Epilogue (Part the Second)

When I woke the next morning, there wasn’t the expected tickle of butterflies which usually accompany huge life events. If you went by the way I felt, it could have been any other morning. I went about my routine, had a quick bite of something, cup of tea, I dressed (a rather nicer outfit than was usual I’ll grant you), and I did all those morning things you do. Where were my butterflies? I felt a bit robbed of my right to anxiety as someone about to embark upon the next stage of life.  

Sam had kindly offered to drop me near Palace Green on her way to take the girls to school. I smiled and waved at them as I closed the door to her Jeep and crossed the road, heading towards Kingsgate and the Cathedral and my destiny (come on, it’s graduation, let me have some melodrama). It wasn’t quite daylight yet and the dark blue, purple sky hung heavy overhead with clouds. I hoped the forecast would be proved wrong but at the moment, it did rather look like it would rain on our parade. I walked over the familiar cobbles and up toward the green. It wasn’t very crowded yet, just a few people in robes and their entourages. I thought back to a year ago when I had seen last year’s crop of graduates and wouldn’t have been surprised had I seen Past Jen staring at me across the green.

I headed to the music department to pick up my robes. I hoped that the deliveryman had come after I left as much as to put the poor shopkeeper at ease as to provide me with the correct hood. The queue wasn’t very long and soon I was greeted by said shopkeeper who recognised me immediately.

“The correct hoods were delivered yesterday at 4:00, can you believe it,” she explained exasperatedly. “It’s all the way it should be now.”

I expressed my relief and smiled as she handed me the rather heavy clothes hanger. She pointed down the hall.

“They’ll be able to help you put them on and fix the hood for you.”

I thanked her warmly and headed off in the direction she had pointed. On my way I was stopped by two official looking ladies behind a table. Not for the first time that day I had to check my name against a long list of graduands. I thanked them and finally made it to the robing room. There were about six or seven helpers who were draping excited looking soon-to-be alumni in black. I was called to a woman who had just finished with a fresh-faced undergraduate bedecked in a white fur-trimmed hood. I felt quite jealous that the undergraduates had nicer hoods than us postgrads. She helped me on with the robe and then I ducked down to let her drape the hood over my head. It was pinned in place and I was given instructions for adjusting it as they did have a tendency to slip backwards on the shoulders. I rather think this had the effect of choking the graduand and wondered if this might not be the final test to pass before being allowed into the Durham University alumni club.

I had enough time to have my pictures taken before heading toward the castle to queue up for the march into the Cathedral. I was quite lost in my thoughts when I heard a familiar voice call my name. It was Sophie walking with her mum and fiancé. She was in her robes and smiling. I rushed over and gave her a hug. I couldn’t believe it had been four months.

“Are you off to have your photos taken?” she asked. I nodded.

“Right I’ve just done mine. Can you believe the undergrads have nicer hoods than us?”

I laughed.

“I was thinking the same thing!” I replied.

“We’re just going to be sitting over on that bench. Come find us when you’re done,” she said.

I said I would and then headed off to have my photo taken. Now, graduands at Durham do not wear mortar boards. Apparently this stems from the first year women were allowed to enter the university. The petulant male students, in protest, through their mortar boards into the river and they haven’t been worn since. (I think it’s high time they were worn again, but that’s neither here nor there.) When having your official photographs taken, you do have the option of wearing the cap. To show solidarity with all female graduates of the university across all of time, I opted to do this. (Also, I just really like wearing them!) In two flashes of the camera, I was done and ushered back out on the green.

I met up with Sophie again and soon we were joined by Alex, James, and Jasmine. Jeremy and Kate were stuck in the queue for robes but we knew we would see them soon. We tried to account for everyone on our course. We were anxious to hear everyone’s news and hoping to see as many of our motley crew as possible. Once Jeremy and Kate had successfully retrieved their regalia, we walked en masse toward the castle.

I took this while waiting for everyone to appear before
me walked over to the castle. It was very sunny at this point.
The clouds had been shooed away by our collective happiness.

Once inside the Great Hall we managed to find Boya, Jingyu, and Brian. We sighted Joe and Robert as well across the crowded room. I thought back to the dinner Sophie and I had had in that room back in the first month of coming to Durham. It looked quite different now. The tables were gone and the sun was shining through the windows. We all stood catching up as much as we could. We remembered fun stories about Robin being a werewolf and wondering if he would be at the ceremony given the proximity to the full moon.

