my, what a year it was

Put a fork in 2010 and call it done! The year had many, many high point, as well as some low, but I feel quite secure knowing that the high exceeded the low. By far. Spring 2010 semester was pretty well documented, as was our remarkable trip to England. But other highlights include the following:

~Cape May, NJ

I took the boys to New Jersey to see their cousins and was rewarded with a wonderful week in a Victorian house in Cape May. We went to the beach every morning, and every evening we strolled the boardwalk, played skeeball, and ate ice cream. Would it surprise you to learn that the best ice cream was Minnesota’s own Kemp’s? At the end of the week we drove back to Princeton where the boys and I camped out in the playroom because our usual bedroom was infested with mice. In July.  I feel nauseous thinking about it.

~live music

The U2 concert at TCF Stadium was cancelled when Bono broke his back, which was a huge bummer. Still, we managed to see some live music this past summer. A bunch of us—Scott and Renee, Steve C., Jeff H., and husband John—saw Devo at the Minnesota Zoo. Who knew the bird amphitheater was such an incredible venue. I wouldn’t want to sit on the concrete bleacher seats for a couple hours, but fortunately we were on our feet, dancing and bouncing to new wave. The night was humid and hot, and we marveled at the band, comprised of 50 year old men, as they played earnestly in Tyvek jumpsuits and full face masks. Crazy. Cool.

~knitting projects

In addition to a slew of scarves and cowls, I managed to knit a sweater for myself. The project was notable because I learned two new techniques. First, the sweater was knit from the top down. I cast on the neck stitches, knitting in the round and increasing until I had an entire sweater on needles. Then, I knit the sleeves on double point needles, which was nerve-wrecking initially, though I caught on quickly and am hooked. Pictured at left is a sweater I started for Simon.

~lots of great run-around with the boys

Lots. We hit water parks, museums, skateboard parks, the Highland Pool (not such a bad place to edit a manuscript), movies. At right, the boys are interacting with some sculpture at Franconia.

Fall semester was seriously hellatious. I was required to take four courses, and while no one of them was overly difficult, all together they gave me a run for my sanity. Studio was difficult. The instructor wasn’t very generous with grading and I don’t feel like she pushed us to do our best work. Worse: I will have her again for second semester. Marker rendering was fun, though. Here is my final project--a sparkling wine shop.

Retail space

As a result, I’ve fallen out of touch with most of my friends and that is not awesome. I resolve to remedy that situation in 2011. I also miss my yoga practice and think resuming it will help me find peace and balance, especially as I try to tackle mounting anxiety. Plus, I want to spend more time here.

I have a good feeling about 2011!

happy merry to all!

It’s Merry Chaos here in Princeton. Has a year gone by already? This fall has been very busy. I took four interior design classes, two of which were studio classes and another that had a lab. More on this later. For now, a comment on the day. As anticipated, there is no snow here in New Jersey, which is fine by me. It's a blessed relief from the two feet of snow that blankets my neighborhood. I don't need a white Christmas to be happy, just surrounded by family. Lots of squeals of delight over plastic crappies (Scarlett and Sophia, 4 and 5, respectively) as well as more subdued gratitude for much desired cell phones (Simon and Winston). 

I feel like a kid myself after consuming half a pound of grapefruit gelees in lieu of breakfast. But, a 23-pound turkey with Southern cornbread stuffing--straight out of the Columbus, GA, Junior League Cookbook--and bourbon sweet potatoes are in my immediate future. So all is right in the world.

No matter where you are and what you believe, I hope that your day is filled with peace and glad tidings!

where did september go?

It’s a windy, gray Friday morning at the end of September, unlike the glorious summer day pictured above. Yesterday it rained for almost 24 hours straight, of which we have much evidence in our house. There’s a puddle on the tiled porch floor as well as cracks in the ceiling that have been highlighted in telltale brown. Looks like roof repairs are in our future. Sigh.

