Stroke of Luck

I had one of the coolest experiences about four days before I was set to leave for Amsterdam.  It was the weekend before finals, and my friend Loryn was having a birthday celebration at The Oxygen Bar in Leicester Square.  Now I have been extremely economical this trip and have refrained from buying really anything that wasn't absolutely essential (if you don't count cigarettes of course).  So this particular day I thought to myself, "I want to buy a new outfit."  I had been wearing the same clothes for about two and a half months now, and had a sudden urge to wear something new.  

So I figured out how much time I had before I needed to meet back up with everyone, and set off for the store.  That day there was some kind of fire alarm at one of the stations on the Piccadilly Line so there was an inordinate amount of people crowding the tube stations.  Since I quite enjoy walking, I hopped off the tube and decided to tackle the rest of the journey on foot.  Once above ground I power walked all the way to H&M, weaving through the masses of people in front of Harrods, and getting to my destination in good time.  

That's when I noticed something horrible had happened.  At some point between where I stood and the last time I had gotten off the tube my wallet had disappeared.  I checked every inch of my purse, pockets, anywhere that my wallet could have possibly been and after about five minutes had to concede that I had dropped it somewhere.  In a silent state of panic, I slowly started weaving back through the crowds; scanning the ground as much as humanly possible to see if I could spot it.  In desperation I called my friend, just because I felt like I needed to talk to someone or I might start crying.  Luckily I maintained composure, and he helpfully and calmly gave me suggestions of what to do next.  So I headed back the way I came from, made it back to the station, and asked every employee I could find if anyone had turned in a wallet.    After about forty minutes of asking every employee, every news stand, coffee shop, and whoever else I thought might have any information I was still left empty handed.  I walked away from the tube station with the pamphlet telling me what to do if you loose your oyster card in my hand, and my mind whirling with the myriad of predicaments I was about to find myself in.

I moped out onto the sidewalk and pulled out my phone to call my mom.  I was just about to dial her number and ask her to help me cancel all my cards when my phone rang.  It was someone who worked for AIFS, and she was calling to tell me that a British girl named Claire found my wallet on the street and brought it into the V&A museum.  I stopped walking, looked up to the museum that was literally right across the street and almost had to stifle a laugh.  There is just no way that I could have been so lucky.  I hadn't even walked by the museum because I was walking on the opposite side of the street.  I sprinted across the street, picked up my wallet with a huge smile on my face, and called the beautiful Claire to thank her for saving my life.  

Now I have to admit that in that hour and a half long time frame when I had thought my wallet was gone forever, I was starting to feel almost like I deserved for this to happen.  I am attributing this mindset to the remnants of my conservative Christian education.  Even though my views and opinions of God have changed, there are still those moments of doubt where I think that maybe I have become a little bit too liberal and the guilt sets in.  So, during that hour and a half I kept thinking that maybe I deserve this.  The previous week I had ditched school, drank far too much alcohol, smoked copious amounts of marijuana, and participated in several other morally questionable activities.  For that hour and a half, I was sure that this was God's retribution.  "I have just been too happy," I thought to myself.

The most beautiful part of the story though is that my doubt was needless.  I never needed to feel guilt, or to question the activities that I had openly and willingly participated in.  There is no such thing as being "too" happy.  The God that I have faith in creates positive energy, and I truly feel that any time you embrace that positivity that you are embracing God.  You can still live life, make mistakes, get carried away, and embrace God for the positive, loving creator that he is.  I threw out some positive energy, and God threw some back.  

Who knows why I lost my wallet.  Maybe it was because I was careless and left it in my pocket.  Perhaps it was God saving me from spending money on an outfit that I most definitely did not need.  Regardless of why it happened, all I know is that because it did I feel like I have even more faith in God.  Maybe that's a bit dramatic, and maybe I'm reading way too far into the situation, but then on the other hand what could possibly be bad about having more faith in God anyway?  

                     

A Rainy Day by the Sea

About a week before the end of our term, a group of us decided to go to Brighton for the day.  The tickets were pretty cheap, so even though it was going to be a rainy day we decided to go for it.  The train ride there was quick and painless, and the promise of seeing the ocean was very exciting to all of us.  From the moment we got there is was freezing and raining, but it was just one of those times that the weather didn't seem to matter.  We headed directly for the beach, and a few of the boys were even daring enough to get into the water.  The wind was blowing so hard that it destroyed most everyone's umbrella's, my glasses were plagued with speckles from the rain, and by the time we made it back to the train station every article of clothing I had on was soaked.  But not once did anyone complain.  

It was one of those days when none of the uncomfortable stuff mattered.  I think that all of us knew that it was just one of those experiences that's worth any hardship.  We ended up sitting in a pub for a couple of hours waiting for our train, and just enjoying each other's company.  It was then that I realized how hard it was going to be to go home.  I have made so many friends here; met so many cool people.  I started on this journey not knowing a soul and am walking away with friendships that I hope last for years.  That rainy day in Brighton will always be one of the coolest days I have ever spent.  Not because I did anything particularly exciting or different, or because I got to see something one of a kind, but because the whole day just left me with positive vibes.  

