London Journal--Days 5 & 6

Yesterday I went with Dr. S to St. Paul's for the sung Eucharist, with an all-male choir including some sweetly amusing, fidgety, easily distracted young boys. The Bishop of London gave the sermon, which is something of a Big Deal. He has the kind of voice that could make a reading of the Periodic Table enthralling. For his theme, he spoke about "peace" in the broader sense, about social justice and human beings' obligation to create a peaceful world by behaving kindly and taking care of one another. He also didn't hesitate to call out those whom he thought were not contributing to this ideal, such as the leaders of Burma, the wagers of war in the mideast or those who would call themselves Christians but ignore, undermine or deny this ideal of peace.

On the way there, and after, I thought quite a bit about the previous, and only other time I'd been to a service at St. Paul's. It was the 9-11 remembrance service. A group of study abroad students and I had arrived in London not 48 hours before the first plane crashed into the towers. I had been grocery shopping at the Oxford Street Tesco when it happened, and arrived back at the flat while BBC news was showing footage of what then was still thought to be just a bizarre and tragic accident.

We all went to St. Paul's early, as a group, and were seated inside about 2/3 of the way back. The crowd grew until the entire area outside of St. Paul's was filled with mourners. The service was sad and incredibly painful, yet comforting and somehow inspiring of hope. Over the next few months, as we continued our study abroad program we were also unavoidably but unconsciously developing a global perspective on 9-11 and on the US reaction to it. And a huge, seemingly unbreachable wall arose between ourselves and our friends and family. Most of them had turned so deeply inward that they could only perceive our objectivity, our "outsider" perspective as intentionally insulting and uncaring. It was so, so hard on the students, who struggled even to find the vocabulary to describe the alienation they were experiencing, but who at least knew they could trust one another to understand, wordlessly.

After St. Paul's yesterday, we walked in the too-hot sunshine down to Covent Garden for lunch. All of the usual tourist-attracting antics were in progress. But the Doc Marten's flagship store had disappeared. I was sad. No new shoes for me.

London Journal--Days 3 & 4

Very nice people at the BL sorted out my registration problem. Yay. Today I started working again with one of my 1770s finds, and it felt like a long-lost, prized possession. I hope, and rather expect, that noone else has looked at it in the past six years since I checked it out last. I think I'll ask the librarians tomorrow.

On Friday night, Dr. S, the students and I saw an excellent production of Joanna Baillie's Witchcraft--apparently the first production in at least 150 years. It was performed in a tiny pub theatre near Earl's Court. The night before we attended a production of King Lear at the Globe; the photo is our group in the audience just before we were chastised for taking pictures inside the theatre.

Old favorites sampled so far: Covent Garden Carrot and Coriander Soup (1 bowl) Plain Chocolate Digestives (a few) Pret a Manger sandwiches (2) Starbars (3) Strongbow Cider (not counting)

London Journal--Days 1 & 2

Day 1. So happy. So so happy. And tired. But happy.

Day 2. Not so happy.

My British Library Reader's Card has expired. So, I figured, no problem: renewal, another scary photo, and back with the rare books. But no. Due to increased security, I did not have enough proper identification with me. Old Reader's Card? Sorry. Passport? Not enough. Faculty ID, Business Cards, Credit Cards, Pre-printed Bank Deposit Slip (and who knows why I have one of those here)? Too bad. Tomorrow, we will see if my Voter's Registration Card (again, why do I have this? when I emptied my wallet and left my driver's license at home, apparently stupidly despite the fact that I will not be driving a car, yet did so On Purpose) will be adequate proof of my scholarly trustworthiness.

Also, no more off-shore bank account. Ha.

Absent Friends

I'm leaving soon for a two-week trip to London. It's been five years since I've been to England, and even longer since I've been to London, my favorite place in the world. I lived there for a few months in 1987, with my college pal Beth and a bunch of crazy Australians for flatmates. In 2000 and 2001 I spent two semesters there researching at the British Library, hanging out with new British and American friends, and (my actual job) supervising study abroad students.

Every time I go back to London I revisit places which remind me of the intense but often short-lived friendships I shared there. Of course I have photos but somehow being there, experiencing all the sights and sounds and smells brings back the memories in bittersweet concentration.

I've lived so many places in my life--London of course, but also New Jersey, Philadelphia, Mississippi, Atlanta, Boston, Connecticut, and now Tennessee--and everywhere I've developed friendships which were happy and fulfilling and sustaining. I started naming those important but now absent friends, but the list just grew so long, the losses too great to bear thinking of all at once.

Absent Friends, thanks for everything. Gone, perhaps, but certainly not forgotten.