On a much brighter note, school is off to a good start. The homework load, so far, hasn’t been as intense and frantically executed as first year. All the same, my days are full with classes or reading or sketching. I am taking a full load with four classes. Here’s a brief synopsis:

~Textile Analysis: pretty self explanatory, but with a combination of lecture and lab, which is much like chemistry and biology. We get to examine textile samples made of different fibers under microscope. Plus we get observe the reactions from burning fibers (via Bunsen burners) and pouring chemicals on them. By the end of the semester, I will be able to name at least 100 textiles (by weave or fiber) and their finishes. Exciting!

~Interior Materials and Specifications: Boring class title, interesting subject. The class should be called Sustainability. The instructor, Rachelle Schoessler Lynn, is fascinating and inspirational and smart. She is an interior designer with her own firm that specializes in sustainability (green and renewable) and that designed Red Stag Supper Club. Red Stag is on of my favorite local restaurants because it has good food and drinks, as well as ambience. Red Stag was one of the first LEED-certified restaurants in the nation. I feel really fortunate.

~Interior Design Studio: studio #3 is all about how to communicate your design. The class should be called Rendering 101. We’re learning how to sketch a room, as well as color render with pencils or markers. This class is nerve-wracking for me. I’m still concurring my drawing issues, but as my instructor says, “This is design sketching [more impressionistic] not artistic drawing [more labored and finished].” I think I can handle that. And, it’s fun!! At the end of the semester, I’m going to be a fierce sketcher.

~AUTOCAD: this is a straight-up computer class. I’ve struggled in the first few weeks. Not with the material (because, ultimately, CAD isn’t difficult, and I am a good learner!) but with the instructors and their teaching style. The class has two instructors, both TAs in grad programs. One has more teaching experience and always corrects the other instructor, who never comes prepared to teach. All of which has made for a very confusing environment and has caused much frustration for me. But I feel like they are hitting a better stride here in week three. We’ll see. My current assignment is drawing a floor plan.

On top of school, I volunteered to team manage Simon’s soccer team. Basically I communicate with parents about the practice and game schedules, and I fill out a game report for the referees. Plus, the boys both have weekend games, which have overlap, usually in opposite, far-flung directions so I will miss most of Simon’s games. John is coaching Simon’s team, otherwise we could swap.

I am trying to knit or read daily. Fifteen minutes of either makes me happy. Fifteen minutes of pleasure is better than no pleasure, non? Most days, though, I’m scrambling to do everything I’m obligated to do. Then, I collapse in a heap. I mean, it's hectic and all, but I'm really happy.

December is looking better and better.

september is here

On the first day of September, the heat and humidity broke. In fact, in the shade I needed a light sweater. And, I'm not complaining. Love it, love it, love it. I even saw yellow leaves on a tree, but I'm not quite ready for that.


By this time next week, I may be freaking out about an impending deadline. But I hope not. School starts on Tuesday, and slowly but surely I will be prepared. At the least, my desk and drafting table will be cleared. And my pencils will be sharpened.


In the meantime, I'm chillin' with the boys—helping Simon make a papier mache monster and planning a few knitting projects with Winston. I'm reading and hauling boys to soccer practice and seeing friends. I have a couple projects on needles (more to come) and hope to get a few more started that I can chip away at over the next few months.


So much to do.

summer 2010

This photo of Simon sums up summer 2010—lots of pool time and a deliriously large smile.

mockingjay

This morning, after I dropped the boys at golf lessons, I high-tailed it to a bookstore so I could purchase Mockingjay, the final book in Suzanne Collins' Hunger Games trilogy. I harbor fantasies of curling up with the book and reading until its done or until I have to make dinner, whichever comes first.

sketches of frank gehry

While I’m on summer break, I’m trying to see as many movies as humanly possible. In addition to summer blockbusters, such as Sex and the City 2, documentaries about art, architecture, and design rank high on my list of must-sees. I saw Sketches of Frank Gehry back in June and have been thinking about it ever since.

