A Relaxing Saturday

Saturday was a relaxing day. In the morning I watched part of V for Vendetta which is an amazing movie. Then I biked into Stroud to look for a phonecard. A few things you need to know about the city of Stroud. It's hilly. It's historic. And it's Subway is terrible. After consuming what was probably in the top 3 worst tuna sandwiches I've ever had the misfortune of eating, I walked up to St. Lawrence Church. On its walls were plaques that commemorated deaths dating back to the 17th century. Inside the ceilings were high, the colors were somber, and the architecture was elegant. A figurine of the attorney general to either King John or Charles from the 1630's adorned a wall. It was strange to think that this figurine constructed when the very roots of my country were growing. On the way back from town I stopped at the local park. A couple guys were playing basketball and I joined them. They were called Liam and Adam, and they were teammates in high school. Adam is a soft spoken 6'5 bearded 17 year old. Liam is a lightning quick guy of the same age, about 6 feet tall. But they were good company. They asked questions about Los Angeles and bantered in the manner of close friends. The combination of English accents and quiet jesting made it difficult to understand, but I adjusted. We played some Horse, Killer, Around the World until we all gave up, and a one-on-one tournament which left everyone sweaty and gasping for breath. When I got home I had about 15 minutes of rest before the family and I went back to the park. Cindy sat in the shade, while Jack and I trounced Rob, Adam, and one of Adam's friends in a 3-2 game. When a couple more kids poured in we decided to play a strange version of soccer. I played pretty well but accidentally ran into a thicket of stinging nettles when going after the ball and lost my left contact lens when the ball hit me in the eye. For all I know it got lodged in my brain. When we got back home, Adm Jack and I played some Call of Duty until dinner when I had a surprisingly good dinner of hard-boiled quail eggs and veggie-burgers. Dinner finished and Rob tousled with Adam who fell into Jack. Jack, being quite the reactionary tackled Adam and they rolled around in the backyard until Jack came out crying with the finger he jammed playing basketball. He chased Adam around the inflatable pool keeping the facade of anger, but eventually submitted to fits of laughter when Adam slipped and fell halfway into the pool. We ended up watching the Murray-Gilles Wimbledon match where I explained scoring to Jack. I suspect it went in one ear and out the other. In bed I read Treasure Island until I fell asleep in the most comfortable of positions.

The Moving Miniature Map

I sit on the grassy hills that always seem so far away in Los Angeles. A light wind cools me, and rustles the carpet of buttercups. Their small faces smile at the rare sunshine. A rough fence grips the hillside to my left, a small forest does the same to my right. But I stare ahead.
The bird's eye view of Stroud unfolds like the most detailed of maps. The map's streets even have moving people in them. "I wonder how it feels," I ask myself. "To live knowing you're only a speck on my moving miniature map." And as I sit still on that grassy hill, their moving miniature lives continue in moving miniature manners, with me contemplating them from above.

The Flight into London

How to describe my emotions at this particular moment? Excited obviously. But I can't help but feel that a irreplaceable slice of Marcus was left at Gate 77. My inner child was benched for this trip. What business does 5 year old me have in a cold bustling airport? It makes sense of course. You need maturity to weigh decisions and assess situations. You need maturity to ensure everything unfolds according to your semblance of a plan. But I don't like taking orders, not even from a particularly mature and bossy voice in my mind. He says "No Marcus, that would be stupid!" I know he's right but all I want to do is give him a mental slap right across his stupid little imagined face. It's a feeling akin to the one I get when Gabe gets a little too demanding... curious.

Alone in LAX

I walked down the airport's grand hallway. Normally I think in emotions and reactions but in LAX I was thinking in strangely clear sentences. Maybe that is what happens when you are alone. You substitute the improvisation of real human interaction with a pseudo-dialogue between you and yourself. I had some pretty interesting conversations. Mostly I was judging other people. "You're kind of hot." "Wow that guy looks totally British." I wonder what their internal commentators had to say about me. "Why is that guy glaring at everyone?" "Where are his parents?" That's why I don't trust quiet people. I know they're quiet because they are listening. Not you, but to their panel of judges.

