temporarily lost their will to fight against such a thing on their own. I call you all to arms and charge you with the task of encouragement by saying that the censorship of this blog is not okay.

Later Days,
Arty

Hello my lovelies! It’s been a long while, no? Yes. Yes it has. Why the long absence? Well, let’s just say there has been an absence of internet connectivity the last few days. I’ve been in the Swiss Alps doing whatever it is that people in the Swiss Alps do (that’s to say that I saw lots of cows, heard lots of German [surprisingly, I’ve picked up on quite a lot in the last few days being surrounded by it] and I’ve heard a complete and utter lack of English as a language).

So, the title of this post is really for Julia, even if the rest of you will benefit in hearing from me. Julia, your Ta-tas shirt is in Switzerland as we speak. I’m wearing it right now. I’ve gotten quite a few looks from local people that speak German and I’m a total target for a game of ‘Spot the Tourist’ right now, but I don’t care. There will be photos taken so you can put it up on your site under a section that reads ‘Where Do You Take Your Ta-tas?’

For the rest of you, I didn’t misspell ‘Basil’ either. There’s a city here in Switzerland called ‘Basel’ with an E and that’s currently where I am. Matt and I flew into Geneva on Monday and bummed around there for one day before hopping a train that took us to Zurich, followed by Chur and then to Tiefencastel. In Tiefencastel, we hopped a bus that took us through Surava and Alvaneu Bad to a little town called Alvaneu Dorf.

Now, I’ve learned that ‘bad’ is German for ‘bath’ and that ‘dorf’ is German for ‘town,’ so Alvaneu Bad and Alvaneu Dorf are all part and parcel of the same place, but separated by about a thousand feet. The bad is on the valley floor and is home to a golf course and a spa while the dorf is where people live. The dorf was also generally surrounded by cows and I’m not sure why it is, but Swiss cows are a whole lot cuter than American cows. It might be their big fluffy ears or the cowbells. The jury is still out on that one.

Right! So Matt and I stayed in Alvaneu Dorf for a few days. He rented a cabin there and, as Doug put it before we left California, we got to ‘play house’ for a few days, just the two of us. I quite liked being able to cook my own food, although I have to say I missed having anything remotely identifying a chicken. The Germans are big into their pork and sausage and given that Alvaneu is such a little place, I can’t say I was surprised at the sparse selection of meat and even sparser selection of fruits and veggies. We’re talking, I was lucky to find lemons at the Volg (that’s a little chain of grocery stores much like Nob Hill, only not as nice…Nob Hill is out of control nice).

This morning, we finished our packing and once again boarded a bus from Alvaneu Dorf to Tiefencastel where we caught a train that took us back to Chur, then to Zurich, then finally here to Basel. All in all, I’ve had a lot of time spent on trains, which isn’t a bad way to travel, actually. It beats flying (I both hate and love flying, for those of you that don’t know). The only disadvantage is that on a train you can’t move your seat back, so you’re stuck in an upright position that sucks for trying to sleep.

Some interesting facts about Switzerland:

1) The hours of operation for stores, bistros, restaurants, shops, etc. was a shock to get used to. Being an American girl, I’m used to having a store open twenty-four hours a day. Here in Switzerland, places are open from 8am to noon, which is when they close up for three hours to take a long lunch. They re-open at 3ish (half past two if we’re lucky and in a large city like Basel) and stay open until about 7pm (half past, at the very latest!).

All in all, it’s very Spanish of them.

Also, the milk, water and beer (the last one is according to Matt) is fantastic here. Seriously. The milk is delicious. My kingdom for it back home! They also have wonderful bread. They’re not big into sweet pastry things like the French, but I had some bread that’s the closest thing to sourdough I’ve had in a fortnight. My kingdom for San Francisco sourdough!

Apparently the cheese is also great. Matt loves it. I can’t get past the smell of some of the stuff he’s insisted on buying. Doug, you’ll be happy to know (and I’m sure you’ll have a laugh as well) that the cheese Matt has subjected me to smells like feet. To give you an idea of just how bad it is, imagine a cheese that tastes (and smells!) like marmite. Yeah…it’s just wrong (this being said while Matt is reading over my shoulder and going ‘mmmmmmmmmmm…’).

2) The cows have bells. Yay! We’re talking proper, cute, grazing on the hillside, Heidi cows. The ones that you find endearing no matter how bad they smell.

3) The vast majority of people speak German. In Geneva I was able to get on pretty well since the predominant language was French (yay for romantic languages, eh?). Once we got out of Geneva, though, I listened with much dismay as the announcements on the train slowly went from French and English, to French, English and German, to French and German and lastly to just German. Of course, Geneva is surrounded on three sides by France whereas Basel is on the border between France and Germany.

That said, the standard of education here (at least for languages) is superior to anything in the states. You know how we’re required to take two years of foreign language and then we can drop it? Well, here in Switzerland (as well as the majority of the rest of the continent) learning English is compulsory to a level where people are expected to pass written and oral exams on it (I think, but don’t quote me on this). This, of course, makes the proficiency level exceedingly high.