The documentary was directed and produced by Sydney Pollack. He interviewed Gehry but also made himself present in the movie. Sketches is Pollack’s first documentary, though you wouldn’t know it. The film is competent, well-shot, and structured like most documentaries of the past 20 years—conversations with Gehry are augmented by interviews with clients (including a very healthy-looking Dennis Hopper), other architects and artists, architecture critics, and friends.

Gehry is a genius, and there is simply no debating this point. It could be easy to dismiss his architecture out of hand because it is complex with unusual angles and projections. But I think that’s his genius. He’s not satisfied with 90 degree angles and straight lines. His architecture challenges the viewer’s comfort level. He’s also very competitive and struggles with self-doubt. Here is the opening scene, “What’s This Fuss About?”:

SP: is starting hard?

FG: you know it is. I don’t know what you do when you start, but I clean my desk. I make a lot of stupid appointments that I make sound important. Avoidance, delay, denial. I’m always scared that I’m not going to know what to do. It’s a terrifying moment. And then when I start, I’m always amazed. So, that wasn’t so bad.

I love that Frank Gehry has his moments of doubt. Makes me feel more human, but also lets me know that I can allow a certain amount of organization to come into the design process.

These random facts about Frank Gehry sum up the movie for me:

~huge hockey fan (he designed the Anaheim Mighty Ducks facility, the interior of which was  inspired by Ontario rinks)

~likes boats

~competitive, but struggles with self-doubt

~fascinated by the design process (from trademark “squiggle” sketches to models and finished work)

~use of models (Barry Diller compares it the molding of claywork)

~likes awkwardness, elements that are so weird they’re interesting

~the fish sculpture was an accident. Gehry’s colleagues were “replaying” the Greek temple in their work, which gave him pause. He thought temples were anthropomorphic (which I don’t see but will follow for the sake of his argument) and took back 300 million years to the fish. He started drawing fish in a sketchbook, then realized there was something in it. Next, in a separate event, Gehry was looking at a piece of formica*, which he was using in a project. He threw the formica on the ground; the broken pieces looked like fishscales, which gave Gehry had an “aha” moment and he married the two. The fish has since appeared as sculpture, lighting, and even a building exterior. It has been done in glass (Walker) and in metal (Spain).

~the moment of truth: when a painter has a blank canvas, a brush, and a palette of colors…what do you do? “what’s that first move? I love that dangerous place.”

*The architectural critic Charles Jenkins calls formica a pristine, uptight material. 

london

Returning to London was complicated. Perhaps I should have taken more time to run around—back to my old flat, let’s say—by myself. Without a doubt I should have traveled to London sooner. London with John and boys wasn’t bad, but it was different, and I was unprepared for that. So I found myself feeling bittersweet and dispirited, on occasion. But, more often, I was overwhelmed by all the people. Has London always been such a zoo? I don’t remember the crowds, but I think I knew how to avoid them. 

But we pushed through the tourists and the shoppers to show the boys this vibrant city, which was a key scene to my formative years.

We spent six hours in the British Museum. We saw everything we wanted to see (Rosetta Stone [above], mummies, Lewis Chessmen, Sutton Hoo warrior helmet, Elgin Marbles [top]), though countless treasures remain for a future visit.

Retail therapy at Persephone Books. I wish I had taken a picture of the table that displayed the staff's current favorite books—"Books We Wish We Had Published."

How do the Royal Guards keep their heads up? Those hats must weigh 50 pounds. The Tower of London held treasure for all—crown jewels for me, an armory for the boys.

One afternoon, on our way back to the hotel, I got off the tube at an earlier stop and made my way to Harrod's. The food halls are simply amazing—a labyrinthine assemblage of rooms with treats beyond your wildest dreams. Oyster bar, soda counter, pizza bar, Spanish ham bar, bakery, produce, candied fruit and roasted nut vendor, chocolates and other confections, plus a candy store, and more. 

