Stratford-upon-Avon

June 2nd, 2010

stratford-upon-avon

When I was a student in England, I was able to get cheap theater tickets, and I mostly enjoyed watching Shakespeare plays. I argued to myself that one of my classes was Shakespeare, and what better way to study it than to watch as many plays as possible? I counted how many plays I saw in that one year, and I discovered that I had attended 12 plays. The cheap student seats were usually not very close to the front, but I could hear just fine, and the choreography was wonderful. My favorite place to watch plays was in Stratford, the home town of Shakespeare. Stratford-upon-Avon was only about 2 hours south of the university by train, so I often went there on a weekend, either alone or with friends. I also went with a group of international students whenever there was an opportunity.

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The costumes were phenomenal, and the fact that they were speaking in a British accent made it more authentic for me. The sets were beautiful, too. I noticed every detail. Actually, watching a Shakespeare play can give you an overall feel for the play that you cannot get just by reading it. After all, it is a play, and it was written to be performed.

Shakespeare’s birthplace is presumably the house where Shakespeare was born and where he grew up. It is a half-timbered house. It looks quaint both inside and out. The kitchen includes an open fireplace with a pot, and the bedroom has a cradle where presumably Shakespeare was rocked. Anne Hathaway’s cottage (where Shakespeare’s wife lived when Shakespeare was in London) looks similar to Shakespeare’s birthplace, but the gardens are much more beautiful. It has a picket fence around it.

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Holy Trinity Church in Stratford was beautiful, as most church buildings in England are. Each church is built in a cross shape facing the east where Jesus was born. The massive stone walls and beautiful stained glass windows bring about a feeling of awe as you enter. Most churches have a crypt where people are buried, and a lot of them let you go up the steeple to look down on the town. The river Avon winds around the town, and people take boats on the river. Stratford is quite picturesque, since many of the regular houses are thatched cottages. There are always good views when walking around Stratford.

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University in England

June 1st, 2010

university-in-EnglandWhen I was attending California State University at Northridge, I decided to apply to a “Year Abroad” program to study at a university in England for my senior year. Out of about 400 candidates, only two were chosen. Just about all of them had a 4.0 GPA, so I needed something distinctive to set me apart from the other candidates.

I remember going to a panel interview, with about ten people interviewing me. My heart was pounding, and I was very nervous. They asked me why they should send me and not someone else. I said that first of all, I had lived in a foreign country before, so I would be able to acclimate well to a different culture.

Secondly, since I was planning to be a teacher, it would be like sending hundreds of people over to England, because I would be gathering materials as an English teacher. Apparently they liked my answer, because they ended up sending me. So I spent my senior year of college at a university in England.

In the United Kingdom, only the top five percent of the people are allowed to go to university. If your test scores aren’t high enough, you are simply not allowed to go. The course of study is only 3 years instead of 4, and there is no general education. All 3 years are specialized. Since Americans have 2 years of general education (liberal arts) and 2 years of specialization, we actually have less specialization than they do. It can be argued quite effectively that Americans are more well-rounded, but I like the 3 years of specialization better. Why take lots of classes that are irrelevant to your profession when you could be getting better at what you are actually going to do?

Needless to say, every single person at the University of Sheffield in England was brainy. The girls did not wear make-up, and they seemed more real and down-to-earth. Conversations were highly interesting, and the exams were killers. In fact, 100% of your grade wasuniversity-in-England-2 the final exam, and since each course was 8 units, you could get A, A, A or F, F, F.

One class I took was “History of the English Language.” I took reams and reams of notes that I studied carefully, and I read all 12 books that were suggested. When I sat down for the final exam, I knew that I knew the material. I began answering the first question, and when I finished that question, I looked up to see that there was only five minutes left for the exam. I panicked, and in a frantic chicken scratch, I outlined my answers to the remaining questions using abbreviations that looked more like scribbles. Time was up. Pencils down.

I left that room with a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I had told the panel before I left California that I would make our university proud. And now somehow I had broken my word, although God knows I tried.

One of the other exams was a week-long Shakespeare exam. It was a long exam, and the Shakespeare shelves in the library were completely empty without a single Shakespeare book. I prayed as to what I should do, and I thanked God for the restricted section, since those books can’t be checked out. I spent the whole week in that room.

I did better on that exam than I did on the “History of the English Language.” Later I found out that the exam I thought I failed, the professor had given me a B-. I was so grateful for a passing grade by that time. The professor must have seen the thoroughness of the first answer and known that I knew the material.

I loved my experience studying in England, and I loved the people!

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Hot Air Balloon Over England

May 31st, 2010

hot-air-balloonWhen I was a child in boarding school in Guatemala, the boys decided to make a hot air balloon every year. They made it out of colorful tissue paper, which they glued together like a patchwork quilt. The boys lit a fire outside on the barbecue grill, and they held that balloon over the smoke. Slowly, the balloon would fill up. Then the boys would release it into the air, and it rose like magic, floating across the sky.