Never have I more keenly felt the effects of the fourth dimension. Time’s tide had once again reunited us, but even as I stood there smiling and chatting, I felt it pushing us ever further from that shore which we had once shared. Never again would that group of people be assembled in this place. Even now we were missing friends, Erin, Amanda, Lauren, Kate G., Sara, Gemma; our circle wasn’t complete without all of them. I began thinking about the people I used to see in passing and realising that even if I returned to Durham, it wouldn’t be the same. It could never be the same because the people of the Durham I knew wouldn’t be there. A place isn’t the same if the people you knew and loved aren’t there.

Soon a large man with the most amazing booming voice caught our attentions. Alex and I immediately agreed he was the most incredible presence we had yet seen in Durham. He carried himself the way an operatic tenor would; confident in his ability to control a room solely with the power of his voice. He explained the procedure for the morning. We would be checking our names with several lists as we processed into the Cathedral. We would be walking in with a partner who “was the most important person in our lives from this moment.” Alex and I looked at each other hoping that because our names were very close alphabetically we would be partnered up.

He began to read from a magnificently long list of names. As people were called they filed out of the crowd and out of the castle. Now the anxiety began to hit me. I was terrified of not hearing my name. There were so many to be read and I knew my attention had the tendency to wonder. On and on he read. Suppose my name got lost somewhere? Name after name after name. He hasn’t read out any of our names yet. That’s probably a good sign I hadn’t missed it. More names poured out of him. I recognised a few of them as acquaintances and friends I had had at Ustinov. He finished with, “That concludes the first half of the ceremony. The rest of you lot are in the second half.”

I breathed a sigh of relief and it was very soon after he began reading the second half of names that mine was called. I was disappointed that Alex and I were not partnered but he ended up being in the pair right behind me and even more fortunately, Sophie was in the pair right behind his. We marched out into the grey Durham morning. It was chilly and I put my hands inside my robe to warm them.

We stood waiting for the rest of the group to be put in the processional order. My name was checked against another list as we waited. Finally all were present. Our friend with the booming voice stood on the steps of the castle. He addressed us again and imbued us with the importance of the occasion. We were made to do several cheers and a wave. (This we were made to do a second time as our enthusiasm, perhaps due to the cold or perhaps due to the absurdity of the situation, was less than stellar.) Then we began the walk from the castle, through the gate, across the green, and into the Cathedral.

Congregation (as graduation was called at Durham) is a rather odd event. Well, graduation ceremonies in general are odd events. You wear a funny costume, march into a grand building before the important people in your life, listen to elders speak about the future and your obligations to society, then you shake hands with a presiding official as your name and degree are read out for all to hear, and when you march out again, you are somehow transformed. You have gone from student to alumna; from graduand to graduate (an important distinction my English friends clarified for me); from Bachelor to Master. All because you shook someone’s hand and had your name read out. Well, I suppose the year of work had something to do with it as well.

Throughout the ceremony, we were entertained by monitors which at times showed images of our procession, the faces of the audience, the faces of all of us, and all of the hand shaking done by the Vice Chancellor. When it finally came time for me, I stood off to the side as a Scottish woman read out my name (mispronouncing my surname). Then I walked up and shook hands. The Vice Chancellor (whose hands must have been smarting by now), took my hand.

“Congratulations,” he said with a smile.

“Thank you so much,” I returned.

This is professional photo taken by Ede and Ravenscroft photographers.

Then I stepped off the podium and made my way back to a seat. That was it. Because I was first of us, I did get to see everyone else go up and shake hands. It really was quite remarkable. We really had done it. It really was the end.

After the ceremony, we processed out to the green where we hugged, took pictures, and chatted again about all of our plans. Some of us broke up and went off with family. A few of us made plans to go to the department to pick up our final papers and then go off to New Inn.

Now a graduate and alumna!

The department was crowded by the time we got there. There had been a last minute email sent out about a reception with wine and nibbles but when we finally got there, there was neither wine nor nibbles. We picked up our papers and looked for Robin. He hadn’t been at the ceremony and –

Just then we saw Ben coming towards us. I hadn’t realised how tall he was until I was standing next to him and Jeremy who himself stood at 6’4”. I turned to Alex for reassurance about my height. Ben was now head of the Museum and Artefact Studies programme and he polled each of us regarding where we were with our careers. Before I left Durham, he had offered me some pointers about doing a PhD so he was well aware of what direction I was heading in. He talked to us a bit about some of the changes he had made and, in his very enthusiastic way, asked us the best method of forming an alumni network through social media. When he had finished pumping us for input and information and congratulated all of us on our accomplishments, he excused himself and we were left standing in the corner of the corridor.

