Oh, Another Home

Hi folks.

I am sitting in my living room writing to you: the windows are decorated with spray-on snow, homemade snowflakes hang on the curtains, and our christmas tree, also adorned with very charming clothespin angels and popsicle stick reindeer. 

The whole city of Bath looks like a bit of a fairy tale: the streets are lit with  Christmas. And one particular place looks like Christmas all year round: Hansel and  Gretel's Coffee House. Located near the Royal Crescent (the most beautiful old high society apartments shaped in a crescent, as the title might suggest).  You step in the door, and, suddenly, you are in Saint Nick's toy store. Tiny handmade wooden animals, warm woolen booties, lovely smelling candles, rich (and expensive) wool blankets, old-fashioned puzzels, and, I've never seen so many beautiful ornaments in all my life - crammed into such a tiny little shop. Then, downstairs, you sit in one of the three cozy little nooks, and order one of their seven hot chocolates or hot ciders and streudels. Did I mention they have a constant video playing of the snowy Swiss Alps? 

I can't believe I leave here forever - no, indefinitely, on Sunday. I am so excited to see everyone and be in Ohio and then home in California, cuddling with my dearest friends and family, and I am even excited to be in Boston again, but I think I will leave a part of me here. I love this house, Bath, I love walking into town and waving to the guy who sells The Big Issue on the bridge, I love the town troubadour: an endearing man in a jester-like hat who insists every moment should be set to a Bob Marley song. I love coming home from class, finding everyone in the kitchen making dinner. It is going to be so strange to suddenly stop being with these seven people I have spent every day with these last four months (the picture above is in Ireland, though we are missing Christine and Annie, and Laura makes an appearance - an honorary member of Prior Park). Oh, and  I am going to miss hearing the dinner bell...(yes, we have a dinner bell...).

Yesterday we had our Christmas morning. I made cinnamon rolls, Kathleen made pancakes (chocolate chip, cinnamon, and blueberry), Annie made eggs. Baron made us a traditional (and delicious) Christmas Eve dinner the night before. I forgot to mention we also had a Thanksgiving: we even (very) successfully managed a turkey. And we opened presents together and watched a Christmas movie...the yule log even made an appearance via Lizzy's computer screen.

I'm sorry I have been inconsistent about writing....Maddie is quite upset :) Sorry, sisher. Okay, I love you all very much, and I'll write at least one more time before I leave.

your hannah

Falling in Love with the World

Oh, what to tell you of my dreamy, wandering heart? I don't know where to begin...I have so many places and experiences becoming a part of me - oh, the landscapes of my soul...ha ha. They are a tiny bookshop in Paris, where I can curl in a little nook while looking at the Notre Dome; they are the Swiss Alps - a vast beauty, where nulls of tiny villages  are tucked into great, green mountainsides, which I cannot see the bottom of  (I believe it would be like living on the edge of a dream); they are the taste of gelato in Italy; a nun riding a bike in Pisa; vague brightnesses passing the window of the train (where I probably spent at least 48 hours); green shutters; shirts, underwear, and sheets hung outside of windows; the warmth of a french bakery - where the vital comforts of the soul are born: bread and chocolate. They are me wandering a day alone in Paris: perhaps the best day of my life. It is true - Paris is the home of dreamers and romantics, especially on a rainy day in autumn. Oh, the blueness of the Atlantic water against the Italian cliffs, the feel of summer on my back, writing in my notebook with the ocean between my toes. They are simple happinesses: buying deep red mums across the street, drawing in a park bench across from Buckingham Palace: the litter of Fall making a softer world. They are a perfect latte in London where I sat on bright red lips and wrote letters. 

Oh, how I get carried away in poetics...I see people along the streets of Bath, and I think, you belong to me - in some strange, abstract, beautiful way they are apart of  who I am. I am taking an art class at the University of Bath: life drawing. I have never stared so long at someone so naked. Art has been something I've been scared of for awhile, and I hardly had drawn anything for the first hour - faint pencil marks and an overused eraser - but I finally just... drew. I never wanted to let go of my piece of charcoal or that space of time.  I have decided to minor in Art (I am taking an abstract painting class next semester).  Oh, another beautiful memory: my disgruntled bus driver passionately singing along to Dolly Parton's "9 to 5" on the freeway.

Tomorrow morning I leave for Dublin! And I just came back from Stratford-Upon-Avon: the birthplace of Shakespeare...of which I will write later. 

- your hannah

Departure

I am going to France and Italy for a week. 

I'll get back to you.

ha ha. love you all very much.

