Tuesday, January 31

What an interesting morning.  For the first two hours of class, we discussed theories on identity and how social experience shapes meaning.  Then we took a 15 minute bus ride to the National Gallery where we met in the rooms with Impressionist paintings.  All my favorites (Cezanne, Monet, Degas, Van Gogh) were well represented.  The Monet below was spectacular and new to me.  Many of the others were at an impressionist showing at the DeJung years ago or exhibits in the past at the Art Institute in Chicago.

This was captivating oil by Pissarro.  And, I also got exposed to some incredible artists (Pissarro, Sisley, Canaletto) who are completely new to this art history novice whose cultural capital on European art is limited. 

Some eye candy from Degas.

Another Pissarro.

Berghe and Seurat.


Of course, nothing is like being a room and seeing these up close and then from different vantage points.  We explored only three rooms: # 43, 45, 46.

Following our wandering around, I posed a discussion board thread for each student to tie the Gallery experience specifically to either identity formation or symbolic interaction.  My take-away--what strikes me is how painters mediate their experience of reality through one sense: the visual.  That makes it more intense, but artificial, without the distractions of odor, sensation or taste.  Probably obvious to everyone else, but I never considered how that particular representation and isolation of one set of sensual stimuli makes viewing so intense. 

Of course, my reflection is, in part,  the result of leaving the museum to a driving rain—sometimes becoming white snow droplets that melted shortly after hitting objects—and catching a bus with its intense odor parade.

Wanting to take in the London sites from Trafalger Square to Hampstead from a dry spot at the window, I could barely focus on the sights.  Stale cigarette tobacco, pleasantly fragrant pipe tobacco residue, a woman’s herbal perfume, and unclean bodies were one set of things I noticed, but could tolerate. Even the mobile (Mow-BYE-L) conversations detracted from merely seeing.  (They don’t say cell phone, rather, "Mow-BYE-L"). Then, the seat behind me was taken up by the intense smell of Vick’s vapor rub or a Ben Gay-type mentholatum.  Of course, that was quickly followed by a barrage of coughing making me aware of potential germs—an entity that seldom occupies any space in my mind; imagining each waft of that smell carrying whatever virus or bacteria the elderly man suffered, I felt compelled to move, and did.  

In all, I was aware of how all five senses together help sort out our day to day experiences, but also dilute the intensity of seeing—the visual isolated from sound, smell, taste and touch.

I am eager to see how the representations in the paintings—especially of the adult, female body—affected students’ awareness of self concept and identity. Certainly, the depictions are significantly different than those currently promoted in advertising.

There is a psychic cleansing that happens after contact with good art.  Others can probably name the elements.  I just know it when I feel it.  I wonder it must be like for little British children to get so easily to these free museums. (There were several groups from preschoolers with docents talking about color, while taking in Van Gogh's sunflowers--to middle schoolers on guided tours.)  I would have been much less bored in school had it included these kinds of exposures.

Music for the Heath Walk

This is a perfect reflection of the mood of the heath walk this morning and the lingering effects on my spirit.

Monday, January 30

What a wonderful start to the day: waking up naturally at 7 before the alarm and taking off for a walk before breakfast.  The heath was muddy, but alive with birds, dogs, walkers and joggers.  Here are a few photos from my hour walk.

There are many paths and trails that wind through the 800 acres.

Some wide open spaces and some thick woods.

Of course, there is a great panorama of the city views from Parliament Hill.

One the way home, I stopped for veggies and walked past Keat's house.  It is about 2 blocks from my flat. As you can see, I landed in a pretty posh neighborhood.

Here is a clearer shot of the house which is open to public on weekends.

And, because it is a landmark here in the neighborhood, I bring you a photo of Eon Goldfinger's home.  It is the modern one, seen in background, which Ian Fleming thought a monstronsity.  Fleming fought the architect, lost, and for revenge, he named a villian in his James Bond series, "Goldfinger."

There are birds here I have never seen in addition to the swans, heron, crow, several varieties of ducks, and kingfishers.  
Here is the kingfisher like the many ones seen near the ponds.


There is one stunning, passerine (perching songbird), the size of a fat blue jay, which is mostly white with a wide powder blue stripe and grayish-black wings.The Royal Bird Society guide suggests it might be a great gray shrike.  Hope to get a better look tomorrow. Why didn't I bring binoculars?

For that matter, what is really missing is a good set of speakers for the Ipod.  Music is a missing element as there are only so many hours earbuds remain comfortable.  Next time I won't forget speakers. (I am now hoping to come back in a couple years and do this again).