“Do you want to see if Robin is in his office?” I asked everyone.

We had come this far and not to see Robin felt rather wrong. We all ventured down the hall toward his office. It was much cooler and quieter in this part of the building. We reached his door and saw him at his desk working. Shyness came over all of us. No one wanted to knock. Finally, I went ahead and knocked a few times.

When he opened the door we found the same old Robin standing there. Ginger hair a bit unkempt, and his whole demeanour a bit distracted. If ever there was a living example of J.K. Rowling’s Professor Lupin, Robin is it. He congratulated us all and apologised for not being able to make it to the ceremony. He had apparently been fighting a nasty cold. We all exchanged covert looks knowing full well he was recovering from his latest transformation. As we stood chatting at his door Dr. Caple came bounding down the hall. The last time we had seen him had been over a year ago. He had abandoned us on research leave much to our collective disappointment. He shook each of our hands and congratulated us before heading off to his office. Robin convinced us to head back to the reception where we talked about our plans. Finally, he bade us farewell and headed back to his den, er office. It was sad to watch him go and we felt terribly sad for this year’s crop of Museum and Artefact Studies students as they didn’t have Robin for their lecturer as he was on research leave.

By now we were all hungry. Jasmine headed off to have lunch with her family leaving Jeremy, Alex, James, and I to head over to New Inn. We spent a good three hours eating, rehashing the past four months, reminiscing, and being nostalgic as is the right of every person who has just undergone a big life event. It was perfect and surreal. Surreal in that it still felt that we would all walk back to Howlands and to our rooms and see each other at a lecture tomorrow.

James had to go off for dinner with his family. And then there were three. We took ourselves off to the Nine Altars for tea and carried on the reminiscing. It was seven when we were kicked out for closing and Alex had to head back to meet up with his parents. As we stood out on the cobbles near Framwell Gate Bridge, I felt a huge rush of sadness. I didn’t know the next time I would see him. It had been different four months ago. I knew I’d see him at graduation. Now...

Jeremy and I walked to the Slug and Lettuce. He had plans to meet up with his former flatmates Sophie and Becca. Both had sung in choir and I was anxious to see them again and I wasn’t ready to call it a night. If I had had my way, that day would have stretched on into eternity so I wouldn’t have to say goodbye to anyone. Unfortunately, I haven’t yet built a working TARDIS and eventually the evening did come to an end and I found myself walking back through the darkened streets of Durham toward Sam’s flat.

The next morning I had arranged to have tea with Rune and Jen at Flat White. We had a marvellously long chat and it was then that I felt my new life begin. Both Rune and Jen were PhD researchers (Jen in her writing up stage) and speaking with them really felt like I had turned the page. Like many of the conversations I had had that weekend, we spoke about the last four months and about future plans, but now, for the first time, I felt ready to tackle those future plans. I felt confident.

As I headed toward the station, and drank in Market Square for the last time that Durham would ever be the Durham of my recollections, I found that I was ready to return to Leicester and start the new chapter. I wasn’t sad this time either. I was really quite happy. How could I be sad when I looked on the year I spent in Durham? It had been the best year I had known. Gosh there were ups and downs and terrible points, but there were amazing points, triumphs, and I had found myself feeling closer to people than I had ever felt before. The tide had brought us all together for an incredible year and now it was taking us off in different directions. We were all changed though. We had changed each other and we had left our mark, even if only in our hearts, on Durham.

As the train pulled out of the station, I looked once more at that Cathedral. I looked and looked until it disappeared behind me. I turned to my backpack and pulled out a book and settled in for another long journey. 

Epilogue (Part the First)

I had been riding on the Cross Country train for nearly two hours when the countryside began to take on a more familiar guise. It had been four months since I had seen the landscape of County Durham and yet those four months seemed like another lifetime. They were. My brain has a rather unsettling capacity to compartmentalise based on my circumstances. When I was home in the US, my life in England had felt like a very distant dream. It felt like it had never really happened. I had only manufactured the medieval cathedral city with its charming cobbles and friendly Northerners with at time incomprehensible accents. Now that I was fifteen minutes away from those streets, my life in the US is what felt like a dream. I scanned the blurred scenery passing quickly outside of the window much like my racing thoughts. I was anxious to see the Cathedral. Reader, you simply must take the train when you go to Durham. It is by far the most fantastic view when all of a sudden that striking edifice appears almost out of nowhere, as if my magic. As if it really were Hogwarts, hidden from Muggle eyes, but becoming inexplicably visible to us magic-folk.

