Missing REAL Summer

It does NOT feel like summer over here. And that is having detrimental effects on my dissertating! It does not FEEL like July starts today. It feels like the start of May. I must admit that I actually MISS the miserable, humid, sticky, hot Maryland summer! Then at least it would FEEL like summer!

I know, I know, I shouldn't complain about a high of 64 on June 3oth (and 71 on July 1--the hottest day we have had so far). And I never in a million years thought that I would complain! But here I am, lamenting a summer without heat and humidity. What a strange world we live in. These crazy Scots

 think that's hot! Seriously! I'm still wearing a cardigan and they're donning the shorts, t-shirts, and flip flops!

And the heat isn't the only thing I've been missing this summer. Just so you don't think I've got it made here in the good ol' UK, here are some of the things I've been missing about home this summer:

Rides on the Harley

Bloom's Broom Ice Cream ("Rice Pudding" to be exact!)

Starbucks/Barnes & Noble with Amber and Kathy

Summer accessories at Target

The Promenade in Havre de Grace

Teen Boat Building and the Kids Camps by the Bay at the Museum

The Maritime Festival

Shopping trips to Lancaster with Mom

Chick-fil-A and Rita's with Liz

Old Navy flip flops

Lightening bugs

A school-work free summer

DEEP CREEK LAKE
A decent oldies station
Maryland seafood (mostly steamed crabs!)

TGIFriday's restaurant

Movies in a big theater

Further proof that no matter where you go, there are always patches of grass that are greener on the other side...

Gowns, and Hoods, and Kilts, Oh My!

This week is Graduation Week here at the oldest University in Scotland.  Everywhere are graduands (the official name for degree candidates about to graduate) and graduates (folks who have just graduated).  They are cruising around town with their gowns billowing out behind them.  The graduating undergraduates have traded in their traditional Scarlet Robes, and are now donning their Black Gowns.  Since the gowns are open in the front, guys wear their tuxedos or formal kilts underneath.  Let me tell you, they look quite sharp!  The girls look shabby by comparison, with black skirts and white blouses.  No match for a kilt or tux, I assure you!

There is a lot of symbolism involved in the graduation rituals and ceremonies, including the change from Scarlet to black robes.  The Scarlet Robe, a signature of St. Andrew undergraduates, is known as the Robe of Ignorance.  Each year of university, the gown is slowly shed in what is jokingly called "the academic striptease".  First-years wear their gown squarely on both shoulders.  Second-year Arts students wear it off their right shoulder while Second-year Science students wear it off the left.  Third-years wear it off both shoulders, and Fourth-years wear it down their back, all the way off the shoulders, down around the elbows.  This is supposed to symbolize the shedding of Ignorance through education.  To further symbolize this transition, they graduate in Black robes.  All graduands, regardless of degree wear the same black gown.  The only difference is the hood.  Masters graduates receive bigger hoods than undergrads, and PhD receive even larger hoods than the Masters.  

Adding to the physical symbolism of the ritual, at their graduation ceremonies (each School/Department has its own ceremony), each graduand will individually kneel before the Chancellor of the University, and receive a bop on the head from the Chancellor's scarlet cloth cap (legend has it that part of it is made from John Knox's knickers!), be hooded, and officially be named "Graduate".  Since they don't do hats here (with the exception of the Chancellor's cap), there is none of that tassel nonsense!  Oh!  And its ALL in Latin.

There is an extra bit added to the PhD aspect of the ceremony.  Following the hooding, they step to the side and ceremonially do a little costume change.  Their black gown is removed and they put on a Saltire Blue gown, matching the blue hood they have just had conferred on them.  It is then that they are officially graduated.  Nothing like pulling a little Superman change to add some drama to receiving the highest degree!  (I leave it up to you to figure out what it all means!)

If all goes well with my dissertation I will be attending my MLitt graduation in November, on St. Andrew's Day.  And, God willing, I'll be pulling a "Superman change" of my own in 2011!