The boys made their own retail pilgrimage to Soccer Express on Carnaby Street for jerseys, which was only fitting since the World Cup was on while we were in England. We watched as many afternoon matches as we could, from the comfort of pubs, which are family-friendly until 7 p.m.

Most London meals were taken in upscale chains, such as Wagamama (noodle shop), Masala Zone (Indian), and Pret a Manger (sandwiches). They were clean and bright (decor and flavors), conveniently located, and affordable (London is expensive and all the restaurants on my List were prohibitively expensive).

I will always love London.

glastonbury

I’m not really sure how we chose Glastonbury as a site worth visiting. Perhaps the British Heritage site had a great photo. Perhaps we were intrigued by its history—legend holds that it is Avalon. In the end, we went because it was close to where we were staying, and because I needed to see ruins. I have a thing for ruins, which I can’t yet put into words, but my love goes back twenty years to Whitby Abbey. 

                                                    

Glastonbury has abbey ruins in spades. King Arthur and Guinevere are believed to be buried here. Joseph of Arameathea walked here, allegedly. This place is rich in leylines. Though please don’t ask me to explain.

The town is fascinating. Every store holds woo-woo: crystals and buddhas and fairies and Native American talismans. Plus, you can get spiritual alignments. 

And, then just outside of town is the tor. Someone at the abbey visitor’s center gave us a hand-drawn map with a dotted line leading directly to the tor. We cut through two fields and climbed forever before we got to the steps that took us up the backside of the hill. At the top, we zipped our jackets and gazed at Wales.

Glastonbury is also the site of a significant music festival, which was to take place just a week after our trip. Four days, forty-five stages. Need I say more? On one hand, I was glad to not deal with the masses. The festival attracts over 150,000 people. Yes.  On the other hand, the 2010 line up was pretty spectacular, perhaps a bit overwhelming, even. Well, see for yourself. Seriously, who didn’t play here? See that Gorillz, Snoop Dogg, and Corinne Bailey Rae appeared on the same stage. Crazy!

standing stones

As we planned our England trip, our highest priority for sightseeing was anything Bronze Age or earlier. The UK is peppered with standing stones, stone circles, menhirs, dolmens, and quoits. The Stone Pages was an invaluable source, and it’s fun to browse even if you’re not trip planning. Once we actually started traveling, our theme changed a bit, but we still managed to see a megalithic England with an emphasis on Avebury and Stonehenge.

Before our trip, we received much unsolicited advice to visit Avebury, especially making it a priority over Stonehenge. I had seen Stonehenge and other stone circles on a previous trip to England so I was aware that there were equally impressive, but different, types of stone circles. 

Avebury covers a larger area than Stonehenge. In fact, it encompasses an entire village (above; though it's difficult to see the stones, this photo was show part of one half of the outer circle). Many of the formations are similar to Stonehenge, including the avenue of stones leading to the entrance as well as stones that are believed to have played a part in sacrifices. Avebury consists of a large outer stone circle, which once held 98 megaliths, and two smaller circles, each with approximately 30 stones. In some ways, Avebury and Stonehenge are sister sites in that their stones share the same source—the Marlborough Downs. 

This ancient tree is allegedly where J.K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter. Gnarly.

More on Avebury: This site has incredible photographs (check out the wallpaper section!) and massive amounts of information. Please visit, if you’d like to learn more.

Stonehenge is all that. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. The stones are massive. Look at the lintels. One cannot help but wonder how the monoliths got to this site, how they were propped up, and why. How many people did it take to hoist those lintels?? What exactly was the purpose of this place? 

Notice how you don't see many tourists in the photos? It wasn’t difficult to filter out the masses once we were on the path. The bottleneck at the entrance, however, was so bad we almost left. I’m glad we didn’t. Twenty years ago, I never paid admission or crossed the road to get as close as possible to the monument, and I’ve regretted it since. 