There it was!

This is the best view British Rail has to offer...

I couldn’t contain my smile. The feeling of warmth, of home, flooded my senses. It was still there. Of course it was. Did I actually believe something would have happened over the past four months to change that? It had stood for a thousand years and it would likely still be there a thousand years after my congregation ceremony the next morning.

I stood up and gathered my suitcase and went to the vestibule. I texted Sam one more time to make sure she was on her way. It had been so kind of her to offer me a place to stay while I was in town. The hotels had miraculously raised their rates almost as if they had anticipated that hundreds of graduands and their families would be seeking a place to stay this week.

The train slowed and I stepped out onto that platform that had carried me away to so many places over the past year and a half. I began thinking about the hiking trip we had taken along Hadrian’s Wall, the trips down to London, my birthday in Newcastle before we all really knew one another.

As I headed to the front of the station I saw Sam’s jeep pulling up to the roundabout. It was too surreal. How many times had we done this on our way to CrossFit? I laughed when I saw her mentioning the irony that she was still picking me up and carting me around. We picked up right where we had left off. Somehow it was perfect. Sam had been the last person I had said goodbye to when I left Durham. She was the first person to see me again now I was back.

We first headed to the robe makers. I wanted to pick them up and pay for them so that I wouldn’t have to worry about it the next morning. We spent a good twenty minutes driving around trying to find it. It was a good way to see Durham again. Finally, we found the narrow street and Sam dropped me off so I could run in. I was greeted by a friendly, middle-aged woman who, upon hearing the door, looked up anxiously.

“Oh, hello there,” she said. The Northern accent washed over me. I was so glad to hear it again. I explained I was there to pick up my robes and her face fell.

“Well, actually, there’s been a bit of a mix up. They’ve sent the wrong hoods! They are the right design but the wrong material. I was hoping that you were the delivery man, he was supposed to be here two hours ago,” she continued on in her friendly way, apologising over and over. “They will be right for tomorrow though, I can guarantee that.”

I smiled and assured her it would be fine. I paid for them and then I did just try them on, wrong hood be damned. I looked in the mirror and smiled. Every moment of my year in Durham seemed to converge. Every moment had been necessary to get me to this point where I was standing in a tiny robe maker’s shop, staring at a mirror, clad in black Harry Potter-like robes with a shiny, incorrect hood. It was perfect.

I smiled at the shopkeeper and thanked her. I would be seeing her the next morning to pick up the correct robes. I found Sam at the top of the road and we drove off to her flat. I dropped off my things and packed my backpack with CrossFit clothes. We planned to meet at her daughters’ schools and go to the 5:30 class at Jacana. I was starved for exercise and I couldn’t wait to see everyone again. Until then, I planned to walk about town and hopefully meet with Mizah who had just arrived in Durham herself. Sam dropped me off near town centre and I headed toward Market Square where Mizah had said she would be.

As I walked the familiar streets it felt very much like the whole of the city had been put on pause while I was away. No. It felt like I hadn’t been away at all. Like I had gone to bed the night before in my study bedroom and had wakened four months later, a sort of Rip Van Winkle effect. A shop here or there was changed, but everything else was perfectly normal. I rounded the corner and entered Market Square. Across the way I saw the familiar form of my flatmate.

Seeing Mizah across Market Square felt the most natural thing. Of course she was there. This is where she lives. Except, she doesn’t. Not anymore. And for that matter, nor do I. We hugged and instantly began chatting about anything and everything. Her parents were in the market so we headed inside to meet them. Her mother I remembered very well from her visit to Durham while we were still students. Now I also got to meet her dad. Together we headed toward the Cathedral.

“It’s like we never left,” I said to Mizah.

“I know I feel the same way,” she said.

We emerged onto Palace Green it was already prepared for the next day’s events. We paused for a few photo opportunities and then headed across to the Cathedral entrance. It had scaffolding around it and both Mizah and I hoped it would be gone by the next morning.

Not by best photo of the Cathedral but you do get to see an English traffic cone. BONUS!

Never saw this marker the entire time I was in Durham.
I even worked up at Palace Green and walked by it every day.

