I really like dark chocolate, especially that 90% cocoa stuff. I like it because it’s bitter, but the sweet parts round out the flavor enough to make it one of the most pleasurable food experiences I can think of. Savoring a piece of dark chocolate is an exercise in appreciation. The lower the sugar content, the more you have to dig deep into the bitter flavors to get to the rich undertones. Appreciating the fullness of the chocolate requires a taster to exchange her desire for the fleeting taste of sugar for the lasting richness of cocoa. And so it was with London. That city and the summer I spent there was 90% cocoa. The experiences were rich and deep, but there was little sugar to counter the initial bitterness. I’m still savoring. What can I say? I took a pretty big bite. ;)
One day near the end of last semester, I was walking along with Hanna and expressed a strange feeling that had come up at times over the previous few weeks. I wanted to go back. I wanted to be there, in my flat, my church, my grocery store, my Tube station, everywhere. I longed to be there and walk the streets again just to remember. I think about Sainsbury’s now and mentally walk through each aisle, knowing where everything is from the British beef to the four pound Hagen-Daaz chocolate ice creams. It’s all so vivid.
Hanna called me a battered woman. From what I do know about those women, which is pitifully little, they are hurt by their husbands but, for whatever reason, go back to them. Perhaps I feel a fraction of what they experience. It’s so weird. As much as I know London was difficult and hard and all manner of things complex, I want to be there. Not working there or even touring (I actually visited every place I wanted to see in London), just going back through the places where my feet, or the Tube, took me months ago.
I remember a phrase from some fiction book I read a while back. In it, the character has moved around a lot and has just arrived at a new place. But it doesn’t feel right. She longs for home, but home is really a jumble of many experiences. Home becomes a strange amalgamation of things, none that really fit. Parents, siblings, two dogs, a queen-size bed. Two roommates, a duplex, a twin bed. Four roommates and seven million people, a flat, and a bunk bed. What is home? Is home a place where you stay long enough to be comfortable and familiar with your surroundings? Is it the people or the things that make home?
Yes, I know I’ve written about it before, but to emphasize this point further I’ll keep harping on it: one of the ways I dealt with London was by creating structure. My first day in the flat, I picked out a cup, drank some water with it, and set it behind the drying rack near the sink. That was cup that I used every single day for the rest of the summer. I considered bringing it home at the end but decided I didn’t really want too many intimate reminders of the summer. My shampoo and conditioner faced exactly the same way in the shower, and every evening after work I would have a glass of my sparking apple juice. In the morning, I’d get up at 6 every day and prepare a breakfast of two pieces of toast- one cream cheese with raspberry jelly, one with peanut butter, fruit- usually a clementine, a glass of milk, and a cup of Taylors of Harrogate English breakfast tea. During breakfast I’d read a chapter from my Bible and journal and afterwards make my lunch of a sandwich (one third of a one pound baguette with lettuce, meat, and whatever cheese I had chosen that week), some sort of fruit or vegetable, and a digestive or two. (You’d think I would have lost weight eating healthy like that, but alas, I did not) I’d leave the flat at 7:45 AM and return at 6:15 PM, every day. I’ve probably written about this already in this blog but doing so again is letting me relive those days.
Anyway, so I created structure. That’s apparently how I deal with life when put in chaotic situations—I superstructurize everything. Everything is set and very, very predictable. I can take comfort in the order. That said, if I’m comfortable, the need for structure diminishes. For example, this past semester my life was atypically unstructured. I was incredibly secure, especially after the stress that was London. Life was grand. My friends were great, I had an AMAZING duplex, my room fit my tastes exactly. I could leisurely spend many a Monday afternoon working on some recipe I was trying out for supper. Classes were busy, but I knew people in them and was comfortable as a junior at Truman State University. I’m quite positive I didn’t have a single productive weekend.
But there was very little order. I never did figure out what to have for breakfast every day and often resorted to bacon, egg, and cheese toaster pastries. Even my attempts at packing lunches for my 10:30AM-4:30PM classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays were erratic at best. I didn’t need the security afforded by order. Now, I want to impose some order on this coming semester not because I need life to be organized but rather to make better use of my time.