(On a side note, I don't know any of the people in these pictures!  I just found them online.  And for anyone who is interested, that's Prince William getting hooded and bopped on the head with John Knox's knickers, er, the Chancellor's Cap!)

 

Day All Night

Today is the longest day of the year... making tonight the shortest evening of the year!  Here in St. Andrews that is quite apparent.  We are far enough north that this evening the sky won't actually get dark.  The sun will disappear below the horizon, unlike in Alaska or Scandinavia, but its light will not completely leave the sky.  Case-in-point: the photo of Holy Trinity Church Tower to the left was taken yesterday at 10:15... in the evening!  

It certainly makes for wonderfully long summer days (the sun will start to make its presence very known around 2:30, when the birds start chirping and squawking).  But keep in mind, we make up for it in the winter.  December 21st saw the sun rising at 9am and fully set by 3pm.   

Oh, Scotland.

A Bit of Home Sweet Home Comes to St. Andy's

In the interim between blogs my Dad came to visit me! He had been in Jordan leading a business training seminar. And since he would be flying over the UK on his way back home, he took a couple of extra days to come across to Scotland! It was wonderful! I was so excited in the weeks leading up to his visit that I'm sure all of my friends were getting tired of hearing me say "my dad is coming!"

He arrived on the morning of June 6th and we never stopped running! I met him at the airport in Edinburgh and he rented a car. While he was here we drove over much of Fife, and saw Glamis and Pitlochry. We hung out with my friends and did lots of walking! Dad met two of my professors, Steve and Roger. Dad and I even went to a Christian music festival in Edinburgh where we saw Chris Tomlin and the David Crowder Band!

I must admit that I was in a bit of a daze the whole time he was here, mainly because I couldn't believe he was actually here! I still can't! I have to look at the photos to believe it!

Speaking of photos, if you want to see pictures from my dad's visit, just click on "A Bit of Home Sweet Home Comes to St. Andy's"! There are still more to come!

But for now, its back to the grindstone! The dissertation is calling...

Before the Parade Passes By

I spent much of the afternoon today studying at "Couch", a little coffee shop located on Bell Street with a fantastic front window that overlooks the street.  As befits the shop name, they have two large comfy leather couches positioned by the window.  I commandeered one of those couches, bought a pot of tea, and settled in for some dissertation reading.  I was the only customer in the shop and the summer sunshine was streaming in.  Perfect!  

At one point as I looked up from my sixteenth century ballads I caught a glimpse of a Royal Air Force Airman walking down the street.  It is not uncommon to see a couple of uniformed airmen in St. Andrews, as Leuchars Air Force Base is so close that I've grown accustomed to the roar of the fighter jets flying maneuvers on a daily basis.  I was just musing on the merits of the RAF uniform when a group of four jets, in formation, zoomed by overhead.  The fly-over was soon followed by the sound of bagpipes and drums--also not so uncommon, after all, this is Scotland!  

What followed was out of the ordinary, for up the street, proceeded by a police escort, marched an RAF unit--complete with kilted pipe and drum corp, white gloves, and bayoneted rifles.  The whole procession took all of 7 minutes to traverse the length of the street and turn onto Market Street.  (Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera!)

Apparently, in 1968, the Royal Burgh of St. Andrews granted the RAF Station at Leuchars the "Freedom of the City".  According to the barrista, the RAF does this little parade every year to demonstrate their right to march in the streets of St. Andrews.  

Ah, I love quirky British traditions!  Especially when they involve men in uniform!

Scenery

Once again, St. Andrews was graced with a gorgeous day!  And once again, I packed up the books and headed to the Cathedral ruins.  But this time I was joined by my friend and classmate, Adam. As we were sitting on our blanket studying (or attempting to study) a small film crew entered the Cathedral grounds.  