The Cathedral was bathed in purple light. Monitors were placed every few rows to afford everyone a good view of the proceedings. Chairs were placed along the side aisles and in both transepts. It was a grand setting. We slowly wound our way around, taking everything in and trying to drink up as much of our surroundings as we could. Knowing too well our time was limited. We headed out to the cloisters and were disappointed to see more evidence of construction. It seemed like they had chosen that time to do some remediation (a necessary thing to be sure, though it wasn’t very attractive). We stopped by the lego cathedral in the shop area to check on its progress. We were delighted to see just how far it had come. It seemed nearly done.

I bought a few bricks before I left Durham in September. If you're interested in more info, you can check it out here: http://www.durhamcathedral.co.uk/visit/what-to-visit/durham-cathedral-lego-build

The light was fading and I had to be off to meet Sam again. I hugged Mizah and the feeling of finality struck me severely. When we had said goodbye four months ago we had been able to reassure ourselves that we would see one another soon. Now, I wasn’t sure when I would next get to see her.

I began walking south toward the Dawson building. If I had time I might just pop in and see how things were and maybe pick up my thesis. I had just got to New Inn when I looked across the road and saw–

It was Alex!

Now this was far too surreal. Alex was waiting to cross the road like I had seen him do a dozen times when our paths would cross in Durham as students. We smiled and laughed from across the road and waited for the traffic to stop so we could finally actually say hi.

I ran up and gave him a huge hug. I had missed Alex tremendously and seeing him again was wonderful. We laughed at the absurdity of meeting the way we did and then began talking about the past four months. About being out of touch with everyone, about careers and PhDs, about the ceremony and the department, about Robin and the full moon. I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I walked down to Howlands, I would magically find my room key in my pocket, I’d walk into the old flat and see Mizah in the kitchen and maybe run into Erin on the way to my room. It all felt too normal and the past four months felt even more dream-like.

I knew I was running late for Sam and so I hugged Alex again and assured him I would see him tomorrow. I met her just as she was picking up her daughters. We were both excited to be headed to CrossFit that night. It would be her first time back in a long while since she had dislocated her elbow and since she had been ill. The class didn’t disappoint.Seeing everyone again and getting back to the place where I had first started felt great. Especially after I had been making loads of good progress State-side. I think it was the perfect way to spend the evening before graduation. (It was also a good exercise in my maths skills when I had to convert LBS to KG.)

Afterward, we headed back to Sam’s and settled in for a nice, relaxed evening. Sam I stayed up to nearly midnight catching up. I went to sleep that night feeling much more at ease than I had since I had gotten back to the UK.

Wanted: An American in Durham for the Crime of Not Updating her Blog

The arrival of a new year seems to inspire reflection and somewhat melancholic thoughts in many bloggers. We think about the huge events from the past year and try to recapture some of the good feelings. We mourn the losses we suffered and try to inject some meaning into our own lives.

I have been less inclined to go through this ritual than in past years. Perhaps it is because I stand on the precipice of beginning another adventure, this time in Leicester and this time it will be a three year mission. My thoughts inevitably are turned forward rather than backward. I step on a plane in two days and quite honestly I have no idea what to expect beyond landing at Heathrow, catching a coach to my new home, and hopefully finding myself relishing this decision to chase a PhD. There is of course graduation as well. I’ll have a chance to see Durham again and to reconnect with friends I haven’t seen in four months.

I am trying to remember how I felt two days before I left for Durham back in September 2013. I cannot seem to recapture it. I know I was much better organised then than I am now. I haven’t even brought my suitcases up from the basement yet to begin packing. I know I have repeated the goodbyes with my friends, though this time it feels so much more difficult. Is it the length of my programme that is the cause? I’ve been trying to analyse this phenomenon without much success. I guess it’s harder the second time around. I think, too, I am questioning this decision much more than the decision I made to get my master’s degree. I’m not as sure that it is the right decision. I think time will help me reach a conclusion on that.

What was that I was saying about being disinclined to wax poetic over the past year? I am quite fickle. How about just over the past four months when my posts have been sparse or non-existent? When I first returned I was in a fury of energy which spawned many projects. I created a photo album for all of my grandmother’s pictures, made some important discoveries in my family history research, helped my mom organise forty years of photographs (somewhat to museum standards), and worked on some art projects. I've hit some amazing PRs in CrossFit while I've been home and made some great friends at the box. I reconnected with friends, visited some old stomping grounds, and grew closer to family. I was able to squish my ferrets whenever they allowed (and sometimes under their protestations). I had a fantastic Halloween night, helping my friend set up a little trick or treat questing in his backyard for the neighbourhood kids. I went to Longwood Gardens a few times and finally made it up to New York City on New Year’s Day. There were tonnes of things I didn’t get around to doing, but those things don’t seem to matter too much.