I’ve also discovered a startling tendency. In the world of insecurity there in London, there was little push to pursue the darker things I’d like to have. I was more obedient to my Father. But when comfortable and quite secure, I find myself falling prey to temptations. It’s so much easier for me to disregard my relationship with God when I’m surrounded by things and people I love and care about. Perhaps the safety distracts me. I don’t feel like I need anything. And yet I do, more than ever. Perhaps it’s just easier to see when the security is ripped away, leaving me bare to stare dumbly at the absolute need there. Remember when I typed “a beautiful sort of pain”? That’s what it is. To realize that you’re nothing without your Savior. It’s painful. You have nothing to claim as your own, nothing to count in your favor. In fact, what you do have, that is sin, is revolting to the Father you so very much want to be near. But from that realization comes another—that you really can, only through no effort of your own. In fact, the effort is entirely out of your hands. The effort was in the nail-pierced hands and feet of one Jewish man two thousand years ago. That man, Jesus, died for me, for us. His, and only his, sacrifice can bring us to God. That is beautiful.
On the surface of reflections, I had to lean on God to provide for me and I can rattle on for pages about that, but now that I’m savoring, making my way to the rich waves of flavor, I’m relating the experience back to salvation. It’s an interesting way of looking at it, and I’m still trying to wrap my head around even the smallest conclusions. There are so many directions.
Why does order provide security? Because order causes things to become familiar.
Why does familiarity breed security? Because familiar things are predictable and can be relied upon.
Laura Beth, should you rely upon things? No.
Why not? Because they’re transitory and never guaranteed.
Why is that? Because they’re earthly.
So then what should you rely on? God.
Ok, so why did you encounter such problems when you went to London? Because I relied on things for comfort.
Are you relying on things now? Yes.
Why? It’s easy, especially when they’re right there.
That was the skeleton of one of the thought processes. They take about half of a second and much after that they’re shooting off in so many directions I can’t keep track. Even in the nine questions above I can take off on any number of discussions (hence the skeletal descriptor). That’s why this London savoring business takes so long. There are so many paths, so many undertones, to explore. Last night I listened to the Wicked soundtrack the whole way through. I’d listen to it on my 45 minute commute every day. As I lay on my bed following every tune, I opened those places closed off for months now. The music brought back a tenth of the feelings, but even that was enough for discomfort. I kept a tight hold on the spigot threatening to gush.
It helps that the flow is controllable. In fact, I sometimes enjoy rolling the feelings around. The experience is...interesting. I like to process things, events, emotions, and whathaveyou internally. The interconnections are fascinating to follow.
I’ve got more to write, so there will be additional blog entries. Not sure when they’ll come, but there’s still a bit more stewin’ up there in the ‘ol brain.
Friday, February 6, 2009
At Long Last, My Country
Oh my, so here we are, months after my last update and I’m still presumably in London since this blog never recorded the trip home. I’m not entirely sure what happened—I got home, and then it was a rush to make up lost time with the fam before Ben left for school a week later and then it was off to school with me a week after that. But I’m getting ahead of myself, let’s go back to Friday, August 9, 2008.
On that Friday, the day before we were to fly home, I ran around finishing up my souvenir-buying in a typical London mist (although I didn’t really think London was terribly rainy during my three months there). I had been extraordinarily diligent in visiting the places I planned earlier in the summer on my “To see in London” list, so while a few of my flatmates were hurridly finishing up their sight-seeing I could relax and pack leisurely.
And then it came, Saturday morning, the day I had imagined for three months. Unfortunately, we weren’t to leave until 11AM (our flight was in the mid-afternoon), so we were stuck in the flat for a few hours, none of us able to sleep any later than 8AM (especially me after getting up at 6AM for the previous two months!). With my bags packed and ready to go, I settled down onto the flat’s computer to kill time while Maneeza tried to get Emily to play act through some of Shakespeare’s plays.
I know I’ve mentioned this a few times, but do you remember the cup that I would always drink out of? It had a special place in the kitchen behind the drainage rack where no one would bother it. I like to keep things like that for memory’s sake (for example, I have all the blue pens I’ve ever used since 9th grade. I take notes in class with nothing else.), but I had decided early on that that cup would be staying in London. Its memories were a little too painful, and I wasn’t quite up to such a tangible reminder of my summer. That glass, from the local Sainsbury’s and clouded with three months of hard water deposits, embodied my obsession with order throughout the summer. I had to see and experience the same things day after day to feel some sort of security in my surroundings.