John and I must have taken a photo every inch we advanced in our circumnavigation, trying to capture Stonehenge from every angle. And, yes, that Spinal Tap song played on an internal loop for days after.

white horses

On our first full day in England, we ate a Hot Breakfast and hit the road for Avebury. But first, at the recommendation of the innkeeper, we followed the brown attraction signs to Uffington in order to see a white horse. The Uffington white horse was the first of its kind—a large horse carved into a hill and filled with chalk so it could be seen from a distance. 

The carving dates to the Bronze Age. The horse’s purpose is still debated, though it is thought to have belonged to the Uffington Castle, a village with a fortress and earthen moat (pictured above) that ring the hilltop. Until the nineteenth-century, the horse was cleaned annually in a ritual called the Scouring, where the villagers would pull the weeds and grass from the horse and refresh the chalk.

The National Trust maintains this site so we were able to drive to the top of the hill, park the car, and take an effortless hike through a sheep meadow to get to the horse. We spent a lot of time here, primarily because the views were so stunning. 

On a clear day, we could see forever. The boys took full advantage of strong winds and flew a kite on Dragon Hill, situated just below the white horse. An impression of this place will stay with me for a very long time.

The Uffington white horse is one of eight that remain (at one time there were 13). Another white horse is just outside of Calne, where we would be staying for the next two nights. Among all the things to do in the area—Bath and various other sites were nearby—climbing another hill to see a hill carving was not high on my list. But the following day, still fighting jet lag and exhausted after a wonderful morning in Bath, we took naps then had a pre-dinner hike up Cherhill.

The Cherhill white horse is the third oldest, but its origins are sketchy. This is county Wiltshire’s official story (courtesy of wikipedia): 

The figure at Cherhill was first cut in 1780 by a Dr Christopher Alsop, of Calne, and was created by stripping away the turf to expose the chalk hillside beneath. Its original size was 165 feet (50 m) by 220 feet (67 m). Dr Alsop, who was Guild Steward of the Borough of Calne, has been called "the mad doctor", and is reported to have directed the making of the horse from a distance, shouting through a megaphone from below Labour-in-Vain Hill. His design may have been influenced by the work of his friend George Stubbs, notable for his paintings of horses.

Dr. Alsop buried glass bottles in the ground to form the horse’s eye. For years the bottles were replace when they disappeared, but at some point, people stopped that tradition. Our hike was fantastic. We followed the footpath up the steep hill to a monument. The clever turnstile we climbed is pictured above. The boys ran the whole way. Some kind hikers told us the boys had been spotted near the castle. As at Uffington, there is no actual castle. No ruins. Just a moat that surrounded the village. The castle was vast; I said a silent prayer that the boys weren’t taking a lap. But then we saw them near the white horse. 

On our way down, we walked through the middle of a cattle herd, which was frightening. John had a stare down with a cow that thought s/he’d follow us. He raised his hand, and the cow backed off. Simon took this picture; it's more ground than cattle but you get a sense of what we were up against.
These hikes would form the basis for our trips theme: climb to the top of big hills.

happy campers

The boys are at sleepaway camp this week. The house is very quiet. John and I have bogarted the dinner menu and the TV. The cats are relaxed and haven't once gone into hiding.

That said, I miss them so much. It would be nice if I could call them each night, before they go to bed, so I could hear about all the exciting things they did that day.

catching up

My friend Krista once used the expression “running to stand still.” At the time, I had never before heard it, but it made immediate sense. Since then I have come to realize that I am running and running and running, and I may never stand still. That’s okay. I am able to catch my breath from time to time, which suits me fine. But currently I feel as if I will never catch up. Stuff is piling up around me, including a freelance assignment I took because I thought I’d lose my mind if I didn’t have some project brewing. I can’t point fingers because we’re all equally responsible, but I’m looking at piles of so many abandoned and neglected things. It’s sad really, and maddening to think this might be the environment in which I dwell.