So indie punk rock you will not believe

Okay, I know I just wrote to you yesterday (so you're terribly tired of me), but I just realized that I left out a significant experience: going to an underground (literally and figuratively) indie English rock concert (it was so subterranean)! Think...skinny boys (to an uncomfortable extent). My favorite band there: Sketches (who were so indie they only had a vinyl).  The venue: Mole's (as the name suggests: a dingy club below street-level), where the musical geniuses of the night - dressed in plaid shirts and adorable sweaters - gather to revel in the unknown music scene. Sketches (http://www.myspace.com/sketchesband) was incredible, though, unfortunately, their recorded material is not nearly as good as them live (I know - how awfully pompous). At one point, the one nearest to starvation (blond, jean jacket, right) whipped out some drumsticks from his back pocket and started wildly banging the drum, standing up, with his hands high above his head, his body curving back and forth like a wishbone. It was pretty wonderful. And the best part: I found out about the concert through my housemate Kelly, who met one of the bands on the street (and casually conversed with them about her experience feeding a pidgeon). They came up to us before they went on: clearly, my "cool" indicator sky-rocketed that night (as if it could get any higher...good thing I brought my skinny jeans...). I think I want to steal the one with the purple pant's haircut.

Writing & Trying to be Thoreau (in England)

Dearest friends,

Hi. I have been writing papers for the last two weeks with very little sleep (as the photograph insinuates: all night team angst!), meaning coffee has been my only staple in the last 14 days.

But I am recovering, beginning last night with a James Bond-themed birthday party for two of my housemates, Christine and Kelly. And tonight was wonderful: We went out for sushi and then to this wonderful French café that reminded me of Amélie: red wicker chairs, French mirrors, warm, sensual colors. It was such a romantic night: misty rain outside, lit windows, chocolate, coffee (all that was missing was a lover...ha ha).  It is unreal to live here everyday: buying bananas at the market, picking up flowers at the stand down the street, sipping cider at the pub...I've been (inconsistently and not nearly as intensively as Maddie) running around my neighborhood - through little cobblestone streets, old church graveyards, ivy-covered houses, walled-in gardens, estates (with titles like Widcombe Manor), a trail along the canal...all indescribably beautiful and quaint. I find myself touching the stone walls, just to feel it is real. My favorite spot is up a hill through some grazing cows where I sit under a tree and look over all of Bath, lit with the end of the day and the colors of Autumn (think of the scenes of the countryside in the most recent Pride and Prejudice film). I know there is probably so much more to tell you, but I am tired of writing after this week, so instead I'll leave you with a poem I finished a little bit ago:

The Secret Heart

O, trees above me like stars,
dirt roads of whispers,
the river is lit with the end,
and God, weaved in me
like my mountains at home,
rests in my soul.
 
A waking lake with warm, white breath,
an early morning clinging to my insides,
I sing you a troubled song,
God in blue green waters,
I wait for you to make me beautiful.
 
I long for the Lord,
hinging between heaven and earth,
not always despair – 
I have dreams of you,
and some days of heaven –
dust settling on the lit river,
stillness in between so many sorrows
for such a blessed girl.
 
Dying days and people grow in me,
like rivers in wilderness –
finding me, leaving me;
making me strong with knowing.
I would unlearn truth for nothing.
 
Seeing worlds in this earth:
I am undone here
in the valley of trees,
my body unclothed,
myself in a moment,
naked, knowing, and unashamed.
 
How can I ever begin
the long, troubling roads
leading to this haunting Eden?
I will never feel so finished –
so loved and alone.
 
Oh, Lord, leave me here by the velvet waters
and I will praise this dust forever.

Intelligence by Osmosis

I am listening to the Jacobites (current favorite: "I Believe in You"), tucked in my bed (I have view of the garden and this college's library - which has stained glass windows), it is a perfect night - windy, dark, and warm (like something mysteriously beautiful is about to happen...), open Virginia Woolf, at freaking Oxford. I am so incredibly smart right now. I don't know if we'll ever be able to converse on the same level again.

Oxford is lovely - cobblestone streets, smartly (which means much more than intelligence in the UK...) dressed men in sweaters and satchels, thrift stores (found the £1 bin and I finally feel like myself again...).  I went to Christ Cathedral on Sunday (where Harry Potter was filmed...). I don't think I've ever seen such adorable alter boys (ten singing little eight year-olds with chubby innocent faces...). The huge organ stood over the entrance, and beautiful shadows of sunlight drifted over the silver pipes  as the priest (? Anglican church...) delivered a really wonderful sermon exploring the nature of our somewhat (ha ha, okay...sometimes a little more...) "hidden" God. It was a service unlike anything I'm used to - very formal: all the priests (again ?) wore robes, and sang in Latin...but it was very beautiful. And the doorway was lit with the beginning of the day...(where a fountain with lily pads stood in the middle of the courtyard).