We got back to London, put on dry clothes, and I spent the remainder of the day on the couch in the boy's apartment watching YouTube videos.  There could not have been a more perfect ending to the day.  My contentment was complete, and I hope to always be able to recognize those perfect days even back home.  To feel the presence of positivity in even the most trivial of activities.  I just think that if I am able to do that, able to enjoy the people around me, able to get joy out of totally commonplace situations, than I will always be happy with my life.  

  

Staying In

For the past week or so I have been kind of a bum.  I had the most wonderful time with my Mom and my Aunt Marie when they came to visit me, but ever since then I have pretty much barricaded myself indoors.  I have even gone so far as ditching several of my classes, and sleeping in way way too late.  

Now, don't get me wrong, I have been having the best time with friends and making plans to travel with people which is something that I honestly didn't expect to be able to do this trip.  Well, anyway,  after a week long siesta I found myself with the desire to go on an adventure tonight.  So, me and a few of my favorite people on this trip decided to go and see a firework show on the other side of the city.  It was freezing cold outside, and the ground was muddy, but that didn't stop hundreds of people from making their way to this park in London to see some fireworks.  

The show itself wasn't anything particularly special, especially when you are me and have been spoiled by the amazing pyrotechnics of Disneyland for your entire life.  The amazing part though was that there were just so many people coming together to share in this spectacle.  Even the music that the show was set to was old school jazzy kind of stuff, my favorite, and also something that would have never been tolerated in America. So there I stood, watching fireworks light up the sky standing next to two people that were complete strangers to me only about two months ago, but now are truly friends; and I just felt completely content.  

So as I thought back over the past week, instead of feeling regret over not venturing out more, I felt only gratitude, and contentment at having formed new relationships.  Sometimes simply staying in with people, even in London, is an entirely rewarding thing to do.  

Text Messaging

I have never been a big fan of the text messaging craze.  People have always asked me why, and I just couldn't give a satisfactory answer.  "Why Tera, why do you hate texting so much?" 

Well I think that I have figured out exactly why I hate text messaging.  I am a sarcastic person, and face to face that totally works out.  All you have to do is flash a smile, or laugh it off and the other person knows you're kidding.  But over a text, the other half of the conversation is free to interpret your message however they wish.  This doesn't bode well for me because it usually either makes me sound like either a total bitch, or sometimes even slightly stupid.  Since I am neither of these things, I struggle with expressing myself accurately through a message. 

Another problem with texting, is that you can't express noises very well.  For everyone who knows me, this is an obvious problem.  I tend to make the weirdest noises but it works for me.  It gets my point across, and appropriately portrays the sentiment behind what I'm saying. 

Some argue that texting is great because you get to think about what you say before you send that message.  Well, I have this uncanny ability to actually think about what I'm saying before I say it, even in a normal conversation.  (Perfect example of how I may come across as kind of a bitch)  I like the energy of a face to face conversation.  Actually looking into the other person's eyes.  The awkward pauses and mistakes actually fuel me.  It reminds me that I am talking to a real life humanoid.  Someone who doesn't always get to plan out exactly what they are going to say before they say it. 

I know this might be the least significant post that I have ever written, but I felt it was a sort of epiphany and wanted to share it with the few who read this blog.  So... I'm on board with the texting revolution, but I still don't like it... I don't like it at all!

Of a Different Name

So something that I’ve come to find about England, is that sometimes they call familiar things by a different name.  There are the obvious examples such as a lift is an elevator, and a restroom is a toilet (I have yet to hear anyone call it a lou), but then there are a million phrases and names for things that are just different than America’s.  

There have been several phrases that I have fallen in love with.  Like “legless” refers to a drunk person, which is just perfection in phrasing.  Also people say, “cheers” instead of thanks, and it just has a way of making you happy when you hear it.  When something is sketchy or just generally can’t be trusted it’s “dodgy,” which is a phrase I hope to use for the rest of my life. Lastly, I love how a bus is called a “coach” because it makes me feel like I’m going on a journey rather than a field trip, and things are not awesome in London they’re brilliant.      

While I am totally into most British phrasing, there are some things that are just a tad harder to get used to.  I have found this to be especially evident when it comes to food.  Shrimp are prawns, and a baked potato is a jacket potato, and chips are what we would equate to steak fries.  One thing that I have been entirely distressed about, is that they do not have an equivalent for half and half.  In the grocery store they must have fifty different types of cream products.  Double cream, single cream, cream de Francais, and Belgian cream, clotted cream, and soured cream (which for some reason grosses me out even though I know it is just sour cream... which I love.  That extra “ed” really changes things for some reason); all of these different creams yet absolutely no half and half.  

How could this be?  I even searched for something along the lines of “half cream half milk,” because British phrasing tends to be very straight forward, and still came up empty handed.  Even at the countless coffee shops here there isn’t a trace of half and half.  Now I have learned to survive perfectly well with whole milk in my coffee (because another thing that isn’t present on British shelves is flavored coffee creamer... or flavored coffee at all for that matter... sad day) but these little cultural differences are the reasons that I will always love coming home. 