4) You learn very quickly how to say ‘thank you,’ ‘do you…’ and ‘please.’ Being a speaker of Spanish, I also was able to pick up on the formal versus informal greetings. For instance, ‘Guten Tag’ is formal for hello (‘good day’ literally), but loads of people also say a word that I haven’t been able to figure out (but it sounds like ‘cootzie’).

5) The infrastructure here for public transport is phenomenal. I don’t know how they manage to do it, but the trains and buses run together in perfect harmony. When a train lets you off at a little place like Tiefencastel, there’s a bus waiting to take you to the places the train doesn’t go. In a large city, like Zurich, the train you arrive on is always at the same platform as the train you need to catch for a transfer. It’s insane how well everything works together.

Also, all the bus stations, every single one of them both in small towns and big cities, are at the post offices. It’s brilliant! If you want a bus somewhere, all you have to do is look for ‘Die Post’ and you’ll find a timetable of busses and where they go and be able to catch the right one.

Lastly, the bus drivers here are really friendly. Like…really, really friendly. I was surprised our first day in Alvaneu when the bus driver was joking with some children going home from school and also talking to an elderly gentleman (about what, I couldn’t tell you as I don’t speak German). In England and America, bus drivers tend to be miserable gits. The lot of them.

So, imagine my shock when last night, after getting back from St. Moritz to Tiefencastel when the bus driver not only let us on the bus (despite our lack of reservations…that’s a long story that I won’t go into here and now), but actually stopped in Surava (on the way to Alvaneu) in order to take a young lady back to Teifencastel who had gotten on the bus by mistake! It was amazing!

Of course, I also love said bus driver because he was rather an erratic driver so our ride up to Alvaneu from the valley floor was like riding the Matterhorn bobsleds in Anaheim (it was SO cool!).

6) St. Moritz, a city in the south of Switzerland, hosted two winter Olympics twenty years apart (once in 1928 and again in ’48). I just thought I’d throw that little factoid in there considering I have a love for the Olympics that borders ‘call the men in white coats’ scary. Okay, so I’m not that bad. I just love the Olympics.

Doug: Matt and I bought two hot little sexy posters, that are retro in nature, for our place. I’m bringing them home with me so I’ll show them to you once I’m back. And don’t worry…they’re both inside a sturdy tube to preserve them. We want to frame them and put them somewhere.

7) It’s insanely humid here. Both in Geneva an here in Basel it feels a lot like Missouri in the middle of July just before a rain storm that grounds all flights flying out of St. Louis. The only difference is that it’s not nearly as hot. It’s just a muggy humid thing. I just don’t know what it is about big cities. Alvaneu was great! Clear and sunny except for when it rained there as well (only that was Yosemite storm, not St. Louis storm).

8) Geneva is a great city. That is all for fact #8.

Well, I hope you enjoyed the few things I had to say about Switzerland thus far. I’ve still got the rest of today, tomorrow and a couple hours Monday morning before I leave Basel. Once reception opens back up (we got here at 1pm…a cardinal sin in this country…and have had to wait for reception to open back up after their lunch), we’re going to get settled and probably nap for an hour or so before hitting the city to see what we can.

Oh, oh, oh! Another interesting fact!

9) Frank O’Geary (yes, as in the Californian architect) has a museum here in Basel. He designed it, at least. It looks rather cool and if possible, I’d like to see it.

And another, just to round it out to an even ten…

10) Uncle Arnie, this one is mainly for you. Matt and I caught the train from Tiefencastel to St. Moritz yesterday and we almost (as in a hair’s breadth) took a connecting train to Tirano for some gelato. Yes. Tirano, Italy. Italy. I was so looking forward to telling you I’d been to Italy too, but alas, it just wasn’t in the cards (or the budget). Oh well. One day I’ll get to Rome.

Right then, I think I’m going to sign off for now. I have internet for the next few days, so I might blog again if I’m not completely knackered. For those of you back home, I made it from London to Geneva in one piece (obviously) and made it from Geneva to Alvaneu Dorf safely and now I’ve made it to Basel. Things are going swimmingly. I look forward to talking to you again online once I’m back in England.

Until then, this is Alpha Agent Arty signing off for Team Ta-Tas.

Later Days,
Arty

Hello my loves! Well, here I am once more, blogging because I have a spare moment or two. If you're reading this then chances are quite high that you too have a moment or two to spare, so really we have moments between us if you follow my logic.

Today was Winchester Day! Woo! Why was it Winchester Day? Well, because I dubbed it so.

The day started out well. I slept through the night for the first time without waking up. *knocks on wood* As a result I woke up this morning without feeling as though I'd been hit by a big-rig. Breakfast was an orange and some tea, which were both consumed after a shower and getting dressed in some good old reliable Levi's.