It seemed like a good idea to pop a load of towels in the washer while I did a few hours of work.  Four hours later, the dryer is still tossing around damp towels.  Next time I need to find a fluff and fold to do heavy laundry AND perhaps learn to use a towel more than once, although that goes deeply against the grain.

And, here is dinner and lunch tomorrow.  Notice the packaging information--slow growth chicken.

And, yes, three tiny breasts with skin are 6.54 British Pound Sterling or the equivalent to $10.26.

Have a wonderful in sunny California while my hands and toes make me aware of every bone and joint in this cold.

Charles Lloyd - La Llorona

Sunday, January 29th

I’m having a very quiet, contemplative day.  It remains very cold, but the snow forecast has been pushed back a few days. The TFL website is an incredibly useful tool that helps plan which public transit to take from any given address to a point of interest or another address.  Today I eyed it with the mindset of reducing exposure to the elements and picked the route with the least walking possible.

My plan to spend several hours at the Tate Modern was smashed. I got to two exhibit rooms—Calder’s sculptures and Kandinsky’s paintings.  There is no possible way I could take in more than that.  How Calder gets so much movement into inanimate objects is a mystery.  Absolutely joyful in how the sculptures dance and play with light and color. Most of it was magical except there were pieces I did not “get.”

Kandinsky’s colors and shapes spoke to some primal feelings that are, frankly, beyond my ability to articulate or even comprehend sufficiently to process. I really had to leave the museum and breathe some cold air to recover. I have appreciated his work before, but I guess it was either in a singular dose or in reproductions.  The room full of his paintings pulled on many emotions—serenity (rarely), vibrant excitement, warmth, calmness, depression, confusion, joy.  The experience bypassed my senses and played my emotions like a piano improvisation with each note coming at me as a surprise.  Didn't always take me somewhere welcome. Whew.

Back at home, I prepared and posted the lecture for Tuesday.  This prowling cat looked very annoyed that I busted in on his afternoon in the garden. Is that not a dirty "mad dog" from the cat?

Life is simple here.  When is the last time you saw a front door entry skeleton key?

I have my bedside now set up with the essential morning tools--two alarms so I do not arrive late to classes on Tuesday or Thursday.  Systems tested and working.

Anyone thinking about a a visit?  Here are dates I will be around.  It would be nice to have company for Paris.
Dates I will be traveling outside UK

Feb 17  Meet my friend, Nancy Harlan, in Madrid. Fly to Lisbon;  Return London evening of Feb 20

March 1 Meet my sister, Patty, in Barcelona.  Return to London March 4

March 8  Meet Nancy in Prague; return from Amsterdam evening of March 12

March 26—April 2 Jessica & Sonny in London (not staying here)

April 8^th Shannon arrives from Oregon stays with me  to the 15^th

April 19.  Last day of class.

April 20-24 Paris?  No definite plan. 

April 25 Frankfurt

Now that I have had a little tea and sandwich, I am ready to venture out to High Street again.  Here is the sound that best captures the mood.

Saturday January 28th

Last evening was disturbing as one of our students was seriously injured.  Getting accurate information was hairy and nerve wracking.  Thankfully, after two hospital transfers, he was released for three days of bed rest for his fractured face.  He does not want to return home despite losing  teeth.  Nineteen year olds do get to make their own medical decisions. Thank God the AIFS staff here knew how to navigate the medical system and get him excellent evaluation and medical care—dental care is apparently a different story.  The few hours of waiting for prognosis reminded me how fragile life is.  I did not envy his parents in OC.

Despite winter silks, cashmere sweater and scarf, wool slacks and a heavy wool overcoat, it was teeth chattering cold today.  Not sure why as the thermometer was not that much lower—40/ high 30’s.  So after taking care of basics, I returned home and set about working to revise both my London classes to better reflect the conditions on the ground.  I want each class in the field each week rather than every other week.  There is no shortage of relevant outings, but trying to weave a coherent narrative about identity in the one class and inequality in the other class, took some serious think time.

Lots of people here tell their stories of losing jobs in the last two years—that is similar to home. What strikes me is that they still have medical care.  Had an interesting conversation yesterday about public services here and there—the man I was talking with visits a step son in the OC once a year so he has familiarity with the surface of life in CA.   He had a lot of questions about our tax policies and how services/benefits are funded.  It was very interesting.  Apparently, GB eliminated the mortgage interest deduction years ago and credit is much more difficult to obtain.  I do know that non residents cannot open a bank account in the UK.  Even as a citizen of Ireland I cannot get a bank account here. 