This was the only time we were allowed to run off the property (aside from the hikes on Saturdays), but, oh, how fun it was to run like crazy, over the hills and creeks, with our eyes lifted up toward the sky. I’m sure I stumbled a few times, not paying attention to where I was setting my feet as I ran. Thank goodness my best friend was with me, because I would have had a terrible time trying to get back. (I have no sense of direction; I never have.)

hot-air-balloon-2So when I had the opportunity to go on a real hot air balloon when I lived in England ten years later, I jumped at that opportunity. What better friend to go on my adventure than my very same friend from boarding school. Plus, my boyfriend Alan (now my husband) wanted to come with us. So I booked the flight. It would take off over the Lake District in England, one of my very favorite places in the whole world (and I’ve seen a lot of the world.) We were right in the middle of England, in a place that poets like Wordsworth and Coleridge found inspiring, and for good reason.

At the crack of dawn we headed over to where the balloon was being filled. Fog rolled over the green countryside. The balloon took quite a while to fill up as we shivered in the cool spring air, looking at the sun coming up over the horizon.

hot-air-balloon-3We finally stepped into the basket, a sturdy basket with something in the center that creates fire. One of the balloon owners stayed on the ground and would be following us in his pickup truck. Up we went, up, up, up…

The soft breeze carried us the opposite direction from the lakes, but it was still beautiful. We could see the lakes disappearing in the distance, and the hills looked so much smaller from way up here. Those hills and mountains always looked like shaggy monsters who were fast asleep. I loved those Lake District mountains almost more than the Swiss Alps, but not quite, since there is a majesty and splendor about the Swiss Alps that is lacking in the humbler Lake District.

Suddenly the fire was turned off. At that moment, we were suspended, in complete silence, in the sky. It was a beautiful, lovely feeling… definitely magical. I looked over at the little thatched cottages and half-timbered houses… I was in a storybook. I was happy. And I got to share it with my two favorite people in the whole world.

It was funny, watching the tiny pickup truck, winding around the roads, trying to keep up with us. The fire went on and off at regular intervals. Finally the balloon flight was coming to an end. We began to descend. We saw a group of cows moving their heads in unison as we descended.

cowsSuddenly we bumped onto the ground – Thud! My friend was squashing me, and I was squashing Alan, and we were all laughing with our heads on the dirt. The basket had fallen sideways, dumping us out, and, lo and behold, we had landed in a cow field. The cows (and bulls) were charging towards us. It looked so hilarious from the ground, to see those upside-down cows galloping towards us, but we finally managed to get up. The cows continued to rush towards our hot air balloon, and in a moment of wild bravery (and a wish not to be trampled), I rushed headlong into the galloping cows, screaming and waving my arms frantically.

That seemed to do it. They stopped. I turned around and walked back to the balloon, with everyone laughing at me. We packed up the balloon and went home. It was a morning to remember.

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Building a Little City

May 28th, 2010

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Growing up, I loved building little cities for my dolls. I remember having the “Apricot” girl from Strawberry Shortcake land, and my two younger sisters each had a doll. My doll’s head smelled like peaches, and the Strawberry Shortcake doll smelled like strawberries. The Blueberry doll smelled like blueberries. Anyway, I would make a house for each doll, making the furniture out of card stock paper. I even made a piano out of paper once, carefully drawing the black and white keys according to what an actual piano looked like.

I would set up stores. I would make tiny toilet paper rolls by getting scissors and cutting actual toilet paper into tiny strips. Then I would roll up each one, putting a tiny dot of tape to hold each one shut. I made a stack of about a dozen tiny toilet paper rolls, and they looked great at the store in my doll city.

In those stores I made racks to display magazines. Then I went ahead and made tiny magazines with full-color pictures and actual information, written very small.

I would get small containers, and they would become cars, beds, dressers, or anything I wanted. For example, I could glue cloth to a checkbook box and add a pillow, and it became a bed. A car would be a box covered with construction paper, with glued-on wheels.

My sisters and I also played with barbies. We did not have a real dollhouse, so we used four cardboard boxes that were an identical size, two stacked on top of two. The boxes were taped together, and I decorated each room according to what its function was. We used wrapping paper for wall paper. Then I made pictures for the walls and glued them on. I made everything I needed for each room.

Finally when I turned twelve, one of my friends got rid of her wooden doll house at a yard sale. My parents bought that dollhouse, and we finally had a real dollhouse! It was like a round wheel, with rooms that opened around the outer edge. We had to put it on a small table to walk all the way around it and reach all the rooms.

Yard sales soon brought real doll house furniture, cars, doll closets, doll clothes, and shoes. I soon had over twelve pairs of doll shoes to organize in a doll closet. It was fun. I couldn’t believe how much stuff I had. I didn’t have to make things anymore.

Unfortunately, I gave up dolls when I turned thirteen. I just abruptly stopped playing. I had grown up.

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