But back to Saturday… When 10:45 rolled around (the bus was leaving at 11, we were to meet at 10:45), my flatmates and I hauled our luggage down the steps and rolled over to the Knaresborough residence—to find ourselves the first ones there. Before leaving, I did one final sweep through all of our flat just to have a look at it all before I left forever. There it was again—that uncomfortable feeling of leaving behind something familiar. Even though I disliked living there, it had become familiar, which was, in my book, a very good thing.
As we got on the bus, we all sat up front knowing that the engine was in the back and would make those seats unbearably hot (something you learn after more than a few bus tours). Only the interns who stayed the whole summer were left, so we all got our own seats, which was nice. As we drove along M6 (one of the main “highways”…M is for motorway, I believe), I watched the cars zooming by in the lane across from us. For some reason, the vividness of this memory would cause a bit of trouble when I got back to the States and had to think about things like driving on the right side of the road.
We arrived at the airport only to find that because our flight was for much later Air India wasn’t even checking in yet. *sigh* So we rolled our baggage carts (I pushed and then jumped on mine more than a few times) outside and settled in for about 2.5 hours. I had some yeast rolls filled with coconut I had purchased from a Philippine shop near our flat (wish I would have checked out these places more often—I think they had pretty good food. Except for the array of weird, dried seafood), so I munched on those while reading about management consulting from a booklet Ray had helped me print off. But that got boring, so I moved on to my English history book, and then finally decided to snooze a little. The weather was nice and alternated between cloudy and partly cloudy.
Eventually it was time to head back in, and I happened to be first in line to check in. I think one of my bags was overweight, but the lady didn’t charge me, which was nice. Once past security (aside: As she predicted, Maneeza was redirected for “extra” screening.), we still had some time, so we decided to grab some lunch. As we wandered around our terminal, it seemed oddly familiar. The layout, the seating, even the laptop ‘hotspot’. I think we went through that terminal when returning from our high school France/Spain trip. In any case, Maneeza, Emily, Kelsey, and I went off to “pub” which was really more of a bar and restaurant with pub food. AND I GOT TO HAVE STEAK AND GUINNESS PIE!!!! That was by far my favorite meal in London. The pie with sides of potatoes, vegetables, and a tall glass of tap water is simply amazing.
After lunch we found that it was just about time to go, so we went off for our gate. Within half an hour, the little room was packed, PACKED with people, mostly Indians, but we had arrived early enough to get seats in the room. After a bit of waiting it was time to board, and I ended up sitting just one row in front of Kelsey. I had a lot of things to occupy my time on board the flight, but mostly I just watched out the window until they asked us to close them. Why people would want to sleep is beyond me because we were flying into a time zone earlier in the day.
Most memorable story from the flight:
Big-mamma-Indian-flight-attendant: “Your ordered special meal?” *shoves a golden wrapped box at me*
Me: “Uhh, no?”
Big-mamma-Indian-flight-attendant: “You want special meal?”
Me: “Uhh, sure. Thank you.”
Me, to myself: Baked chicken and steamed veggies!! Something I can eat!
Apparently about half of our group received these random ‘special meals’. We’re not sure if the IE staff had anything to do with it, but I was appreciative.
The flight was relatively uneventful except for when an older man starting having seizures. That was intense. On a flight full of Indians (BTW, the plan was full, and by full I mean every seat was filled. I’ve never seen that in my life) doctors were plentiful, so I think they got him taken care of.
While we weren’t flying through the night, our window shades had to be closed, so there wasn’t much chance to gaze out at the ocean. Even then I might not have wanted to because, as I found out with Dad while working on the barn, I’m slightly afraid of heights. Didn’t know that. Anyways, we didn’t see much land until we were flying over Michigan. Kelsey and I had our noses pressed to the window (after making sure the other folks next to us didn’t want to look out), gazing down at Lake Michigan. As we flew into Chicago, Kelsey recognized her high school, subdivision, and a golf course where she played a lot during high school. The landing was uneventful, as was going through customs. In fact, my baggage wasn’t even inspected.
Speaking of baggage, it took FOREVER for it to arrive. With literally hundreds of people on board, I imagine there were mountains of baggage to send from the plane. It did take over an hour, and even then we had to comb through the bags coming out. By the end of the waiting we were all getting a little testy, but I was just ecstatic to be back. My mom and sisters were just beyond the doors a little ways away, and every time the doors would open for people with their luggage I’d strain to see them.