As a sidenote, I saw a guy today in Winchester with Armani jeans on. I had to stare because I couldn't believe anyone would buy jeans, of all things possible, from Armani. Armani jeans! So many things wrong with that statement!

But I digress as one should in such cases as this...

After Matt had his shower and his tea (the drink, not the meal...see yesterday's blog for my rant on that), we packed up and got ready to go to Winchester. Now, to understand the immensity of these plans, one must rewind to earlier this week.

Earlier this week, Matt got added to his mother's insurance plan so that he can drive her car. Today, Richard and Fiona went in Richard's car to scout out a place where there's supposed to be a church meeting later in my trip. This left Fiona's little red car for Matt to drive around in. So, I was escorted around today, which was really very nice! I always do the driving when I'm at home and he's visiting me. I was free to try and figure out the road markings as we went along.

I've come to the conclusion that there are pros and cons to English driving. They are as follows:

PROS:

1) The merging lanes on motorways are much better here. I can't really explain how they are, but they are. Seeing them in action and being used makes this conclusion stick.

2) Country lanes/roads/avenues/streets/whatever else the English choose to call them. They're everywhere. As a result, the motorway is always relatively free of traffic, and believe you me, that's something novel to a California girl.

3) People tend to be a lot more courteous on the road since things are so much more compact. Sharing is a necessity, really. Matt's street is fairly narrow in comparison to back home. People park on both sides of the street like they do in California, but the difference is that here there's only enough room for one car to pass at a time.

4) Alongside #3, it's good to know that people, no matter where they are, still manage to think that because they drive a Mercedes, they have special dispensation to go fast and be rude. I'm glad that's just not an American thing.

5) There are no SUVs! Not a one! This pleases the daylights out of me! I hate those things, affectionately dubbed the Mormon Movers by a friend. I personally hate them because the 680 Ladies drive them throughout San Ramon. I hate 680 Ladies.

6) There are also fewer cars on the road because there are loads of people who bike around. It's amazing how many we passed today. Yay for cycling!

CONS:

1) Roundabouts are thoroughly scary things. Yes, they're brilliant and take the guesswork out of stop signs like we have back home, but flippin' 'eck, you never know the move of the cars to your right! Theoretically you're supposed to signal your intention, but if you come up to a roundabout, your intention is to go right, around the roundabout, so you signal left, but then at any given point you have to signal that you want to go left as well, which is flipping scary. People just don't use indication here (some don't use...I would like it known that Matt did very well indicating his intentions).

In short, you're left having to be a much more defensive driver here than back home where we have stop signs that force yielding to occur.

2) While country lanes connect everything off the motorways, they are usually sporadic in nature. Speed limits vary from one mile to the next, passing is allowed on curves (on curves!), two lanes of traffic merge into one to cross old Roman bridges that aren't wide enough and that no one has bothered to widen...the list goes on!

3) You have to be really wary when driving anywhere, especially when coming up to a roundabout. The signs for them are really cool actually, and make loads of sense, but they come and go pretty quickly when you're zipping along.

4) Buses. The buses here, as many of you know can be double-decker ones. Having mentioned that the roads here are narrower than back home, driving on the same road as an oncoming bus is quite daunting.

5) Cyclists, while being good and admirable, make driving a bit harder because you have to give them wide berth. There aren't bike lanes here so they just cycle along the edge of the road, making cars go right around them on narrow streets.

6) And this really isn't a con...there are lots of markings on the streets themselves. Odd shapes and painted marks that mean nothing to me having learned to drive in California. Apart from lines, dots and the occasional 'ped xing' painted on the pavement, the only shape I ever see is a diamond to indicate carpool lanes. Here, there are zig-zags, cross-hatching, colors circles, squares, single and double lines against the gutters, arrows...it's fascinating, really. I like looking at them as we pass.

Now, for the reason my title is that which it is. I went to Winchester today, yes, but I got to meet Jamie, Matt's friend from secondary school. As predicted last night, I thoroughly love Jamie. He's a really great guy and he's going for the 'tormented rock star' look (to quote him). This means he's got longer hair, a beard and an eyebrow piercing. Of course, he looks far too well kept to be a tormented rock star, but I didn't tell him that. It odd also, because Jamie has the most beautiful blue eyes this side of the Mississippi. The only other person I've ever seen with such pretty eyes is my cousin, Cathy.

Jamie, Matt and I went out to lunch at a local pub in Winchester where we all ate good things and where I got a chance to talk to Jamie a little while Matt was away doing something. I asked mainly about school stuff (he's in uni here studying modern history!). As you can imagine, I took a shine to him right away and we sat and talked of history. I found out he likes anything post French Revolution, which means Jeff would take an instant shine to him as well. One thing Jamie has that Jeff doesn't, however, is a love and a passion (it seems, anyway) for the history of eastern European countries like Croatia and Romania. He just finished an essay on the former Yugoslavia and the nationalism that is found there.

