the first week. come and gone.

Dear friends and family,

We are officially done with our first week here in Oxford, and have actually been here a full seven days now. I'd like to think myself fully inundated in the English culture now. But that would be a bit of an exaggerated admittance or claim.
I still carry my purse with me wherever I go. I focus quite intently on the different coins when attempting to hurry up and pay for something. I laugh too loud. I ended up wandering into a neighboring village on Tuesday, after walking so far in the wrong direction, waiting to see a shorter route back than that from whence I came, to no avail. England English still sometimes sounds like a different language than my own to me. The one time I've ridden a bus was when I walked all the way to Marston, the neighboring village, and had to get back somehow. I was afraid I would end up in Wales or....perhaps the ocean. So apparently I have some sort of subconscious fear of the British transportation system. I always feel like everyone's staring at me, which probably has something to do with the fact that I'm always staring at everyone. I have learned not to say 'excuse me' constantly as I was very recently informed that one only says this when one has passed gas, or, perhaps, belched. So numerous poor innocent bystanders believe me to be an overtly honest American regarding my personal bodily functions. And I can't seem to resist pulling out my camera in public places to take pictures every five minutes.

But I am getting there.

I walk miles every day. With the exception of today. I rested. I finally look to the left before crossing a one way street, which as important, for the prevention of unexpected infliction of serious bodily harm. I attended St. Aldates for church on Sunday morning. It's an Evangelical Anglican church. And I loved it. A pub is my new Starbucks where I go to write. Or hang out. I try to restrain myself and only smile slightly rather than grinning outright at strangers on the sidewalk, as it seems to make the British uncomfortable. I bought concerts to a concert in London for next weekend. I adore milk in my hot tea (although, it still has to be sweet. I am a Texan after all). I have discovered a strong affinity for British poets, such as Keats, Wordsworth, Donne and writers like Thomas Paine and Mary Wollstonecraft. I eat crackers called biscuists with my tea. I've not verbally accosted any of the attractive British boys I've seen. And I've seen my fair share of surprisingly attractive British boys. I am developing a tendency to abuse the word 'iconic' in the frequency of my use of it, as it seems to be a favorite here. I bought a three pound red plaid poncho at the market yesterday, in the city centre. I actually follow the conflict between Blair and Gordon, amused by political satirical comics illustrating said conflict. My own new Bush. Though I guess I didn't vote for either one.
I hear the bells from the church across the street outside my window. I still cannot believe I'll be living here for four months. I am so so blessed.
We already have a pseudo-couple developing among us. Only a week in. Don't worry, Daddy. I am not involved in any way. You know better. Somehow, mine and Katie's room has become the room to come to other than the common room or stair landings, which is usually quite nice, except that I have to always be sure to be decently dressed and have my bed made since it functions as a couch, and people tend to just enter without much warning or knocking. This afternoon, for example, four girls trickled in and just chilled. Bud came in and played guitar. Brian came in and parked himself on the floor, seeing what everyone was up to this weekend. And Trevor came in and plopped himself down on my bed, with his bowl of dried cereal, chomping away, like we were in his room. All of them just hangin out in here. It's nice. We seem comfortable. Like we're home.
Sarah A is supposed to come tomorrow, if she feels better, and it's about time. I don't know how much longer I could have lasted without a visit from or to her. We are in the same country still, after all. I'm getting a library card. And going to the park in the morning. I may not be the neo-Brit, quite yet. But I am not just the American in England either. I am changing. Every moment, like we tend to do.
As Lord Byron wrote,
"I knew that nought was lasting, but now even
Change grows too changeable without being new;
Nought's permanent among the human race."

Write me. I love you.

~k.