One of the Professors of Medieval History has been hosting some documentaries for the BBC, the most recent of which is on The Medieval Mind.  And they must have been in the process of filming a new one.  Before Adam and I realized what was going on, the crew had moved on.  But we're pretty sure we're sitting in the background.  As scenery.  Staring at the camera.  Like those obnoxious people you see milling about in the background of movies, the ones who don't have the sense to look casual and disinterested.

Ironically, earlier I had decided against spreading my blanket in the cloister because I didn't want to ruin any tourist's pictures.  Upon further reflection Adam decided that we would have only enhanced the photo.  St. Andrew's students studying in the ruins of the Cathedral.  Very picturesque indeed.  Like Oxford or Cambridge students bicycling down the street in their respective towns.  

Well, instead of ruining some random tourist's photograph, Adam and I now have the potential to look like prime losers, however briefly, in a BBC documentary.  One can only hope that we are edited out!  It would not do for our supervisors to see us looking dumbstruck.  And worse... not actually studying!

Oh the joys of living in St. Andy's.  You never know what or who you'll come across in a day!  And it would appear that the Cathedral is turning out to be quite an interesting spot for me!

If You Build It...

I'm watching 'Field of Dreams'. On Scottish television. And for some reason, it feels slightly surreal. Maybe its because they don't even PLAY baseball over here!

I have forgotten how much I love this movie! A man hearing voices ('If you build it, he will come'). America's pastime. A cute kid. Shoeless Joe Jackson. Darth Vader's voice, without the creepy breathing. What's not to love?

Most of all, it reminds me of my grandfathers. Both Cecil and Pop loved baseball! Pop was always going to games, both major and minor league. And Cec would be listening to the Yankees game while watching the Orioles play on TV.

So in honor of Cecil and Pop, and the game they loved, I've included the following poem, for your reading pleasure. 'The Crack of A Bat' was written sometime in the 1950s or 60s by an American journalist working in Europe. Every spring its published in the International Herald Tribune. That's where I found it, in 2002, while waiting in a German airport. I've carried it in my wallet ever since. Cec and Pop, I miss you.

THE CRACK OF A BAT by Dick Roraback

Away on this side of the ocean
When the chestnuts are hinting of green

And the first of the café commandos

Are moving outside for a fine

And the sound of spring beats a bolero

As Paree sheds her coat and her hat

The sound that is missed more than any

Is the sound of the crack of a bat.

There’s an animal kind of feeling

There’s a stirring down at Vincennes Zoo

And the kid down the hall’s getting restless

Taking stairs like a young kangaroo

Now the dandy is walking his poodle

And the concierge sunning her cat

But the heart’s with the Cubs and the Tigers

And the sound of the crack of a bat.

In the park on the corner run schoolboys

With a couple of cartons for props

Kicking goals à la Fontaine or Kopa

While a little guy chikies for cops

“Goal for us,” “No it’s not,” “You’re a liar,”

Then the classical shrieks of a spat

But it’s not like a rhubarb at home plate

Or the sound of the crack of a bat.

Here the stadia thrill to the scrumdowns

And the soccer fans flock to the games

And the chic punt the nags out a Longchamp

Where the women are dames and not dames

But it’s different at Forbes and at Griffith

The homes of the Buc and the Nat

Where the hotdog and peanut share laurels

With the sound of the crack of a bat.

No, a Yank can’t describe to a Frenchman

The rasp of an umpire’s call
The continuing charms of statistics

Changing hist’ry with each strike and ball

Nor the self-conscious jog of the slugger

Rounding third with the tip of his hat

Nor the half-smothered grace of a hook slide

Nor the sound of the crack of a bat.

Now, the golfer is buffing his niblick

And the tennis buff’s tightening his strings

And the fisherman’s flexing his flyrod

Like a thousand and one other springs
Oh, the sports on both sides of the ocean

Have a great deal in common, at that

But the thing that’s not HERE

At this time of the year

Is the sound of the crack of a bat.