Pumpkins from Halloween

I played a very odd witch who sent kids on a quest to find skulls around the backyard.
They got a piece of candy for each skull they brought.

The chrysanthemum festival at Longwood Gardens.

Chase was a good helper with the Christmas decorating.

Enzo, Lamborghini, and Chase in their favourite napping place.
It's a drawer in a side table.

Throughout this time, I was working on getting my visa, student debt, er…loans, and finding housing in Leicester. Though I had been through this all before, the second time around was much more difficult. I am going to blame that on my misplaced sense of expertise. I had done it all before, why should I be as over organised and concerned as I had two years ago? This false sense of security led me to apply for my visa before having confirmation of my loans which had I not received that confirmation a day before I had to submit my application would have resulted in a rejection of my visa and the UK Border Agency pocketing my £310 application fee. It is also somewhat responsible for the housing debacle I arranged for myself. I waited until November to get in touch with an estate agent connected to the university. Though they assured me there was a flat available at the location I wanted, two weeks of hearing nothing from them sent me into fits of anxiety. When they did return my emails the flat had disappeared but they assured me they were working on it. In the meantime I applied for university housing. The next day I had an offer of housing from the university and another flat at the same location as the one which had fallen through. This initiated another bout of anxiety as a grappled with which situation to take. I finally opted for the flat and electronically signed the letting agreement and paying for the first five months of rent.

So I have a visa, I have my loans, I have a place to live. I step on a plane in two days and I haven’t yet packed. I think that brings us all up to date for the moment. It is likely my next post will be from jolly, old England. I imagine typing it, while sitting in my new flat and sipping a cuppa. As much as I have felt unconvinced about this latest adventure, I do feel a glimmer of excitement beginning in the pit of an otherwise anxiety filled stomach. Nothing is written in stone and I have learned that life often sends us to places to do things we least expect. I honestly have no idea what I’m in store for, whether it is the right thing I am doing, who I will meet along the way, and what I will see. I think I’m just going to take everything as it comes without any expectation. Seems to be the best way to go about things.

Happy 2015, dear Reader. I do hope you enjoy the ride.

Fall Madness

An odd thing happens to me around the middle of September. I begin to get this insatiable itch for pumpkin flavoured everything, I crave caramel apple cider, and the only things I seem to want to do involve apple picking, pumpkin picking, going on hayrides, and driving out to see fall foliage. This oddly incurable condition which affects 1 in 1 Americans is aptly named Fall Madness*. 

As much as I adore England, there is no place in the world I would rather be for autumn than the eastern seaboard of the United States. I have never been able to put my finger on why, but autumn here seems to wrap you up in a well-worn blanket of colour, spices, and crisp, beautiful fall days. It has and always will be my favourite time of the year. A time when I can’t help but imagine Washington Irving’s descriptions of Sleepy Hollow, New York and think about eating all the pumpkin things, and bake with maple syrup, mace, cinnamon, and allspice.

Since I’ve arrived back in the US I have managed to do some of my favourite fall things like apple picking at the local farm, baking cookies, and yesterday I managed to add a new fall favourite to my list and went out to Longwood Gardens. Those of you who have been following my adventures for a while know how much I love being outside and love wandering around gardens. So you’ll understand when I tell you that of all the botanic gardens I’ve been to, Longwood is my most favourite. I’ve even gotten in an evening of sailing on the river.

I’ve managed to share these special days with my closest friends which has made them all the more special. Dear Reader, I implore you to get out and enjoy autumn in all its splendour. Do ALL the fall things! 

A fall staple: Pumpkin Spice Cookies with vanilla glaze.

My Fall Madness presented with a manic need to bake something pumpkin flavoured. Thankfully my nine-year old niece was over for a visit and I recruited her to help. I couldn't stop talking about pumpkin this and pumpkin that. By the time we got to the stage of putting the dough onto the cookie sheets I finally got around to the most important question. 

I turned to my very patient niece and demanded more than asked, "You like pumpkin don't you?"

She looked at me sympathetically, "Well, it's not really my favourite thing."