The Walk

After dinner Rob drove John, Adam, Jack, and I up to a ridge overlooking the valleys Stroud is situated in. We brought along the SPUF (South Pasadena Ultimate Federation) disc I gave to Adam and Jack. I had taught them how to throw the "forehand" about an hour earlier and they were improving at a rate that made me jealous. But they were taken by surprise when I backhanded the disc about 45 yards. The next hour was spent in equal parts throwing, talking, and gazing out over a scene that can only be described as awe-inspiring. The setting sun colored the landscape beautifully, and sparkled playfully on the waters of the River Severn like a twinkle in the eye of god.

Oxford and Stroud: Making my way across England

My day in Oxford started off alone, jetlagged, and hungry. After a spotty nights sleep I woke at an early 6:30. I hung around fiddling with the hostel's DVD player, talking with an Australian traveler named Bernice, and thankfully, and around 7:15, eating breakfast. At a quarter to eight I left to explore the town with my valuables strapped to my back, and a pair of Gabe's sunglasses blocking the morning glare. I saw some magnificent colleges, and the Radcliffe Camera which simply blew my mind. At about 10:00 I stopped in at a cafe and read a little while sipping on piping hot coffee. I've just crossed that bold tick in the timeline of one's life where bitter coffee becomes a warm friend on a cold morning. Anyways, at the Cafe I met a nice New Yorker. At one point I asked "Do you go to the college?" She helpfully responded in the classic New York manner "Not to sound like an asshole but we call it the University since there are more than 30 different colleges." I suppose it answered my question. After I left the coffee shop I went to the nearby Office of Admissions where a disarmingly helpful young woman in her early twenties explained the admissions process as well as the nature of History and History/English majors at Oxford. But it was nearing 11:00 and I had to check out of the hostel. With the help of a pretty French receptionist I made it in and out of there in 10 minutes, meeting a merry Finnish guy along the way. I trudged with my overlarge backpack to the station, and boarded the 11:37 to Didcot Parkway. At Didcot 3 girls came and sat down next to me. As it turns out one was Austrian and two of them were from Arizona. A strange group I'll admit, but the Austrian girl explained that their parents knew each other from work, and that her dad was teaching at Princeton, which impressed me. As I rode the train closer and closer to Stroud my heart rate crescendoed. I silently pumped my fist every couple of minutes because of some meandering stream, ancient church, or grassy hill. The train pulled up slowly to the Stroud station and I nervously scanned the small number of people for Cindy, my "mum for a month." At first things were a bit stiff as they always are when recently introduced people know they have a scheduled amount of time together. But when we got back to their very nice house in Ebley we sat on the back porchy-patio thing and familiarized easily. After I unpacked and made myself a PB&J we went to pick up Adam and Jack from school. I brought the basketball with because I was jonesin' to shoot some hoops and we went to the park and played for an hour and a half. A couple of Adam's (the 11 year old) friends hung around. One of the girls who he insultingly calls "Doris" has a sort of Helga Pitacki-Arnold relationship with him. Adam and Jack were impressed by my playing, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't bring out the good stuff. They taught me a game similar to knockout then I showed them how to play H.O.R.S.E. Though I must admit it's a lot less gratifying to own an 8 and 11 year old than it is to own your 6'2 best friend in a game of horse. When we returned home they showed me their XBox 360 with Call of Duty World at War on it. When you're sitting in a kid's dream room, with a picturesque view of the Cotswolds and a freshly baked contingent of Nazi zombies to kill you know you are as far away from "roughing it" as it gets. I found a pretty nice keyboard in their closet, and pulled out most of the songs from my shamefully limited repertoire. 8 year old Jack promptly showed me up with a perfectly played tune. It turned out to be one of the keyboard's pre-recorded songs but apparently it gets everyone so I don't feel too bad about getting mentally walloped my someone 9 years younger than me. About two minutes after that Rob came upstairs. He's a hilarious guy who specializes in victim-based humor. He chatted for a while chided for a little while longer, then warmly praised his son's drum playing. Rob's best bud John came over for dinner. He's a pretty quiet guy but I liked him. There were a lot of questions about America of course. I ended up talking so much that when everyone else was pushing their plates away from their full stomachs I was hardly halfway finished with my meal.