Finally my time came. There was my bag! I grabbed it, loaded it on my trolley, and rolled down the corridor with my now ex-flatmates to those blessed doors. Passing through, I saw them, my family. Katie and Ellen were holding up a welcome home sign while Mom smiled and waved as I came closer. Even though it was 1AM London time, I rushed over with newfound energy. Hugs and kisses all around, I could hardly believe there were right there, in front of me! So long, so long I had envisioned that meeting. It was everything I wanted, right then.
We hopped in the car (actually Katie’s. She started driving by herself over the summer) and drove up to my grandparents’ house in Kenosha, Wisconsin. I was assaulted with questions, but Grandma mercifully told everyone I needed my sleep since it was now 3AM in London. So, I was trundled off to bed in the basement. As I lay down on the couch, I thanked God. For bringing me home safely, for the end of the summer, for the experiences I had. Praying, I drifted off to sleep.
And that was it, ladies and gents, that was my summer. Over the past six months I’ve been reflecting and processing, but I’m sure I’m not finished. My next post (which I did write over Christmas break) will follow with a few reflections. If you’re reading this, thanks for sticking with me. The blog’s purpose was to record my experiences, but it also turned into an outlet for what was happening. It’s allowed a closer look into me than what I would normally share, but I suppose online written communication is far less scary than face-to-face. I honestly don’t know who all has read it—turns out I even had a blog stalker!—but I appreciate y’all taking the time to read this bit about me. If you get a chance, drop me a line about what you thought, or hey, the honesty box works well too.
Cheers!
On that Friday, the day before we were to fly home, I ran around finishing up my souvenir-buying in a typical London mist (although I didn’t really think London was terribly rainy during my three months there). I had been extraordinarily diligent in visiting the places I planned earlier in the summer on my “To see in London” list, so while a few of my flatmates were hurridly finishing up their sight-seeing I could relax and pack leisurely.
And then it came, Saturday morning, the day I had imagined for three months. Unfortunately, we weren’t to leave until 11AM (our flight was in the mid-afternoon), so we were stuck in the flat for a few hours, none of us able to sleep any later than 8AM (especially me after getting up at 6AM for the previous two months!). With my bags packed and ready to go, I settled down onto the flat’s computer to kill time while Maneeza tried to get Emily to play act through some of Shakespeare’s plays.
I know I’ve mentioned this a few times, but do you remember the cup that I would always drink out of? It had a special place in the kitchen behind the drainage rack where no one would bother it. I like to keep things like that for memory’s sake (for example, I have all the blue pens I’ve ever used since 9th grade. I take notes in class with nothing else.), but I had decided early on that that cup would be staying in London. Its memories were a little too painful, and I wasn’t quite up to such a tangible reminder of my summer. That glass, from the local Sainsbury’s and clouded with three months of hard water deposits, embodied my obsession with order throughout the summer. I had to see and experience the same things day after day to feel some sort of security in my surroundings.
But back to Saturday… When 10:45 rolled around (the bus was leaving at 11, we were to meet at 10:45), my flatmates and I hauled our luggage down the steps and rolled over to the Knaresborough residence—to find ourselves the first ones there. Before leaving, I did one final sweep through all of our flat just to have a look at it all before I left forever. There it was again—that uncomfortable feeling of leaving behind something familiar. Even though I disliked living there, it had become familiar, which was, in my book, a very good thing.
As we got on the bus, we all sat up front knowing that the engine was in the back and would make those seats unbearably hot (something you learn after more than a few bus tours). Only the interns who stayed the whole summer were left, so we all got our own seats, which was nice. As we drove along M6 (one of the main “highways”…M is for motorway, I believe), I watched the cars zooming by in the lane across from us. For some reason, the vividness of this memory would cause a bit of trouble when I got back to the States and had to think about things like driving on the right side of the road.
We arrived at the airport only to find that because our flight was for much later Air India wasn’t even checking in yet. *sigh* So we rolled our baggage carts (I pushed and then jumped on mine more than a few times) outside and settled in for about 2.5 hours. I had some yeast rolls filled with coconut I had purchased from a Philippine shop near our flat (wish I would have checked out these places more often—I think they had pretty good food. Except for the array of weird, dried seafood), so I munched on those while reading about management consulting from a booklet Ray had helped me print off. But that got boring, so I moved on to my English history book, and then finally decided to snooze a little. The weather was nice and alternated between cloudy and partly cloudy.