Suddenly the past hour flashed before my eyes. My niece had been dropping subtle hints the entire time. Saying things like, "I don't like pumpkin pie but I do like apple pie." I began to laugh. 

"Next time we'll make apple spice cookies," I said.

Sometimes Fall Madness can make you jump in the air while you are in the middle of an apple orchard.

After the pumpkin spice incident, I decided to try to hide the symptoms of my fall madness as best I could. Then the message came from my good friend, Erika. She wanted to go apple picking. I tried to contain my excitement. APPLE PICKING! THE QUINTESSENTIAL FALL ACTIVITY!

We went to the local farm during one of their fall festival weekends and meandered up and down the rows of Red Delicious, Granny Smith, and Golden Delicious. The names of each species rang magically in our ears and we couldn't help but pick, pick, pick. Our bags became increasingly weighed down by our bounty. Erika stopped for some decorative gourds as well. After all it IS decorative gourd season. I managed to resist the temptation of the gourds, though they seemed to sing out like the Sirens straight out of the Odyssey.

Longwood Gardens in Autumn is a site to behold.

It is as though my friends cruelly feed my Fall Madness. Just a few weekends after my apple picking trip, my best friend, Laurie suggested a visit to Longwood Gardens. We've already established that Longwood is my favourite botanic garden so how could I resist Longwood in the autumn. 

We wandered past the Italian Water Garden, starkly green and blue against the leaves of the trees which were just starting to turn. We skipped through the meadow and past the most beautifully orange maple tree, standing as a Fall Sentinel at the side of one of the paths. The orangery was filled with ornamental peppers and yellow Lollipop flowers. We had an amazingly decadent lunch at the 1906 restaurant where we received a taste of the most amazing apple spice tea. 

As we were leaving, Laurie convinced me to get a student membership card as it would pay itself off at the next visit. How could I resist more autumnal flowers and meanderings?

As the season presses on, I should warn that there may be another post or two involving pumpkin carving, Thanksgiving baking and cooking, and hayrides and apple cider. Fall Madness does not end until I see Santa at the Thanksgiving Day parade in New York. (I suppose that's similar to the old adage, it ain't over til the fat lady sings....) Fall Madness ain't over til the Jolly Man laughs.


* I am not a medical professional. I you feel like you may be suffering from Fall Madness I suggest you contact your GP or alternatively call into your local Starbucks and order a venti Pumpkin Spice Latte.

The Pause Button

I’ve been back in the US for a month. The memories of my year in Durham have begun to fade ever so slightly; making it seem as though it were all a dream. I’ve fallen into a sort of routine here. Wake up. Go to CrossFit. Come home. Shower. Eat lunch. Do something semi-productive. Eat dinner. Go to bed. Repeat. Peppered in between are outings with friends and family. Those are the times I look forward to the most.

My year abroad though dream-like now, has certainly changed my perspective. I feel much closer to the people I left behind and being able to spend time with them has been very important. It has begun to make my return to England in January feel much more difficult than I had anticipated. I received word from Leicester that I have been accepted into the PhD programme and I accepted their offer last Friday. I can’t describe how excited I am to start a new adventure in a few months but it is bittersweet all the same.

I can’t get over this feeling of nostalgia I’ve had for the past two weeks. It began when I suggested to my parents that we visit my dad’s parent’s graves. I had never been to see them and I’ve been getting stuck into our family history and wanted very much to try to connect to the people I’ve been researching. Especially my grandfather as I never knew him. He served in both World Wars and was a Major by the end of WWII. I have only a few pictures of him and I know he was fluent in French (he was from Quebec) and that at one point he was a tailor and had taught my dad the proper way to iron trousers. We visited the cemetery and placed flowers on the graves.

A week later I felt ready to visit my grandmother’s grave. She passed away in January and I hadn’t been able to leave England to attend her funeral. My parents and I made plans to visit the cemetery. I must admit it felt odd standing at my grandmom’s grave. I had visited there many times to put wreaths on the stone for my grandfather, but this time it felt different. I couldn’t help thinking that under the ground my grandmother was lying there now. She is the first person I have been close to that has passed away and I wasn’t entirely sure what I was feeling.

We left the cemetery and went to meet up with some old family friends, John and Ollie. I have vivid memories of them and it had been a number of years since I had seen them last. I remember John always had me in stitches with his Donald Duck voice and Ollie was always filled with life. It was really great seeing them again and being able to connect with both of them as an adult. The feeling of nostalgia that had started a week before hit fever pitch on the drive home while my parents and I talked about “the good ole days.”