Like I said...I loved talking to him! He's clearly a really clever guy and I'm very much looking forward to seeing him again before I leave (we have tentative plans to meet up again in a fortnight once Matt and I are back from our trek through Switzerland and northern England).

Once we were done with lunch, we walked Jamie back to work (he also works in Winchester) and then Matt and I went off to wander around the city, as is our wont each time I visit. The afternoon was very enjoyable, even if the weather was fickle (clouds, then sunshine, then rain and then sunshine again!). We wandered around what used to be military barracks for a while and then walked down towards the cathedral where we wound our way back to the city center via the river. I love the river in Winchester, by the way.

On the way back to the car, I stopped at a small local market and bought some water and some red globe grapes. They're uber yummy! The drive home was via the country roads mentioned above (we went to Winchester on the M3, but came back a different way). Matt then endeavored to make sense of trip planning for Switzerland, but got frustrated and gave up, going instead to work on something that's he's finishing before we go away. I'm not sure that this change of plans was much different since work is making him stressed out as well.

*sighs* Ah well, the only thing I can do for him now is encourage him with the promise that once he's finished with this, he's free to play for a whole (nearly) two weeks (a week in Switzerland and a few days thereafter in Manchester where I, yet again, get to meet one of his people...only this time it's Martyn, his older brother...who hates all American things...that I'm going to meet).

Let's see...this evening I made dinner for myself and for Matt (simple sandwiches with some of the sexy little grapes I bought) and talked to my mom and grandmother online. Both have been ill recently, so if you feel so inclined, do keep them in prayer. It was kind of strange talking to both of them at the same time. Both were telling me the same things about a minute apart from one another, which is just creepy to know that genetics flow that deeply and that strongly in me.

The funniest thing all evening that they both said at different times was to keep my penny close at hand while I'm away. Now, it occurs to me that some of you won't (and don't) understand what this means and I'm not sure I should tell you, but being me, I'll tell you anyway...

When I got engaged to Matt, my grandmother was the first one to give me any kind of present (I got a vase a teacup from other people). Her gift was simple. It was a card expressing her deepest and most heartfelt congratulations with a new penny taped inside. When I asked what the penny was for, she looked up at me (she's quite a bit shorter than I am, you see...) and smiled. She said:

'You're an engaged girl now. You're not married yet, but you're engaged, and until you get married, I want you to keep that penny pressed firmly between your knees.'

Now, I realize some of you may still not understand, which is okay. Those of you who do, you're having a good laugh right now and I join you in this laugh because tonight, both my mother and my grandmother reminded me of the same thing just a minute apart. It was kind of weird, but alas, they're intentions are good and more importantly, they're right!

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get ready for bed and do a bit of reading while Matt finishes up his work. Talk soon!

Later Days,
Arty

P.S. Oh, and Douglas, darling, I know you're one of my regular readers since we had that talk a few weeks ago concerning your fest of weeping with that one blog I wrote, but would it kill you to leave a comment? It might drum up some good business. You never know. This is especially true since my readership is about 3,000 strong at the moment.

Meh. I just scared myself telling you that statistic. I write stuff that 3,000 people read. That's insane.

Hello dears! So, I just read Nossie's blog and laughed out loud at some of the things she said. She said, and I quote:

"Arty, I will be at church in the evening, but not in the morning. We don't go every morning because dad has commitments to other churches. Long before we started going to Matt's church, dad was playing the organ in a couple of other churches once a month. You can't just say to the other churches "I'm sorry, we've found somewhere we like better, and so I can't play the organ for you any more!" Or is it only my family that thinks that way?

And I wouldn't have no children because your brothers are scary! Just have girls. Girls are a lot better than boys, and much less scary!

And you say you're shy? *tuts* I'm shy too! Hopefully, Fiona will introduce us. She might. Otherwise, I'll be the girl which looks as if she's going to say something, but doesn't. Then, I will look as if I never wanted to talk to you in the first place. The cycle repeats itself indefinitely. I'll try to pluck up the courage to say something to you, however. If I don't, you will probably be driven insane by a post by me on Monday which says that from a safe distance, you look as if you may be nice!"

I'm tempted to sit apart from Matt that evening now, Nossie, just to see if you'd be able to spot me. I won't, however. I'm not that mean or heartless. Just to make sure, I'll give you some descriptions of myself so that you're sure to get it right.

1) I'm tall and quite honestly, I'm solidly built. I swam and danced in school growing up.
2) I'm relatively dark. Dark hair, dark eyes, etc.
3) My hair (and here's the dead giveaway) is uber curly.
4) I've got a bright smile...bright not as in 'white' but bright as in 'warm and genuine.'
5) I'll most likely be sitting next to Fiona.
6) I won't likely go in search of you because I'm shy.
7) Matt will probably drag me over my the hand to introduce me to you and vice versa since he knows who you are.
8) I'll probably be in a black skirt and a red top with a white sweater on...but no promises on that one.
9) I'll probably still look really tired.