Eventually it was time to head back in, and I happened to be first in line to check in. I think one of my bags was overweight, but the lady didn’t charge me, which was nice. Once past security (aside: As she predicted, Maneeza was redirected for “extra” screening.), we still had some time, so we decided to grab some lunch. As we wandered around our terminal, it seemed oddly familiar. The layout, the seating, even the laptop ‘hotspot’. I think we went through that terminal when returning from our high school France/Spain trip. In any case, Maneeza, Emily, Kelsey, and I went off to “pub” which was really more of a bar and restaurant with pub food. AND I GOT TO HAVE STEAK AND GUINNESS PIE!!!! That was by far my favorite meal in London. The pie with sides of potatoes, vegetables, and a tall glass of tap water is simply amazing.
After lunch we found that it was just about time to go, so we went off for our gate. Within half an hour, the little room was packed, PACKED with people, mostly Indians, but we had arrived early enough to get seats in the room. After a bit of waiting it was time to board, and I ended up sitting just one row in front of Kelsey. I had a lot of things to occupy my time on board the flight, but mostly I just watched out the window until they asked us to close them. Why people would want to sleep is beyond me because we were flying into a time zone earlier in the day.
Most memorable story from the flight:
Big-mamma-Indian-flight-attendant: “Your ordered special meal?” *shoves a golden wrapped box at me*
Me: “Uhh, no?”
Big-mamma-Indian-flight-attendant: “You want special meal?”
Me: “Uhh, sure. Thank you.”
Me, to myself: Baked chicken and steamed veggies!! Something I can eat!
Apparently about half of our group received these random ‘special meals’. We’re not sure if the IE staff had anything to do with it, but I was appreciative.
The flight was relatively uneventful except for when an older man starting having seizures. That was intense. On a flight full of Indians (BTW, the plan was full, and by full I mean every seat was filled. I’ve never seen that in my life) doctors were plentiful, so I think they got him taken care of.
While we weren’t flying through the night, our window shades had to be closed, so there wasn’t much chance to gaze out at the ocean. Even then I might not have wanted to because, as I found out with Dad while working on the barn, I’m slightly afraid of heights. Didn’t know that. Anyways, we didn’t see much land until we were flying over Michigan. Kelsey and I had our noses pressed to the window (after making sure the other folks next to us didn’t want to look out), gazing down at Lake Michigan. As we flew into Chicago, Kelsey recognized her high school, subdivision, and a golf course where she played a lot during high school. The landing was uneventful, as was going through customs. In fact, my baggage wasn’t even inspected.
Speaking of baggage, it took FOREVER for it to arrive. With literally hundreds of people on board, I imagine there were mountains of baggage to send from the plane. It did take over an hour, and even then we had to comb through the bags coming out. By the end of the waiting we were all getting a little testy, but I was just ecstatic to be back. My mom and sisters were just beyond the doors a little ways away, and every time the doors would open for people with their luggage I’d strain to see them.
Finally my time came. There was my bag! I grabbed it, loaded it on my trolley, and rolled down the corridor with my now ex-flatmates to those blessed doors. Passing through, I saw them, my family. Katie and Ellen were holding up a welcome home sign while Mom smiled and waved as I came closer. Even though it was 1AM London time, I rushed over with newfound energy. Hugs and kisses all around, I could hardly believe there were right there, in front of me! So long, so long I had envisioned that meeting. It was everything I wanted, right then.
We hopped in the car (actually Katie’s. She started driving by herself over the summer) and drove up to my grandparents’ house in Kenosha, Wisconsin. I was assaulted with questions, but Grandma mercifully told everyone I needed my sleep since it was now 3AM in London. So, I was trundled off to bed in the basement. As I lay down on the couch, I thanked God. For bringing me home safely, for the end of the summer, for the experiences I had. Praying, I drifted off to sleep.
And that was it, ladies and gents, that was my summer. Over the past six months I’ve been reflecting and processing, but I’m sure I’m not finished. My next post (which I did write over Christmas break) will follow with a few reflections. If you’re reading this, thanks for sticking with me. The blog’s purpose was to record my experiences, but it also turned into an outlet for what was happening. It’s allowed a closer look into me than what I would normally share, but I suppose online written communication is far less scary than face-to-face. I honestly don’t know who all has read it—turns out I even had a blog stalker!—but I appreciate y’all taking the time to read this bit about me. If you get a chance, drop me a line about what you thought, or hey, the honesty box works well too.
Cheers!
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