The controversy over here this week on all the news is how much salary was paid to the head of the Royal Bank of Scotland—a public entity. So the whole issue of unfair taxation as well as wealth inequality is consuming much of the conversation here as well as there.

This is a time of psychic change for me, for sure.  Having been through periods of shifting identity and values before, I recognize the signs.  It is impossible to predict what comes out at the other side, but it is certain that change is underway. 

It reminds me that I had no idea when I returned to get a doctorate in 2000 that I would land an academic job—I had no attachment to the results of that endeavor. The possibility of a full-time job without having to move was too remote to contemplate.

In retrospect, it was a risky investment of time, money and energy with no foreseeable payoff—and lots of painful, hard work--not to mention the added 289,000 miles driven on the Volvo. Yet, this whole episode of teaching in London is the direct result of following my passion. 

I do wish I had known how many multiracial families I would encounter here. I would have sought IRB approval to do interviews; as it turns out, there are a stunning  presence of white/Black and Asian/Black couples with children I see in the public spaces. Quick check of census data here indicates that 50% of the Black Caribbean-origin British subjects marry whites here.  Less clear what the numbers are for African immigrants, but I will be investigating. It certainly speaks to a different racial paradigm. And it is a surprising one given the imperial, colonizer culture.

I have to let go of all my expectations that my garden will carry on in my absence.  I purposely did not plant winter vegetables, but I am realizing that nobody will be mindful to ice my little peony plant or to feed the can of worms which produces the worm tea and castings that are steroids for the yard. There are too many little things to be aware of that non-gardeners that cannot be taught.  Nora, from out graduate program, did offer to come move the can of worms to her yard where her husband Sean composts.  I am dithering about whether it is worth their bother and whether I want to start the vermi-culture from scratch when I return.

I continue to struggle with life’s little inconveniences: how to wash dishes and pans in a sink smaller than a bathroom lavatory; how to remember to heat the water before a shower; how to set the alarm clock; how to make calls on the weird mobile with strange sequences of numbers.  Here is the fuse box that has become as important to me as keeping the car fuel level above empty is in California:

The fuse box is located in the little entry hall here inside my flat.

 Of course, all is good.  

Friday January 27th

January 27, Friday evening

On the way to the overland train from Hampstead Heath to the Jubilee line, I took a detour to walk around the edge of the heath.  Such a beautiful, warm morning urged me into the heath knowing that snow is forecast on Sunday and Monday. What a treat.  It is impossible to capture the scale of this park; I really appreciate that the cycle paths are separate from the walking ones.

Here are a couple snapshots of the ponds at the edge of the heath.

And one of the signs that I find amusing.

The sign indicates that the swans are breeding and can be aggressive--so keep dogs out of the water.  

The train was a different experience.  Very clean and mellow.  The Jubilee tube line was jammed with people, but the walk from there to Borough Market was easy.  The market had a big meat story going on: pork, beef, chicken and hundreds of stalls selling lunch in a paper boats/dishes. It is very much like a farmers market with an international flare.  Lots of middle eastern, eastern EU and Indian stalls.

The meat was rather in your face and this carnivore was sickened by seeing so much flesh sitting out in open air with hundreds of people walking by.  The odor was a bit too ripe, too.

I did not see anything that appealed to me, so I set off on foot to explore the neighborhood. Took the Northern Line back to the Bloomsbury District and walked around there until it was time for a 3pm meeting.  I was very pleased to find the location at St. Giles again from another direction; it is a 20 minute walk from my office.

I have determined to try taking new routes wherever I go--come home a different route and via a different mode of transport.  My mental map of the city is getting internalized pretty well.

I set out on this splendid morning with a light rain coat thinking the wool one would be too warm.  That was a good call until about 2 pm when the afternoon chill took over with a nasty wind.  I managed to get home by 6pm with some salmon fillet to poach and greens for a salad. Had a heck of time finding ground coffee beans on High Street.  

If I have energy after supper, I plan to walk down to a restaurant with an outdoor chalkboard advertising "Live Music Friday 9pm."  It is worth a walk to investigate.

Glorious morning, Friday 1/27/11

What a sunny, lovely start to the day.  It was warm enough to have coffee, fruit and cheese in my back garden--in tee shirt sans jacket!

Right off the kitchen, this is a private space I share only with the birds and a few cats who cruise through during the day looking for prey.  I don't think they are really hunters, just posers because they move slowly and are very plump.  Pretenders.

Maybe its their genetic destiny popping up, or perhaps they are bored. Who knows?  It is funny to watch them ambling around and occasionally alerting on the bird feeder.  There is a Ginger cat who bears a strong resemblance to one departed Spanky. A smaller gray tabby who looks really out of place in a garden and a black tuxedo who plops around from snooze spot to spot.