Well, that'll about do it for you specifically, Nossie.

Now, in other news, today was thoroughly low key, which I liked. I was woken up early this morning by the sound of electric guitar coming from an amp somewhere downstairs, but by the time it stopped, I was awake beyond the point of falling back asleep. Instead, I rolled out of bed and into the shower, which woke me up sufficiently enough to maintain my will to live given my jet lagged state of being.

Breakfast was the breakfast of college champions: a glass of milk and a banana. Woo! I can't tell you how many mornings I would sustain myself on such rations and manage to survive the onslaught of information that assualted my head in the course of an hour. Oh, and I should mention that before my shower, Matt brought me some tea in bed, which was very nice of him. I think I shall keep him.

After breakfast I settled in on top of my made bed (funny, because I don't make my own bed at home...mostly because it's a loft bed and too much hassle to do it every day) and started blogging. A little while later, Fiona popped in to ask if I wanted to go to the market with her to get things for 'tea.'

Now...pause here a moment, kids. Apparently 'tea' means much more here in England than it does at home. When someone asks someone else if they want some tea in California, it's always in reference to the liquid drink that we chucked into Boston harbor two hundred years ago. Upon further inspection (and several questions later) it has been determined that 'tea' here in England also means a meal of sorts. It generally takes place between lunch and dinner, but can also include dinner. Here in the Turner household, 'tea' means dinner.

Now...pause yet again. You can imagine how confusing it must be to me, an American girl in a strange and foreign land, to hear 'tea' and not have a clue anymore as to what it means. Back home it was a definite and fixed thing with a finite and immovable definition as to what it is. Not here. Oh no. So, just in case any of you are unclear as to what I'm driving at, it is simply this:

Stop confusing a poor jet lagged girl with fluid definitions of what 'tea' is!!

- end rant -

I welcomed a chance to get out of the house. Matt has been working his tail off (and what a cute, attractive tail it is too!) on a job he took on just before we left on Tuesday. A small job came his way that has a deadline of today due on it. Now, he and I seem to have an understanding when it comes to the work he takes on and he asked my permission on Tuesday to take it on since it would bring in some welcome cash. I agreed because bumming around the Turner household and town is a lot better than doing anything strenuous the first few days...like getting engaged.

Did I tell you that story? My first time here was something to remember. It was the first time I had travelled outside of the states by myself. I dislike flying. I was coming to meet Matt's parents...(!!)

All in all, it was pretty traumatic for me (although the vase full of roses and freesias that Richard put in my room for me went a long way to making it less so that first trip). I flew in on a Thursday, came in, ate a very little something because I was still running high on nerves and pretty much crashed while Matt and his parents went to bible study that night. The next day (Friday) Matt and I went into Portsmouth where I saw the HMS Victory. If anything I'll give it to you English people that you know how to do pretty old ships.

As I recall, I nearly fainted whilst in Portsmouth for several reasons. My eating schedule was completely off, my nerves were still running high and my body was rebelling against the time difference and taking the rest of me with it. The following day, however (on Saturday), Matt took me to Winchester, which is where his church is. I instantly fell in love with it. It's old and completely steeped in history, two things that America has in many places, but not nearly of the same calibre.

So, the first thing we saw was King Arthur's Round Table, followed by the cathedral and some lunch in a park that had several French visitors in it. After lunch, we walked up to St. Giles' Hill and I got to see the city from a birds' eye view. There was (maybe there still is) a bench up there and we sat down and I made myself completely happy just looking at all the bustle below me. Matt, however, had other plans...

He took my hand in his and said, "I wonder about something."

Now, me in my state of general out-of-it-ness didn't put two and two together, so I turned to him and said, "Yeah? What's that?"

Matt got down on one knee in front of me, opened the ring box and said, "I've been wondering if you'd marry me."

Grinning and weeping generally ensued, I said 'yes' and he gave me the ring. I remember telling him he had to put it one me, which he did and the rest is just a bit of history.

So again, what's my point? It's this:

Don't do big, possibly traumatic things to a jet lagged girl. She won't know what she's talking about and say the wrong thing at the wrong time... :p

I tell you all of this because tomorrow, as is tradition with us whenever I come to visit, is what I shall henceforth refer to as 'Winchester Day.' Matt and I always go back to Winchester every visit and walk around. We've discovered some cool little shops and hidden places in our travels around the city. Tomorrow should be no different, but the one exception is that we're slated to meet up with Jamie, one of Matt's friends from secondary school.

I haven't met Jamie before, but I've heard of him and he seems like a pretty cool guy. We'll see how right I am come tomorrow. I'm pretty sure I'm right. The witch in me is saying so.

Now, for some words to my people back home:

Jeff and Jeremy: What the flip happened to writing to me to keep me informed of what's happening?! Swiss chocolate is on the line here!

