now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer

Today we took the Oxfordshire Playbus (no picture of that vehicle, unfortunately) to the real Stratford, Stratford-Upon-Avon. Don't get me wrong, I quite like the one back at home and there are definitely similarities. Mostly the mixture between swans and Canadian geese.

I have heard so many stories about the damp and the chill of the English weather, and experienced it only really for the first time today. Accustomed to the mild weather and slightly overcast skies, if not sunshine, I potentially didn't dress as warmly as I could have. The drizzling rain kept us to the museums, which, very conveniently, were all included in the one ticket which is valid for the next twelve months. So for any visitors who plan to come out here (wink, wink), I could procure a second one for you (nudge, nudge).

Anne Hathaway's house was first on the hit list (the kitchen still had the original stone floors from 400 years ago) and was followed by a tour of the *new* Woodland walk -- as opposed to the old one which used to be there?

Anne Hathaway's cottage

We were then delivered to Shakespeare's birthplace and set free to tour both it and the town, so long as we were at the Holy Trinity Church by three. I came within inches of a copy of the First Folio, published 1623. The house is filled with actors who are more than willing to perform upon request. We were given the "alas, poor Yorick" speech by one, and then were offered variations on famous poems from the point of view of a cat by another. Apparently there is a book for sale full of such things on Amazon, but I forget what it was called. The "death be not proud" by John Donne variation was quoted for us.

Next was a very quick stop at Nash's House, owned by Shakespeare's granddaughter's first husband Thomas Nash. Shakespeare purchased this house in 1597 and died here. Hall's Croft, next on the agenda, home to a physician and son-in-law to Shakespeare. After chatting to the very welcoming tour guide, we meandered through the house, observed the rather spacious garden, and then made our way to the Holy Trinity Church. Parts of the church (namely the tower) have been there for eight hundred years. The significance of the church in connection with Shakespeare? He has been buried there, along with members of his family, with a curse on whoever should move his bones placed on his tombstone.

me 'n Hamlet 'n poor Yorick

a tree taking over Hall's Croft

There is a link to more pictures from today on the side.

Now I am home again after an evening spent watching another two episodes of the Pride and Prejudice, starring Colin Firth. It's all homework, really; we're just trying to get into character for our play production. Such dedicated actors we are.

it's a small world after all

I have just finished a fairly complete first draft of my first assignment here in England. This is impressive because it is not due for another two and half weeks.

Next on the list: deciding what to write my papers on. One for Shakespeare and and one for early drama. Any suggestions?

Today, a student who stayed with my hostess a number of years ago, came for a visit. She also went to Redeemer, studied history and english, had the same teachers (not that much changes in four years), and stayed in the same house in Charlbury. Now she's living in London, where we are headed on Thursday!

We also had our first drama practice yesterday. Let's just say that it's a good thing that we have until April.

Quote of the day: (from a friend's margin notes in 17th century lit.) "Don't be alarmed. There is just a madman running around with a sub-machine gun. Please go lock yourself in the closet." - Dr. Loney

i consider it a thought worth pondering

3 weeks. Roughly 7000 words all due on the same day dispersed among 4 different assignments. Followed by 2 exams. Exit term 1.

I came to a sad conclusion. The Globe, yes, the Globe theatre, opens with Hamlet four days after I leave the country. Four days. I am sad.

Skimming through our script for Pride and Prejudice, I realized that, in the roles of Mary Bennet and Charlotte Lucas, I dominate the stage as both characters in a single scene. Don't ask how I shall accomplish this feat - this is up to the director to decide. "All the world's a stage and all the men and women are merely players", "we are either kings or pawns" but the director tells us when to enter the stage and when to move to C5.

(Also, for those who haven't noticed, the background picture is of Lyme Park which was the original Pemberly in the BBC version.)

This morning, an Oxfordite peer and myself led the music for our Wednesday morning chapel. I've never really played music publicly, at least not with a fellow musician, but this was really enjoyable (despite the chaplain taking over the leading of the singing). So to those who do play guitar, beware. I might just ask you to join with me in worship in answer to Christ who calls, "Come."

"boys pursing summer butterflies"

[Coriolanus, Act IV, scene vi] taken totally out of context

And thus summer begins on the front porch with a stack of a combination of great works and not-so-intelligent-fiction.


I don't think I'm ready for it yet.

the slow progress of a pilgrim

I saw a man clothed with rags, standing in a certain place, with his face
from his own house, a book in his hand, and a great burden upon his back. I saw
him open the book, and read therein; and as he read, he wept and trembled; and
he cried out, “What shall I do?”

Yet at the foot of the cross we can find relief from all our burdens, whether they be of moderate weight or heavy burdens that we have been carrying with us for years as shackles. These shackles are constantly tripping us, hindering the race towards the goal.

How often do we allow ourselves to be carried away by the reading of a story, that we sit, weeping and trembling? In Guy Vanderhaege's story "How the Story Ends" a young boy sits, immersed by the story of Abraham leading his only son to be a sacrifice. The old man who reads him the story is also engrossed, so much so that he does not notice the battle waging in the young boy. He himself sees where the story is headed, the image of the Angel and redemption before his eyes. The boy only sees death, death and blood, a father trying to appease a god with the life of his son. So terrified, he rips the page out of the book, wanting to know the end but not waiting to hear.

Either we are too impatient to hear the resolution that we skip to the end or we sit passively, allowing the words to surround and wash over us but never affecting and filling us.

Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses,
affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons,
subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by
the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us do we not bleed?
If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die?

- Merchant of Venice, Act III, scene i

Are we not stirred by the words of Shylock? Do we then cry with Abraham as he walks forward in faith to give up his son? Do we feel the anger of Jonah? Do we rejoice with Naomi? Do we cry as we look to the cross although we know that Christ will be victorious? Are we filled with awe as we read John's description of the new Jerusalem, filled with the light of the Lamp?

We are pilgrims on a journey. Let us weep with those who weep, laugh with those who laugh, sharing in both their joys and sorrows until every tear shall be wiped from our eyes.