Although the basement flat also shares access to the garden, nobody lives there.  Here is a better shot of the overgrown bergenia which prevent the landlord from needing to weed.

The double doors with windows top of step lead to my kitchen.  The large window opens to my dining area.
I am off to boroughs market.  Hopefully, I'll find some potted hyacinths to continue the soft, faint fragrance of Spring in the flat. The cut tulips and hyacinths I bought last week are spent, but gave the place a wonderful, welcoming aroma every time I came home.  Too subtle to notice while here, but a hint of perfume that is neither cloying, sweet nor herbal--just soothing.  They smell the way that the color of deep lavender feels on the eyes.

Thursday, January 26th

Thursday, January 26^th

Activities.  After a disastrous morning of oversleeping despite the cell phone alarm, the AV equipment did not work—nothing like a first day of a class off on the wrong foot.  I bought an alarm clock yesterday only to find last night that it needed a watch battery.  So I woke up at 8—right when I should have left for the tube.  No time to heat water.  After a 7 block uphill run, I had a good sweat going magnified by overheating on crowded tube that ended in another 8 block, sweaty run.

Inequality is my favorite class and it started with a whimper instead of a bang.  At least they were engaged and thinking about how the nine dimensions of social class have positioned each of them. We broached the subject of social mobility—which usually interests students, and laid the groundwork for some compelling discussions.

Disappointed that Walter Mosley’s latest novel, released last week, is not available in the UK until March, I consoled myself by picking up and reading his essay entitled, Twelve Steps toward Political Revelation.  After disclosing that he is an alcoholic, he opines about the ways that systems and institutions place heavy loads and hidden addictions on our bodies and minds in the US. He lays out a compelling argument (not really new in its “acceptance of the problem,” but in the metaphors he uses to describe our post-Capitalistic, consumer society and in his “solutions).”  Very provocative—his proposal for education reform made my heart sing.    

I went to the National Gallery this afternoon.  It may be that I am ignorant of the European history as well as art history, but the exhibits prior to 1945 had no life for me at all. In fact, being in those rooms for a few minutes sucked the oxygen from my lungs and all energy from my body. Stodgy representations of white men and a few royal women in classic poses just left me cold.  It occurred to me on the way home that I really don’t know European history—my last exposure being Sr. Benedict in 10^th grade whose enthusiasm for the Hapsburg Empire seemed silly. (She is the same nun who noted about me and my friend, Shannon, that “Oh, yes, everyone else is out of step but Johnny”).  Then I began to wonder how I escaped learning any history in my subsequent education.  It dawned on me that I took four (4) courses in college on Latin American history, including Caribbean history.

When I got to the late 20^th century floor, it was a completely different story.  The exhibit was fascinating and the art very diverse in nature.  I learned a lot about British characters in politics, theater, and war including suffrages, nurses and a variety of performing artists.

Then I hit pay dirt.  There was a special exhibit of the best contemporary portrait photography in the world.  Only 60 large photographs, but completely engrossing.  Some were jarring and disturbing images, some very sweet and some extremely erotic.  Overall, the exhibit touched me deeply and provoked a gamut of emotions. Two heavily tattooed, nude, old men embracing in a very sentimental but un-posed fashion really stuck with me. The photographer caught them in an emotionally intimate but non-sexual embrace early in the morning in their apartment.  It was a really powerful image of human intimacy made even more poignant by being so non-stereotypical.

I took the bus home, although I was yearning to stay at the National Gallery for a free chamber music concert.  I just could not last until 9 pm without breakfast or lunch and knew I had fresh salmon in the fridge that would be less than good tomorrow.

The bus is so different than the tube.  It smells.  At least the one I travelled on had heavy doses of BO, piss and the vague aroma of last night’s vomit.  And the clientele is different than the tube.  More short-distance commuters, poorer folks, more children, and more people of color.  I was rather shocked at the etiquette.  There are reserved seats for “elderly and disabled.”  Those seating in there yielded to old white men and women who boarded the bus, but not to a really old, feeble , Asian woman or to a pregnant Black woman with an infant in arms.  What?  The bus was jammed full and people definitely do not regard space as personal (unlike the tube) with folks staring, pushing and chattering.

Oddities.  One of the AIFS staff here, Sinead, looks so much like my younger sister, Molly, that it is eerie.  Small Irish gene pool?  Here are two  snaps: one of Sinead followed by a photo of my sisters last week with Molly on the far right.  Does anybody else see it?