 

full english breakfast

It seemed really uncivilized to bring my camera to the table first thing in the morning, but now I regret that I don’t have a picture of a full English breakfast. Thank goodness for the internets where I borrowed a photo from www.spinneybedandbreakfast.co.uk.


Where to start with the full English breakfast? I have really fond memories, from 20 years ago, of getting a hot breakfast whenever I stayed in a bed and breakfast. As I made hotel reservations for this trip, I got a little excited by the promise of a cereal “starter” (cornflakes or “bits and pieces,” muesli with dates and nuts), followed by runny eggs, thick bacon rashers (recognizable to Americans as ham), fat English sausages, baked beans, and broiled tomatoes and mushrooms. Toast and preserves? Yes, please.


Even if taking Lipitor, people my age should not eat a full English breakfast every morning, for obvious reasons. But eggs and bacon are so delicious, and I only had five mornings to take advantage of consuming them. The boys loved their full English, especially since they were allowed to drink milk and sugar–laden “wake up” tea, which is what our family calls English breakfast tea. To their credit, a full breakfast tided us over well past the lunch hour, but sometimes they also made us feel like we needed a nap at 10 a.m.

Dartmoor and the tors

Dartmoor National Park has just become my most favorite place on earth. When I think about national parks, the most immediate image is of a forest, such as those I have visited in the U.S.—Rocky Mountains, Acadia, and Yellowstone. Dartmoor, however, was deforested in the 17^th century. The trees served as raw material for England’s ship-builidng industry but were never replenished.  As a result, Dartmoor’s topography is bare and rugged. Its chief geological feature is a series of over 160 tors, large hills with granite outcroppings.

If we'd had an ordnance survey map, finding a specific tor might be easier, but we were navigating by a google map that showed only a few B roads and lacked any meaningful detail. We were trying to find Hound Tor, which, according to glossy travel guide photos, seemed to be pretty significant—a giant outcropping. At some point after spying an imminent left turn, John said, “We’re going to take this road and see where it goes.” A quarter-mile later we spotted a rocky outcropping that seemed worthy of exploration. Lo and behold, the road held a turn-out where we could park the car.

A quick hike up the steep hill, then a pleasant walk across the hill top, followed by a climb on the rock formation and we were rewarded with incomparable views. The sky was clear and an amazing shade of bright blue, providing a crisp contrast to abundant rocks. Stone walls divide fields, creating a verdant patchwork quilt.

Below the tor, nestled at the base of the next hill (Hameldown) was a large stone circle with smaller stone circles inside. I had read about these circles in a travel guide and knew that it was a Bronze age settlement; the smaller stone circles, called “hut circles,” were houses. Some had very obvious entrances, or front doors, while others showed evidence of fireplaces or hearths. Talk about hitting the motherlode.

At some point, John and Simon headed up Hameldown to see what was on the other side, while Winston and I poked around the hut circles, trying to imagine which house would have been ours had we lived in the Bronze Age. Soon two women, who were out walking their dogs, joined us. We shared some chit-chat. Mostly I wanted to know where we were since the site wasn’t signposted. They didn’t know, which struck me as interesting since they were both locals out for a walk, though one of the women identified the circle as the Grimspound. She told me it was the exact spot where A. C. Doyle had set key scenes in The Hound of the Baskervilles and that I should be reading it at that very moment.

Regardless of missed opportunity, Hookney Tor, which we identified on the huge OS map at Lydford House, and the Grimspound were incredible. I feel luck or good fate had been on our side when we stumbled upon the tor. Later that evening, over a bottle of pinot grigio, John and I plotted our return to Dartmoor. I could be very happy renting a house for a month and walking every tor, plus finding the standing stones and clapper bridges we missed this time around. Until then, I have captured Dartmoor’s beauty on a remarkably sunny day, and I have sources, such as Doyle’s long story and websites to sustain my memory.

signs

driving in England

Driving in England merits attention. In a word, the experience is nerve wracking, whether you’re behind the wheel or in the passenger’s seat. If you’re behind the wheel, the brain plugs into the responsibility and safety centers so you don’t have to focus on the fact that you’re on the opposite side of the road.