Nostalgia is a funny emotion. It is not at all a happy one. It is bittersweet and filled with a longing that can never really ever be realised. I began thinking about moving abroad again and an odd, overwhelming desire to hit the pause button on my life in the US struck me. I suppose in a way it is a very selfish feeling. I don’t want to miss anything. I don’t want to miss my nieces growing up, I don’t want to miss birthdays, I don’t want to miss Monday evening dinners at my friends Laurie and Lloyd’s house. It’s more than that though; it’s the odd feeling of time perpetually working its magic. It’s the not being able to rewind life just to get that taste that the hunger of nostalgia craves.

I do beg your pardon for the odd, slightly depressed nature of this post. To be honest, I’ve been really very happy over the past weeks. It has been brilliant seeing people, and connecting to everyone again. It is inevitable that in revisiting old stomping grounds that nostalgia would rear its head. If anything it reminds us that each moment is a really important and irreplaceable gift. I intend to make the most of the next few months here and when I move to Leicester, you better believe I’ll do my best to make every moment of those three years count. 

A Year (Almost) in Durham

It’s hard to imagine that a year ago I was just settling into bed for my first night in Durham. The memories from that day seem so vivid right now. The exhaustion from all of the goodbyes and the long flights, the incredible anxiety over finding my way in a brand new place (indeed a brand new country), the loneliness of knowing absolutely no one. I don’t consider time to be a linear thing at all. In fact, I feel as though I’m looking at Past Jen through a thin veil and I feel so excited for all the amazing things she is about to experience and I have experienced. It’s going to be an incredible year for Past Jen.

I’ve been back in the United States for two weeks now. It has been an interesting transition. I have managed to see some of my really dear friends (and was able to be in one of their weddings), I have unpacked all six of my suitcases, I’ve started CrossFit at my new box, and I’ve even managed to get some artwork done.

Truthfully, the move back to the US had been giving me great anxiety (I still have some). When you travel and live in a different place for an extended period of time, you change. Sometimes the changes are imperceptible but in my case, the changes have been on the order of St. Paul’s Cathedral. I feel out of place here now, like a puzzle piece in the wrong box. It is apparently a normal feeling for ex-Pats who come back, but it is unsettling.

I’m still uncertain about the future. I can only imagine Future Jen sitting somewhere behind the veil smiling about my present trepidation. In a week I will have a Skype interview for my PhD application at Leicester. Perhaps in a week I will know what Future Jen is smiling about. Perhaps, I won’t know for a while longer. In any case, I wish Past Jen the best wishes for an exciting year and I, for the moment, think I need a cup of tea, Earl Gray, hot while I sit with my memories. 

Farewell, Dear Durham

One year ago I was beginning to say my farewells to my friends in the United States. There were dinners, deep conversations, long hugs, and tears. How odd to be in England now going through the same sort of transitional period with my friends here. It seems, as I get older, that partings have become more and more frequent. I find that many people come into my life and are here for a short while and then we say goodbyes. Thanks to modern technology those goodbyes aren’t usually permanent. Our friendships pass into a different phase of messaging, exchanging likes, and Skype sessions.

I’m finding myself more conflicted in emotions than ever about this latest round of partings. I will be seeing most of my friends when I return to Durham in January for graduation and perhaps I will be staying on in England after that for PhD work. Perhaps these thoughts are making the goodbyes easier. Perhaps it’s something else.

Have you ever gone back to your high school or university after you’ve graduated? It’s a very odd feeling. A place that felt so familiar, so much like home, feels strange when it is filled with different people. People are what really make a place feel special, feel unique, feel like home. Over the past month or so I have seen friends and acquaintances leave Durham on their way to the next phase of life. As Durham has emptied, its character has changed. It has begun to feel different, not like the Durham I have gotten to know. New faces have arrived and unfairly I have just made some new friends only days before I leave. Even so, Durham is changing around me. Even if I had managed to stay here for the next few months, I’m not sure I would have recognised it. I’m not sure I would have belonged here. I would have been standing still while my world kept moving and changing.

This will likely be my last post from Durham, at least until January. I plan to continue writing posts for my blog over the next few months. There is still a lot of exploring I haven’t done in my own backyard and I have a feeling there is going to be quite a lot of reverse culture shock (especially since I have a bit of an accent now). The journey isn’t over, it’s just moving continents for a short time.