Reflections. The portrait exhibit really stuck a thorn in my psyche.  It is too fresh to process, but well worth the discomfort.  The Mosley essay also left me pondering.  I love how he refers to the 1% as “the Joes” as in regular Joes who are not special people—just very wealthy, not through any skill on their part, just by being “in the right roulette slot of history.”  I used to think of those heirs as members of the “lucky sperm club” who just happened to be born to incredible wealth.  I like his take and his calling their lawyers and accountants, “their herd dogs.”    I have lots to digest. 

Wednesday, January 25

January 25, Wednesday

Activities:  Daytime temp broke the 50 degree barrier today with only scattered drizzles. It almost felt like spring. But something happens every early afternoon so far: a cold wind blows in causing a bone chilling freeze and making everyone bundle up tight and rush about quickly.

We have faculty meetings on Wednesday that include the London consortium faculty. Afterwards, we all attended the British Life and Culture lecture in a modern auditorium with all 90+ US students.  The lecturer gave an interactive lesson tracing the changes in British pop culture to post WWII developments in the socio-political UK.  Very interesting to me despite the room being way overheated.

Street life.  The street conversations continue to amaze me.  Stopped several times on each outing, I can’t get over how people engage conversation about serious issues.  A couple solicitors for charities and businesses approached, I tried to brush them off, but when they hear the American accent they want to discuss politics, California, and other things that we Americans do not brooch with strangers.  Seems many Brits I meet have visited So Cal.  For some oddball reason, they know Huntington Beach.

It’s a Dog’s Life.  There are lots of terriers of all breeds everywhere and it seems that labradoodles are a particularly popular choice for big dog. Rather than make me miss my Oz Dog and Ne Ne Darryl, it is actually very nice for me to be relieved of taking care of them.  Not that I don’t enjoy and care about those two—but it is really liberating to have to care only for me.  Down side, of course, is nobody is waiting in the flat to wiggle with glee that I have returned.  No jumping for joy when it is time to go to bed. Still, and all, I believe it is the end of my acquiring puppies.  Once Ozzie makes it over the final hill, that will be the end of my pets until I get to that age 20 or more years down the road when I am cooped up at home most of the time.  

Oddities:  There is less and less that strikes me as odd.  “Fresh” is the other word used frequently to describe the weather.  I gather it means cold and nippy.  “Soft” is word they use that my Gramma O’Donovan also used to refer to drizzle—as   in, “What a nice, soft day.”  That means it is wet, but the air and rain are kissing your face not bombarding it with burning wind or harsh drops.

Thanks to my niece, Joanna, for passing on her glove and cold weather strategies gleaned from having the second half of her life in New York and now Chicago.  Good advice.

Reflections:  I am already realizing how quickly these weeks will fly by.  In a snap, it will be time to come home.  I just got here and yet over a week has passed.  There is so much to see and do that I could get frenetic, but I prefer to sink into the everyday reality of just being in London.  I miss Heisler Park, Crystal Cove and my garden.  Not enough to want to trade places, but enough to recognize how extraordinary my life is.  How truly fortunate the planets aligned and the universe guarded me from harm and guided me to this.  How does a girl from an immigrant Irish family in the colonia of Lincoln Heights in East LA end up living in Laguna Audubon with as many opportunities as I have?  Stunning.  I am overcome with gratitude.

Tuesday January 24

January 24^th

First day of class and it is a lively bunch.  The classroom is really old school— like my second grade—upstairs on the third floor, wood floors, casement windows that leak rainy cold wind and water. They blew open in today’s storm and scared the wadding out of those in the back row.  There is no built in technology—not even a white board or chalkboard. So laptop, projector and miles of cords must be schlepped to the building from the faculty office. 

The demographic is different than the Fullerton campus and the gender imbalance is really skewed. It is a very conservative slice of the student body—even more so than the Irvine campus.  I’ll have to try to tread gently on their worldviews until they trust me that I don’t expected them to agree with me—only to make a space to consider the point of view.  I do have about five firecrackers, who I find very entertaining.  We negotiated ground rules for discussions and played with ideas about the sociological imagination.  They seemed amused, but skeptical.  Pop psychology has really ruined their curiosity about things social; they are so sure of their ideas about how things work.  So we’ll be having some challenging explorations about how they “know” what they “know,” and interrogating their so-called commonsense.  Should be fun.

I have never taught this “Social Interaction” course and I am using a book I forgot to pack!  I intended to carry it on—oops.  It is in the mail—thanks, Kathleen.  It will be all right since I can cover basics until readings arrive.