Uncle Arnie: Yay for blogs! If all it takes is me going away to a far away land to get you to blog, I should do it more often...although to someplace less far away than England. The time difference takes too long to get used to.

Uncle Benny: Yay for new Macs! I'm doing a dance of joy as we speak.

Bella: I'm sorry to hear you're feeling under the weather! Get better soon! Te amo mucho!

Mom and Dad: I have found it hard the last couple weeks to find the words to express the depth of my love and gratitude I have for you. You helped put your little girl through college and I shall never be able to thank you enough for giving me this chance. In the meantime, know that I love and miss you both.

Now, if you'll be so good as to excuse me, I have a duvet to change out. The one I was given is lovely, but it's SO hot. I wake up all hot and sticky with it on so I'm changing it for a lighter one. Until next time, then!

Later Days,
Arty

Okay, I must confess...this is my inner pirate coming out of the shadows.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070518/ap_on_re_us/
treasure_ship

Later Days,
Arty

Hi everyone! Well, it's currently 3:41am in jolly old England (7:42pm back home with PST), and I'm awake. Oh yeah. Jet lag rules. I went to sleep very close to 10pm GMT, so I've had nearly six hours of sleep, which (considering I slept only a couple hours on the flight and a few minutes on the coach from London) isn't too shabby.

I woke up because I was hot. That's right, you read that correctly...I was hot because apparently I have the world's warmest duvet pn my bed. You read that correctly too. The thing is massive and wonderful, but very warm, so I'm kind of hanging out on top of the covers for a while until I cool down enough to merit some more sleep. You read that correctly too. I'm very finicky about the temperature of my sleeping conditions. Too cold and I can't sleep. To hot and I can't sleep either. It makes me feel like Goldilocks.

So a bit more about my current surroundings:

I'm in the south of England (my exact whereabouts will remain secret for now). I arrived yesterday afternoon from London (more about yesterday's shenaningans later...and by yesterday, I really mean the 24 hours that happened between Tuesday afternoon and now according to PST).

I'm currently residing in Matt's room. He's graciously given up his living quarters for me, so he's downstairs on the couch, hopefully sleeping still and not being plagued by a body that's telling him it's nearly eight o'clock in the evening back home. Also in the house are Richard and Fiona, Matt's 'mum' and dad. Also, Nadine and Zack, Matt's sister and nephew.

Zack heard I was in yesterday afternoon and popped up right away to see me, which I found charming. I gave him a hug and he kissed my cheek timidly. He'll be thirteen this Friday. He reminds me a lot of my brother, Jeremy. They're the same age and have all the same quirks, so in October when Zack goes back to the states for the wedding, I look for him and Jeremy to hit it off well.

If all goes well and according to plan today, I'll be setting off by myself to the big bad town center to get Zack a present. Matt has charged me with completing this task. I might also pick up a watch for myself, since I forgot mine at home. I like to know the time. Anyway, we'll see. Those of you back home, start praying now that I manage to survive my task!

A few things I had forgotten about England:

1) How green it is. But I live in California where everything is green, I hear you say. True. California is a very green, very beautiful state, but it's a different kind of green. The green back home is always tempered with other deep, dark and rich tones. I'm thinking specifically here of the green in contrast to redwood bark or the pacific ocean. I'm thinking of Southern California beaches, yellow and sandy, and Yosemite, gray and white.

The green here in England is just that...it's green. Vibrant green.

I found it odd that Heathrow is very much like SFO in many respects. Of course, Heathrow is gigantic whereas SFO is a small, quaint little airport in comparison. Both are big and gray...very concrete, but the difference is that SFO continues on and outwards as a concrete jungle. Here in London, you take five turns (literally!) and you're in pasturelands. And we're talking the pasturelands that have sheep, horses and cows grazing! In the midst of 747s taking off and landing!

2) The trees. The trees here are tall and willowy in comparison to the trees back home. England boasts clusters of trees that are very much in keeping with the Arthurian legend backdrops. You can easily imagine a white stag darting through the trees just as you can easily imagine the woods being cloaked in mist.

3) The infrastructure. I was driving out of Heathrow yesterday in the coach and observing the work they're doing to finish up the two new terminals (and sexy terminals they are!). There was a car ramp the wove its way overhead, which is admittedly not surprising. I've seen the MacArthur Maze, which is nothing but elevated motorways, but this one at Heathrow was different. It was supported by thin concrete columns and all I could think about was, 'wow...those look SO unsafe.'

Maybe that's the California girl in me talking. I'm used to earthquakes and needing massive retrofitted columns that anchor themselves a hundred feet into the ground. The ones at Heathrow (and indeed the ones all over England!) just strike me as unsafe. But then again, there aren't a lot of earthquakes here. There's no tectonic movement to snap the supports like twigs.

And speaking of retrofitting, how's the work coming along on the 880 split, Bella? Is it going according to schedule or is it behind or ahead? I want details! It should be built and repaired by the time I come home, which admittedly will do very little to make 80 any better than it is. I hate that freeway. Meh.

