time: it flies, it flees.

(photo cred: Charlotte Koldeweij)

If I could tell you one thing I've learned in this year in Oxford, it's that time has an unrelenting, undiscriminating capability to…fly.

I suppose I should be used to it by now—undergrad passed by quickly enough—but there's something about a completely unique experience in a completely new place [which coincidentally happens to also be a very old place…] that really makes it tangible. Even little things are making my impending departure start to sink in. For instance: I wrote this transcribed post aboard a train back to Oxford from a day-trip to London, looking out at landscapes I will fly away from in 3 weeks, using as paper the back of a Tube map I will never need again. 

There have been many aspects of my Oxford journey that have continuously taught me time's fleeting nature:

birthdays!

Today marks Zack's (and Micah's!) entrance into this world, oh-so-many years ago. Woot! 

But since I'm far away [and only put a bday card in the mail yesterday...woops...], I gathered up a few friends after Formal Dinner to send Zack a fun bday message. We had a good time with it.

Here's what resulted:

Mel is my favorite.

And this last one would have been fun, had our photographer not caught me putting away my cardigan. We can just admire(?) my calf:

So happy birthday, Zack! We love and miss you in Oxford!
-M

lyrical poetry. or poetic lyrics? or something like that.

Life...It just keeps movin' right along.


On another note: Dunno if it's coincidence or if I'm going through some sort of phase, but I've noticed a whole lot of suuupa lyrical music coming out of my speakers lately. Two examples that have been cycling through as of late are Passenger [a Brit] and Frontier Ruckus [very American, but I saw them in Ox just a few weeks ago!]


Passenger's songs are full of plays-on-words (a phrase I hate to pluralize almost as much as passersby), rhymes, and quips much more insightful/philosophical than first meets the eye ear.

Take this snippet from Things That Stop You Dreaming, for example:

whether the weather would rather I wither.....who knows?

Before I came to the Oxford, a friend passed on to me an "Unofficial Guide," the very first page of which reads,

"As an intro of sorts, here are a few impressions that we would like to share:

1. It really does rain a lot. We know you think there is no possible way for it to be as bad as people say, but you are wrong."

And they were...well...right.

I have to admit, however, that my biggest frustrations/complaints have had less to do with the rain itself, and more to do with a weird combination of uncertainty and monotony.

[other words that could be substituted for 'monotone,' according to my computer's thesaurus: 

                             vapid, unrelieved, insipid, stodgy, jejune, unimaginative, and dullsville (my fave). 

And all of those are also accurate.]

To explain:

black* beauty.

Last week, a friend joined me on an adventure to DUBLIN.

We hung out with a crew of Stetson Law students for a couple of days, and while they were off acquiring knowledge about Ireland's interesting independence/peace process, we learned some history of our own.

I'm talking, of course, about Guinness.