The beauty is that teaching here has the college town feel.  They live together, play together, and travel in packs.  So there is an esprit de corps that all ready exists which takes some pressure off me allowing more class time to focus on provoking and coaching.  Nice. They had good examples of social norms they have observed here as well as apparent contradictions in British life and lots of enthusiasm.

Our weather was like yours today—raining hard at times and mid forty degrees.  The difference, of course, is we are out and about on foot rather than sliding around in cars. I have not discovered the secret of keeping my pretty cashmere/leather gloves looking lovely.  After only one week, they look beat from folding wet umbrellas, holding wet banister and inserting index finger into damp lips and teeth to fix keys into doors.  I guess growing up in LA, I missed learning all the techniques that are second nature to you East Coasters.  Tips, anyone?

I envy that y'all can watch the State of the Union Speech tonight.  I will have to make do with leftover clips tomorrow.

Good news.  Berna tells me we each got letters today awarding her a faculty grant and me a summer stipend.  So I guess we’ll be doing two projects: the health of Vietnamese children in Little Saigon; and, geo-coding our health survey data on Hispanics and Vietnamese living inside and outside their ethnic enclaves.  What a nice change to get that support.  Now it looks like my next seven months will be jammed full of deadlines. 

Other good news--even better news--is that my physical energy is surging—responding really well to all the walking and dashing up and down stairs.  How did I forget that walking at least a couple miles a day makes the spirit lithe and the body glow with a zingy vibration?

Reflections.  As much as I love almost every moment of this adventure, I miss my friends.  Dinner time is particularly lonely.  I am not enthused to eat alone.  I never realized how much I need to share interests, ideas and experiences with other people I feel close to. In particular, it has been a blow to miss my morning routine; but, I planned for that knowing that meditating alone would not be sufficient. What I did not anticipate was this particular alone-ness that penetrates so deeply in such a chilling way. Without the distractions of home, it is certainly more acute.  If you are inclined to email, please do.  I’ll save those up to savor as dinner companions. I need to be in touch. 

Monday January 23

January 23, Monday

It was a productive day of researching, reading and editing. I am a little worried about getting to university by 8:30 tomorrow morning.  I will have to leave her by 7:45—up by 7.  I have not used an alarm clock since I retired from my first career in 1999.  At home, I wake up when the sound of the finches’ dawn chorus makes it through my windows, the natural light calls my brain from its dreams and the dog starts his morning moan.  Here the sunrise does not happen until 08:00.  The only birds I have heard here are the mourning doves which range around my window mid day cooing and the blackbirds in the gardens whose song is a mellow trill—too soft to wake. So, I’ll be getting up in dark to heat the water.  I better learn how to set this funny alarm clock.

I stayed in Hampstead today working on an article, doing laundry, marketing and taking walks. The packs of school children are a joy.  They walk to and from schools in the neighborhood in gangs of 8-15 or so with no adults.  Little 6-8 year olds in uniforms.  They throw their jackets and hats around on the several-block walk and make up games as they go. Many of them carry stuffed animals as well.  I cannot imagine American kids walking blocks to school without parents—in fact, they are driven two blocks in SUVs to the school bus stop in my neighborhood. 

Later in the morning, there are lots Mums about with strollers (trolleys they say) and toddlers who get deposited in different school yards that have jungle gyms, swings, huge garden boxes full of veggies and spring bulb shoots.  When I took my last walk, all the schools were closing and it was a madhouse on every street in Hampstead.

Oddities.

Food.  The food selections in London are as diverse as one would expect in an affluent, global center. Much of the fruit and many of the vegetables come from Africa.  The salmon I bought to prepare for dinner is from Scotland, the green beans local and the Broccoli from Nambia.  

Heat.  There is central heat for the building which comes on around 7am and off around 8am; on again in the evening to about 9 pm.  I have never lived where I didn’t control the temperature before.  It is OK but requires frequent layering and unlayering of clothes to stay in the comfort zone.

Hot water.  I still cannot get used to having to heat water for shower or tub.  It is an extra 45 minutes prelude to any shower, tub or dishwashing.

Sunset.  It is 4:40 pm (16:40) and the sun has set, streetlights are on.

British television.  The news here is not aimed at entertainment; it is delivering updates that assume the audience knows what is going on in the global economy, with parliament and who the political players are.  It is different that they do not give the back story.  Thank God for google.

Otherwise, the TV programming is very similar: cook shows, house hunting and house repair shows, British versions of our sit coms, reality TV, game shows and shopping.  Many commercials are for OTC drugs that would require a prescription at home. CSI seems to be popular here, too, and it is the USA version.