Right then, I'm off to do a bit of reading in hopes it'll make me sleepy again. The birds have begun to warble outside, so that should help me to drift off. It sounds like the birds at home that chirp early in the morning. Goodbye for now!

Oh! And before I forget, my final grade came in! The results are as follows:

Survey of American Literature II: B+
Survey of British Literature II: A-
Advanced Fiction Workshop: A
Novel Writing for Children/Young Adults: A
Senior Thesis in Creative Writing: A
Kongolese Drumming: A

*claps* That survey of Brit. Lit. was the outstanding grade, kids. I'm so very pleased with my grades! Woo!! I hope that pleases all of you back home. Now all that's left is some good news from Andy. Cross your fingers for that one, kids.


Later Days,
Arty

Made it to England safely. Tired and knackered. Must sleep. Keeping journal. Will write more later.

Later Days,
Arty

Hello! Okay, okay, I realize it's been quite some time since I last blogged, but tonight I shall end the long silence and reduce your mourning. You shall once again be able to dance joyously in the streets, dance in the middle of the metros and sing in the showers with glee. Fear not, for your Arty is returning to you!

So, things have been a little hectic lately, so sit back and enjoy the telling of what's been happening. I suggest you get yourselves a drink or some tea. Currently I have my own drink. I'm having me some Bailey's and it's oh so good. It's just so smooth and wonderful...which brings me to my first point of catch-up rhetoric.

The other night, we went out to BevMo (those of you who don't know what that is, Google it). Matt and I spent a great deal of time in the wine section because we struck an accord that we are going to keep a journal of all the wines we like. This is made even more exciting by the fact that we're paying particular attention to the red wine section. But why is this so exciting, you ask?

Well, I generally can't drink red wine. My body rejects any red wine with really mature tannins. Now, when I say rejects, I mean violently so. I don't get ill, but I get a headache the size of a Montana sky. It so happened, however, that the other day I was able to drink some red wine with a pasta dish I made without getting a headache, so I deduced with my slueth-like skills that it was the tannin content. So, the long and short of it all is that the wine journal is exciting because it's going to document which red wines I can and can't have along with all the other wines I like and dislike.

Matt picked up a South African red wine that we cracked open a couple days after buying it, which goes on the list of reds I can have (yay!). It didn't give me a headache and was generally good. It was strong. Really strong. It went really well with the chocolate Matt gave me for my birthday.

But back to that matter at hand!

The evening we went to BevMo, I had a glass of Bailey's and was generally quite happy with my choice of drink. Jeff made something called 'Gorilla Milk,' which had a whole bunch of alcohol in it including a banana liquer...yeah...I think it sounds all kinds of wrong too. I settled for something not dripping with vodka and settled into a chair in the dining room next to Jeremy, who was busy doing homework. After a while, he asked me to go get him some cookies and milk. I offered him the last of my Bailey's with the promise that it was better than milk and cookies anyway.

Jeremy was surprised.

Matt was shocked.

I was amused by them both.

Jeremy ended up getting himself some milk and cookies and I ended up getting a look from Matt. It was good times.

Yesterday marked the end of 'Dead Week' at school. For those of you who haven't asked me about it, Dead Week is the week between the last formal day of instruction and the first day of final exams. It's called Dead Week because everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) is locked away in their dorm rooms writing final papers and studying like they've never studied before in their lives. Campus is very (VERY) quiet and even at meal times the girls speak very little. There are books on literally every table in the entire college and every sofa is occupied by a student or two sprawled out with intense looks of concentration on their faces.

The beginning of finals week is always a welcomed occurence. We start talking to one another again and even laugh as we await the dreaded examinations. It helps that the majority of our professors aren't out to get us with trick questions. And they bring us candy! To give you an idea of what our finals are like, this is a normal occurence in our exam halls:

Twenty of us, most of the time fewer, sit at odd intervals at the tables and chat before the professor and the exams arrive. We're alotted a three hour block of time in which to take the exam and when the professor arrives, they normally pull out an envelope with or exams from their bags closely followed by two giant bags of candy. They give some final, last minute instruction for the exam, hand them out and sit with a book to read while we take the tests.

Now, most of us make ourselves as comfortable as possible, which includes getting up and wandering around the room in silence to get rid of nervous energy, taking our shoes off and generally being given the freedom to do some yoga if we need to. I've never seen anyone do yoga, but it's nice to know that if I need to I can sit in the Lotus position and meditate for ten minutes. We also occasionally get up to grab some chocolate or other such dulcet treat to keep our blood sugar up.

So really, final exams at my school (at least in the English department) aren't that bad. The worst part is getting a cramp in your hand from so much essay writing, which is mostly what our exams consist of. I sat my American Literature final yesterday and did relatively well considering I only got a chance to read partially into all of the books (except for The Sound and the Fury, which I loved and read all the way through). There were eight short analyses of which we had to choose six to answer. After that was done, there was an essay question (one of two that we had to choose). It took me two of the three hours to complete.