There is just nothing better that having the little things around you that you have grown to love.  So, when I get home I will make myself a huge glass of iced coffee, with actual ice in it, and use way to much Coffeemate hazelnut creamer.  I will also take a shower with a sufficient amount of water pressure, and drive my car on the right side of the street.  Because at the end of the day, I like the way some things are done back home, and I’m proud to live in such a brilliant place.        

Cafe in the Crypt

So my friend Lauren found this cool little cafe in the crypt at St. Matins in the Fields church.  We had gone there several weeks ago and had found it to be quite charming.  Well yesterday our Philosophy teacher took us to a lunch time concert in the same church.  It was one of the coolest things I've gotten to do here in London.  The church fills up with people of all sorts who have come to hear the free concert.  It was one of Beethoven's sonatas, played by a violinist and a pianist, and was forty-five minutes of fantasticly soothing music.  There just isn't anything much better than brilliant music, beautiful surroundings, and good people all in the same place.

Well after we had listened to the concert, a few of us decided to check out the cafe in the crypt, maybe grab a spot of tea.  The line was a little too long so we didn't end up eating there, but before we left one of the girls that I was with made an observation about our surroundings.  She said, "It's just kind of sad that they built a restaurant on top of these people's graves."  At the time I just kind of nodded and we moved along, but the more I thought about it the less I agreed with her statement.

I would have to say, that if I were ever buried somewhere, I would be enthralled at the prospect of it one day becoming a restaurant over where I lay.  I think that the departed would feel comfort at the constant warmth brought by the people dining above them.  The kids running around, and the friends drinking tea and sharing in conversation.  What an inviting place to be laid to rest.

Tonight we are going back to the same cafe because on Wednesday nights they have little jazz concerts for the diners.  This fact just cements my opinion even further, that the people buried under this bit of earth have some of the most enviable real estate in the world.  What could be better than to hear laughter, and the sounds of spoons and forks clinking plates, and jazz music fill the air for the rest of eternity?

I know this may be a little bit melancholy to think about, but I just couldn't get her comment out of my head yesterday.  Her feeling sorry for these blessed people now seems to me like the silliest thing in the world.  Historical sites, and graves and such are so important to our heritage, but I believe that each generation needs to make its mark as well.  If that mark takes the form of a cafe built over a crypt, than I see nothing more beautiful and more beneficial to those who remain below.

Walking Down the Street

I have always had this uncanny ability to attract random conversations with complete strangers.  This has happened to me throughout my entire life.  Almost every time I am standing in a line anywhere, or waiting in a doctor's office, someone decides that they want to strike up a conversation with me.  Maybe I just look like someone who likes to listen, who knows.

Well this afternoon as I was walking down the street towards Starbucks, this charming little family walked by with the most perfectly dressed children I have ever seen.  They looked like miniature adults, and I literally did a double take as they passed me on the street.  Just as I was about to resume my journey, I noticed a woman on the opposite side of the sidewalk that had looked back at the little family as well.  We kind of smiled at each other and she said to me, "Are those not the more precious little ones eva?"  to which I honestly replied, "Well they were wearing the most adorable clothes I've ever seen, but I have to admit that I know some pretty cute kids back home."

Maybe it was the honesty in my answer, maybe it was the fact that I answered at all, but before I knew it we had been talking for about twenty minutes.  I stood there and listened as this woman gave me an only slightly condensed version of her life story.  She told me all about her friend's kids, and how much she had wanted kids of her own.  She told me of past loves, and travels, and unrealized hopes and dreams.

I have to admit that I was slightly taken aback at first by this woman's candor.  It has been my experience with British people that they are not generally a very open nation.  I think I exchanged more words with this one woman than I have with all of the other British people I have met combined.  Most Brits wouldn't share some of these things with their closest friends let alone with a complete stranger and I think after about the twenty-five minute mark this very fact finally hit this woman.  She suddenly stopped talking, looked up at me, and said, "Dear Lord!  Why haven't you shut me up?"

I kind of chuckled and told her the most honest thing I could think to say, "You know, sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger than it is to someone who knows the whole backstory.  I understand, and it had been my pleasure to listen to everything that you had to say."  She looked moderately shocked, probably more by her own openness than by my response, smiled at me warmly, and thanked me.  I bid her farewell and we then went our separate ways.

Of all the things I have done this weekend, this single moment has stuck out in my mind.  Of all the clubs, the pubs, the monuments, the cathedrals, this was the most significant thing I could think of to write about.  There was no one with me to share the experience.  No pictures were taken, or fuss made.  I didn't have to get ready and put make up on to have this conversation.  It wasn't obscured by alcohol, or sleep deprivation, or even amazement, which is sometimes even more clouding than any substance could be.  It was just a moment of real honesty between two people.  A moment when I was able to be a sort of human diary for a woman that needed somewhere to store her thoughts.  A thirty minute period where I was actually useful to another human spirit, and that is about the most I could ask to be in this crazy world of ours.