Okay, since everyone has been wondering what I've been doing when I'm not A. lying in graveyards, B. diving in piles of used clothing, or C. diligently drinking cider (I really don't understand why) I will reluctantly (ha ha. as if you all didn't know what a nerd I am...) summarize my classes:

Women, Culture, and Society in the Eighteenth Century

Yeah women! This class is taught by an adorable British stereotype: Glasses, patched tweed blazer, white hair, dark eyelashes, (when I wrote of him to Abi I forgot to mention he was between 60 - 80 years old and she thought he might be a love interest...well...what's 50 years anyhow?) mumbles in a very delightful way...about the (ha hmm)  shift in women's positions during this prolific century (yes, a lot of governesses, but I think it's incredible how much women did do, and how brave some were...I'll write more later.)

The Writings of Virginia Woolf

I just read A Room of One's Own in one sitting and cried through the last ten pages. It is such a beautiful, honest, true depiction of feminism (in my opinion) and the necessity of creating a community of women who support and encourage and critique each other in their writing. It was a speech she gave to a room full of women in the beginning of the 19th century. I can't imagine what it would have been like for a constantly oppressed woman to hear this: 

Above all, you must illumine your own soul with its profundities and its shallows and its generosities, and say what your beauty means to you or your plainness, and what is your relation to the ever-changing and turning world of gloves and shoes and stuffs...

So encouraging to a woman of today (especially this one)! And her beautiful and true combination of the profound and the mundane...I was not sure of her after finishing Jacob's Room (an incredibly hard, modern, and experimental little novel), but now she has every inch of my heart...

oh, also, obviously we're comparing Woolf's Modern (oh, yeah, it gets a capital letter) tendencies with the previous (ahhh..) Victorian Era. An era my tutor characterized as when "they saw God in everything," to which I was in class thinking Crap! that is so completely me...and my very many idealistic days spent exploring the sky....oh dear. I know there's pain and suffering and angst and dark deep bleakness too! (okay, I'm being ridiculous, but  I really know I'm sometimes very ridiculous).

Have you ever tried describing your moods by literary periods? Like, all punk-like, "I'm feeling so Post-Modern today. The whole world is misery, and isn't that hilarious!..."

Worlds Beyond Oxford: C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Philip Pullman

Yes, I'm reading children's lit for class. Yes, When I say I have to go do my homework I mean I have to go re-read The Golden Compass. Yes, I know you wish you were me.

Film Screenwriting

I am most uncertain of this class. I think I'm just scared of writing. The tutor (professors in UK lingo) is wonderful - very energetic and very much a typical writer's personality: passionate, funny...actually I really have to go do homework for this class right now. Watch In Bruges. I'll let you know how it is.

...LOVE you so so much...(and how I love these never-ending ellipses!...)

Quiet life in bath

Some lovely highlights:

Spent today at the organic garden pruning and making apple juice! (and had a delicious tea in between!) Made banana cake for tomorrow's harvest party (with my new friends there!)

and for tonight's Brinner!!! (breakfast for dinner (YES.)) with my flatmates. We had hash browns, french toast, mimosas, and...nutella.

Spent last night with all seven of my housemates eating (homemade) brownie sundaes and watching Aladdin. Yes, we are THAT adorable.

Practicing guitar chords.

Reading a lot.

Went to Dyrham (where Remains of the Day was filmed) on Friday. I could see Wales from the house...

Planned a trip to Dublin with (we really do do everything together...) all my housemates for a weekend in November!

Currently planning my fall break adventure through France and Italy with Jim!

Angst, Disillusionment, and Gardening!

I lost my hat at the club (yes, Maddie, one less for you to attempt to throw away...). I am experiencing great, existential despair and loss of identity. I am not sure I will recover. 

The Organic Gardening Community!!! I went to the local community garden and fell in love. I want to spend forever there. Tim the Gardener (I already found your replacement Dad!) was one of the most beautiful souls I've ever met. The sixty year-old man won me over with his love and belief in compost. Everyone there is wonderful, they were all having tea together when I had to leave to go to class. I can't wait to go back on Saturday to start weeding/composting/cultivating happiness...

I also discovered a beautiful graveyard just up the hill from my house. It is overgrown and lovely. I sat on a gravestone for a long time writing a letter and feeling the sun turn that golden color in the late afternoon...the hills were picturesque - green with quaint English houses...I laid down on the grass and I've never seen the sky so blue and void! I came back overwhelmed and so in love with God. I just wanted to lay there forever (I know I am being ridiculous! but I can't help it - nature evokes such joy in me...ha ha! but, oh how I relate to those Romantic poets...). Oh, and I finished a poem! Which is exciting.

I love you all so much! I hope I am not writing too much or too often, but soon I will be a slave to my studies....ha ha. Good night!