Today I sat my British Literature exam, which was painfully grueling. It was so much harder than my American Lit. final, but so worth the stress. I feel I've learned more about England's history through its literature than I did about my own history through my own country's literature. Of course, it helps that I love British Lit. and tend to loathe and despise American Lit. I think it's because the American canon includes Hemingway. And I hate. Hemingway. With passion. Vigor. Intense hatred. Loathing. And abhorrence.

The exam this morning took far longer than I anticipated. Nearly all three hours give or take half an hour. It was insane. There were twenty-two short analyses to do, twenty of which I had to answer (giving me a very slim margin of wiggle room). I had to be right about the ones I answered. I had to do anything from identify a quote, give the name of the work, the name of the author and the importance it held to doing close readings of five line poems. The second half consisted of...you guessed it...an essay!

The essay was a lot of fun. I wrote about Tennyson, Rossetti, Bronte, Shelley, Conrad, Locke and Newton, all fabulous writers. I could have written about my old buddy Edmund Burke, but he just got an honorable mention, as did Charles Darwin. Considering it was a closed book/note exam, I think that just remembering all those authors and writers, poets, non-fiction writers, etc. is an accomplishment in and of itself.

Oh, and I was also required to mention at least seven writers, including one novelist, one poet and one non-fiction writer. That was tough, but I covered all the bases with Shelley (novelist), Tennyson (poet) and Newton (non-fiction writer who did all sorts of crazy experiements). I loved writing about Conrad the best, though. 'Heart of Darkness' is absolutely fabulous. It's a stunning piece of prose that's problematic on so many levels. It's an analysist's dream.

So, when I was finished with my exam, I turned it in and walked outside where I realized that I was done. As of half past eleven this morning, I was done with all the obligatory and required coursework for school. I'm a free woman with nothing left except walking and recieving my diploma on Saturday morning. I've finally accomplished what I set out to do five years ago (universities are normally four year deals, but I spent an extra year doing my studies because I also had to work and accomodate both holding down a job and studying).

I don't know what to feel. On the one hand I'm ridiculously happy. I'm done with deadlines for papers. I'm done with mandatory analyses. I'm done with semesters that have reading lists from somewhere very far away from heaven. I'm done.

Yet on the other hand I'm terrified. All I've know for the past eighteen years is school. I've become very good at being a student and learning. I love it. And now it's gone. It's a thing of the past and I have no definite plans of what is to come, which I suppose brings me to the title of my post. I have a degree. I have a piece of paper with my name on it that neither of my parents have. I have the physical evidence of their love for me in their agreement to help me get through college. I have the outcome of all the hard work I've done. I have prospects.

In other areas of life, I have prospects as well. I'm going to be a wife. I'm going to England where I'll get to meet some people face to face. I've got the chance to walk through my life with someone next to me to take all those fearful steps that lead into the unknown. I have wonderful friends, both here and abroad, that love me and whom I love fiercely in return. I've got the wisdom of generations just a phone call away and I've got the wherewithal to learn from the past. I have a God who holds me closely to himself and who has never let me fall from grace.

I have...so many things that I'm thankful for, so many things that make me stronger and so many things planned for me that are meant to make me progress and not to hinder me.

Matt and I went over to Marco and Nicole's house tonight for dinner. Marco is the pastor who's going to marry us and Nicole is, you guessed right, his wife. They're thoroughly delightful people and I love them both very much. We had really good eats, we had great conversation and Nicole mustered the courage to kill a spider, so she's my hero now. Marco asked us a really interesting question, though. In conversation about other people in our lives that we have close relationships with (non-family people), he asked us how we can protect each other from possible hurt and harm.

It's an interesting question. Marco didn't ask us for answers tonight, but rather to just think about it, which I am. I can honestly say that I have no idea how best to protect Matt from things like what happened earlier this year. I can't offer you anything other than that, the truth of the matter, at the moment. I plan on thinking about it and even asking him if it comes to that, but it's an interesting question to ponder not just in terms of a future husband and wife, but also amongst and between friends.

How would I protect my friends from hurt? I don't believe in lying to them, but nor do I believe in telling them the whole truth if there is something to spare them from. I strongly believe in being there to celebrate the joys in life as well as being a comfort to them in grief and sorrow. I believe in having spontaneous notes/letters/emails sent just for the sake of sending them. It lets them know I care and that someone is thinking of them. In short, I believe in doing things to build up a sense of community.

Well, all that said, I should get going. Matt has been working and he's finished now and I think I owe him some attention seeing as how I was ignoring him earlier when he was seeking some lovin'. I hope you're all sufficiently caught up and all that jazz. I shall try to blog more regularly now that I have nothing to study. Even as I wrote that, I felt a little thrill of delight at the prospect of not having to study something. Woo!

Later Days,
Arty