Reflections:  The lifestyle here is very pleasant.  I suppose part of that is my reduced teaching schedule.  There is something so liberating about having five days of spaciousness: doing what I want when I choose with few time constraints.  It is also the simplicity that is very appealing.

Sunday site seeing

The morning started sunny with blue sky, but by noon half (that would be 12:30) it was drizzly, freezing and blustery.  Some of the iconic sites I visited this morning.

Now, if I can learn two things I will be happier: 1) how to make the photos post top to bottom rather than sideways, and 2) what language my Ipad2 speaks because its auto correct spelling is driving me nuts.

Here is a snap of the walk home from the tube. And, home at last.

The rest of the evening is reserved for some library research and working on a draft article.  What I miss most from home is being able to walk out on the patio and snip some thyme or tarragon to flavor up a simple thing like a poached egg.   It is also hard to believe that I am in London without a teapot!

Classes start for students tomorrow.  Mine are scheduled Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Be well, all.

Saturday January 21 activities and musing

Saturday January 21

Started the day with an ice cold shower having overslept and needing to choose between a 30 minute wait for hot water or a late arrival for my first faculty meeting.  The meeting included the other faculty teaching in the consortium this semester: 2 Theater/Dance faculty from U of Wyoming, a woman from U of Wisconsin, Milwaukee and their 50+ students.  The CSU program sent Joanne (English) and me (sociology) along with 42 students from Long Beach and Fullerton campuses.(Don’t worry—none of your taxes involved—we are paid from fees for this adventure). University of London College faculty teach the mandatory “British Life and Culture” course which I will probably attend out of curiosity. 

Yesterday after checking out the university union gym and pool in Bloomsbury, I returned home and walked around exploring the rest of Hampstead.  It’s a great neighborhood including two different shopping zones and dozens of little restaurants. I really got lucky with this flat. Best of all is the heath. 

It is a huge park (700+ acres) on the highest hill overlooking Central London; contrast to Central Park in NYC which is about 100 acres larger. It has footpaths, jogging trails, and ponds (for open air swimming, too!). Unfortunately, the foot paths yesterday and today were frozen mud giving way to slippery, slushy mud, so I saved the real walk there for better weather and a day with a shorter coat. It seemed too real a possibility, in a full length overcoat, to drag the hem through muck.

I have a ton of reading to prep for classes this week.  I expect to complete most of it this afternoon and then I am heading out by bus to a cinema a few miles away to see The Iron Lady. 

As you can see from the photo, the kitchen will not allow me to do much more than heat things and make a cup a tea or coffee (I brought my own ground coffee beans and little drip filter).

Being here is a blast. Now that my circadian rhythms are in sync, I am really enjoying it all—weather included.  Note to self: never, never leave the flat without umbrella—even if the sky is blue and no rain is forecast.

Oddities: Brits don’t say, “Pardon me” or “Excuse me” when needing to push you aside on sidewalk or tube but rather, “so RHAY.”  I am having a hard time with some of the British and Scottish accents.  I might do better following conversations with Spanish speakers as I would get about 80% instead of 40% of what is said.  Luckily there are Irish around who I can turn to for translations—those dialects I “get” having grown up with the two most outrageous—Mayo and Cork.

If  I get my tail out of bed in the morning, there is really no need to watch the time at all.  No worries about bus or train schedules since the tube comes every 5-7 minutes and everything is a 10-15 minute walk from the tube.  Very convenient.  Plus shops are open until 10pm and grocery until midnight.

Oddly, ask anyone on the sidewalk for directions and 99% of the time they say, “It’s only a 10 minute walk from here.”  Now that could mean it is actually across the street (1 minute) or 25 minutes (if you get off at the wrong station).  Doesn’t matter—standard answer is “10 minutes.”  I even did that today when a poor soul asked for directions—“Probably just a 10 minute walk, but it is in that direction.” 

Ick Factor:  I saw a group of a dozen or Mums with little girls today walking down the lane in their “Princess” costumes.  I gagged a little thinking about how Disney already has such a grip on their notions of gender.  I mean, seriously, these were 4-6 year olds performing the most repressive stunts of femininity—including being hobbled by fake little high heel shoes in 40 degree weather.  What really does it mean for a young girl’s imagination that they aspire to copy Cinderella, Snow White and the cast of helpless female caricatures?  This is their limited notion of femininity? What kind of straight (no pun intended) jacket are they being jammed into in terms of possibilities in their own imagination? 

It is ironic that in 2012, these little girls show more conformity to such outdated gender roles than we did growing up in 1950’s.  Seriously, I thought climbing trees, playing ball, riding bikes, swimming, competing in all types of games, creating dances and shows were the rights of all children. I knew I was neither Shirley Temple nor Annette Funicello; I was confident that I had lots of possibilities with which to enjoy my body and lots of interests beyond pantomiming submissive, people-pleasing, lady-like, a-sexual, girlish-women.  Thank God.