We wisely rented a car at Heathrow and immediately hopped on the M4, the motorway that delivered us to Oxford. Being on a road equivalent to our interstates or freeways meant that we could go with the flow of traffic to get a feel for all the new variables without needing to negotiate roundabouts or roads that are only two Yugos wide.

So we’re clipping along blithely, and at some point, we realized we had no idea what the traffic signs meant, nor did we know the general rules of the British road. What is a circle with a 50 in it? Is that the speed limit? Is the speed limit in mph or kph? Are we really meant to drive 50 mph on what would be a 25 mph road at home?

Soon we dove right onto those small A and B roads. We gritted our teeth and quickly found strategies for dealing with oncoming traffic (lorries [trucks] barreling at us, often well over the generous speed limit) and bicycle tourists; roundabouts (which spur do we take, to whom do we yield when entering); road signs that occasionally drop a destination, leading us to wonder if we missed an exit; and hedgerows. When I drove, John would tell me when the car veered too close to the left line because the road often had no forgiving shoulder. When John drove, I would remind him to swing out wide for right turns because if you make a right turn as you do at home, i.e., as is hardwired, you’ll end up on the wrong side of the road. And, often, there’s no way to pull a U-turn.

In the end, we turned in our rental car without incident and without any (obvious) extra scratches. I’m glad I had the experience of driving under incredibly unique circumstances.

Oxford

Twenty years ago, I could navigate Oxford by the back of my hand—from the train station through the campuses and botanical gardens and college backs along the Thames. Smaller than London and oozing with higher learning, Oxford was a magical place for me.

We started our trip in Oxford. This small city is only a 45-minute drive from London Heathrow, which meant that we wouldn’t need to do much jetlagged driving to get to our destination. Also, Oxford is a small city that is manageable by foot so we could park the car at the guesthouse and walk everywhere. And, walk we did. After we checked into the Newton House Guesthouse, located on the Abingdon Road (literally the road to Abingdon), we made the short walk to Christ Church, one of the largest colleges (and most beautiful, in my humble opinion) in the University. From there, we walked to the Eagle and Child, my favorite Oxford pub. I spent a fair amount of time here during my Junior Year Abroad, particularly on the patio, which is now covered. The Eagle and Child was also the favorite pub of J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. In some ways, the cramped but cozy front rooms, with their tacky “patina” of age, make me think of a hobbit hole.

After a pub dinner (fish and chips and steak pies with mashed potatoes) and a pint, we walked back to the guesthouse, cutting through the university “campus” along the way. John and I decided to hit the highlights—the Bridge of Sighs, the Sheldonian, the Radcliffe Camera (Bodleian, above right)—then head down the road in the morning rather than do any further touring.

Oxford was busy with an unappealing combination of extra people in town for graduation (one gown was festooned with downy white mariboo feather, pictured above left, with Bridge of Sighs, a fancy skyway), as well as a far number of tourists. Plus, I noticed now what I didn’t notice as a twenty-year-old: Oxford felt a little shabby. Sure the High Street has tony gentlemen’s stores, where you can buy college scarves and ties, as well as an occasional hip women’s clothing store and a smattering of antique map shops. I loved the window display with stylish papier mache globes made from carefully torn maps. Ultimately the throngs and the wrappers in the street obscured my golden memories.

The highest point of the visit was the walk through the Christ Church Meadow (above left and right), which is still one of the loveliest spots I know. Quiet and populated mostly by civilized small groups, picnicking and enjoying a glorious early summer evening.