Going Underground

First off, I'll start with how much I love my flatmates - the residents of 31 Prior Park stay up late watching movies and comedy skits (latest: the hilarious British drag queen Eddie Izzard), have (AND make) dinner together, go watch the latest football (soccer, for you yanks) match at the Ram, have impromptu sing-a-longs, go together to market, are planning an epic thriller reenactment in Bath's main square, make midnight brownies (with Nutella), go out clubbing together...

which brings me to: Po Na Na. Yes, you are jealous. The underground Moroccan dance club (think stucco-like walls, low ceilings, and candle-lit rooms) recently had Cheese Night, an evening of absolute classics: Spice Girls, Buffalo Joe, Nsync, Footloose, S Club 7, everything 80s, and possibly every other wonderfully awful song (or artist) you've ever heard! And, let me add, I love  British men. No, you ridiculous romantics, it's not their eyes - it's their dancing! Because they dance with each other! These beautiful men have no qualms about grabbing another bloke's waist and waltzing round the dance floor! Fantastic! Cheese Night = massive eternal dancing success! (like my adaptive British slang?)

Now for today: Americans are Americans are Americans. Yes, Stonehenge was freaking amazing! (how the heck did THAT happen?!), the Salisbury cathedral was BEAUTIFUL (I don't know how to begin to describe it. It was like stepping into...I don't know...a huge blue dream...), I saw Snape's cauldron, and I love Yorkshire pudding, but the greatest part of today had to be when the Americans (all fifty of them) crashed the British birthday party. Oh yeah. Think charming celebration with a lovely band (beatles, beach boys, etc - all in the 50s swing style) having a nice old time, when, suddenly, the Americans come into the private back garden and start dancing (it seems to be one thing we've got down...). Completely took over. Got an 80 year-old British man to dance on top of a table (along with several others, including the inn keeper), brought out the American flag (yes, literally), and completely took the house down (our school staff included). 

Other side notes:

Transplanted the mint, basil, and parsley into bigger pots yesterday afternoon (Yes, Dad - I started a garden!)

Started doing my homework - reading children's literature! I get to read all 6 chronicles of narnia! and lord of the rings!

The English countryside is like being in heaven.

And, Abbey pals: worry no longer! I have plenty of dishes to do (8 people seem to bring in around the same sort of consistency as our beloved coffee shop! Even washed a french press today - that's right, you created a monster).

The Ram

Let me just say, everything you've imagined  is true: dark, inviting rooms, locals teasing The Americans ("Give him the full pint of the rough cider, Jimmy"), cricket, fish & chips, old, friendly Englishmen exchanging daily banter - everything. And, just a block away from my flat, The Ram (soon to be, if not already, "my" pub) is no exception.

My experience:

Hard Cider. Delicious. (I got the lighter brew, and just 1/2 a pint, despite Jimmy...)

Beans on Toast. (My reasoning: cheap and decidedly English) Bartender (Julian, who's, sadly, currently ailing from a bad hand that a drunk tourist fell on) : "You come all the way from America for beans on toast?! WE make much better than that, love!" (in his growly, thick English accent - yes: love).

Champagne. Just an inch of the most beautiful tasting stuff I've ever had.

Grocery Shopping = 8 Americans carrying orange bags half a mile across town to our (slightly) out of the way bungalow (never much for standing out...).

Tea. Everyday. Every hour.

Growing basil and mint in the kitchen window.

Tomorrow - THE LIBRARY.

Yes, a dream...

Dearest Friends and Family,

            I am writing this to you (or was, before I typed it here) sitting against a tree, slowly overtaken by this quaint, English beauty! The sky is wide – blue and soft like a Chagall painting. The river (ohh…) is beautiful. It is the first thing I found when I left my hostel Saturday morning, and I began my first day writing and reading by it – the River Avon – sitting on a bench beside these adorable boats. I’m not sure what they’re called, but they’re long and skinny and I want one! The houses along the river are some of the most idealistic homes I’ve ever seen – their gardens open to the water! I will spend many hours here.

            Everything here is like a fairy tale. Stone houses with red doors, long, rambling countryside, fine English pubs…the town is a bit touristy, but the surrounding areas are lovely, and the churches – oh. Some of the most beautiful buildings I’ve ever seen. It is strange being here – so much like a dream, and yet it is only a place! And now that it’s real, it’s changed…(Oh dear. Over philosophizing already!). I have spent two days exploring the city by myself, and today I moved into my house (on Prior Park Road! Don’t you want to be here…). It is lovely. My room is on the top floor and feels like an attic (so terribly romantic!).

I will stop boring you now, except for this (a beautiful poem by Yeats I found on the window of a bookshop here):

He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

 

Love your silly, ridiculous, hannah banana

Taking a Bath

Hi friends! I love you all, and can't wait to share my terribly romantic adventures with you (rain, tea, wool sweaters, desolate moors...I'm not sure I'll return...oh, just joshing). As I have yet to leave, I'll just say goodbye, and next time write of old English rock, Captain Wentworth's love letter, and hot, lovely butter beer...

I arrive in Bath, England tomorrow night.

Love! hannah