Reflections: I was thinking about how privileged these students are to be able to study abroad during their college years.  That was as far from possible for me as a college student as expecting to wake up with long legs.  As the first in my family to attend college, just being in college was such an alien experience outside my expectations. Had it not been for Sister Redempta, a HS nun, who encouraged me to take the SAT and think about college, I would never have had the scholarship that became my passport to living.

My feeling out of place was more acute given my choices: first U of San Francisco—picked solely by three factors: (1)  It was in the City; (2) as a Jesuits school, it emphasized social justice but offered freedom from the bondage of Catholicism; and, (3) it is where Bill Russell had played ball.  Then, after one semester, homesick and yearning for a more diversity (other than 12 BB players, the entire student body were 2^nd generation Irish and Italian), I transferred to USC—which was at the time the University of Spoiled Children.  I remember hearing girls in the dorm at USC talk about going to “the continent” over summers.  I honestly thought the “continent” was a hotel somewhere near San Diego—that is how exotic my imagination ventured at 17 years of age.

Financially self supporting and working 15-20 hours a week to pay for meals and clothing, I could not imagine how a trip to Europe ever could be possible.  European travel became an aspiration for the distant future.

To be working here for the semester is a dream and a great privilege for which I feel immense gratitude.  I am eager to have classes Tuesday and Thursday to learn how the students are processing their experiences here.  I am energized in anticipation of discussions where I can engage their thinking about the stuff that occupies my brain: inequalities stemming from systems of social class, race, gender and sexuality. 

Thursday January 19

After another night of on and off sleep, my body clock is still jumbled.  The converter blew the flat fuses several times, so I had to make my way to the Apple store walking from the university—another adventure.  Good news—I have internet and now charging in the flat.

Oddities:  In the university faculty office this morning, I was offered coffee or tea. To my discomfort, it turns out that there is an Irish maid who actually prepares tea/coffee and cleans up the mugs in the evening.  Perhaps GB is more stratified by social class than I expected; I noticed that only faculty (no staff) were provided the same courtesy.

Language, of course, is very odd. I am not enjoying being pegged as American every time I open my mouth.  Simple requests confuse the Brits.  Not only is my dialect obvious, but word choices are very different.  For example:  “Mind your foot” for “Watch your step.”  One cannot walk a block without being stopped by youngsters wanting to educate about this cause or that: Unicef, endangered species, etc. They all want to engage in a conversation about the US as well.  Talk about being foreign.

Had lunch today in little bistro.

The waiter from Bulgaria said he was so happy to be able to talk “American” with me.  When I asked him to explain the difference, he said: The Brits say “eigh, mate.”  Americans say, “Wuz up, mon.”  He had a few other funny takes on our dialect gleened from “movies and music.”

BYOB.  You better bring your own bag when shopping or there will be a hefty fee ($2) for each plastic grocery bag.  The neighbourhood grocery (Tesco) has no basic food like rice, beans, eggs or oats.  They carry pre-made meals for 1-2 servings (similar to Fresh and Easy), single serving cans of soup and lots of cookie/cracker/stuff.  The butcher is down the alley a few shops away from the fish monger. 

Eggs sold by the produce folks without a carton.  

I could not fathom how to get 6 safely home loose in my bag. 

Here are a few snaps of my flat.  Spartan with lumpy down duvets that make beds look sloppy but keep it warm in the frigid here.

The rest all come out upside down when I post so I will work on it.

Reflections:  There is something really wonderful about being out walking for errands and being bombarded with people on the tube, sidewalks, shops, etc. It is sure a contrast to how we stay in the bubble of our cars going from point A to point B.  People have been incredibly helpful and friendly.

I am very uncomfortable, however, when folks ask what I am doing here and for how long.  When I say, “teaching,” perfect strangers launch into these academic subjects that I know nothing about.  I guess my age and the fact I teach at university sends a message about who I am that so does NOT fit either my self-concept or who I am.  Even the landlord made assumptions about what I would be interested in seeing and doing that suggest his notion that university professors have a body of cultural capital I lack.  I need to remember this when dealing with 20 year olds—I hope I don’t teach from a place of assuming they know things that are really rarified products of elite knowledge.  Would I really know that Keats had a collection of Rembrants? Should I? And, is it high on my “to do” list to “pop over on a Sunday morning to see?” It is perplexing and not something that happens to me at home.

Adieu