Whilst talking with my English friend Issy the other day we hit a bit of a communication speed bump when I mentioned once cutting my bangs. It was then that I learned the British call bangs a FRINGE. At first I thought it was really funny but after thinking about it for a minute realized it was a MUCH more accurate name. [ see Exhibit A ]
[ Exhibit A ]
Right?
Then I began to wonder for the first time why the heck we call them BANGS in the US. I had never realized what a random name it was. So, I did some research on the etymology of the word and I learned that there are a couple of different reasons:
1. the term may have been adapted from the concept hair ending ubruptly or being "cut bang off."
2. beginning in the 1800s the hair style for humans was influenced by and named after "bang-tailed" horses whose tails are trimmed straight across.
Well, there you have it. But even after this new enlightenment, I continue to giggle to myself whenever I call bangs a FRINGE. And I can't help picturing this:
Almost since we arrived I have been thinking of different ways of remembering our time here. It is a strange thing to do, planning to remember. I have considered getting a decanter, pocket watch or cufflinks with Cambridge's crest on them. Although these are all still options, a couple of weeks ago I was given something that very fittingly represents our time here - a pipe. This is not just any pipe, it is a handmade Swanson. Don't recognize the pipe-maker? He is new to the craft, but his work thus far is promising. Others might know him as my friend from college. Peter made four pipes, one for the three students from SES who are here and one for the professor. Here are some pictures of the pipes and the first smoke.
The bowl of the pipes is maple, the stem is oak and the tip is deer antler. Here is a picture from this weekend, the pipe's first trip outside of Cambridge.
I ruined Brandon's dream Valentines day of attending the oh-so-romantic movie ZOMBIELAND, by getting a cold. So I painted this for him and totally made up for it...or maybe not... but he was very understanding and he got me these beautiful tulips that are a touch of springtime.
Humorous happenings with our primary mode of transportation:
Both of our bikes have accumulated their share of squeaks, creaks, and rattles over the last few months. In first gear (which I now always have to ride in because of second gear dropping out) my bike sounds like a flock of shrilly tweeting birds, and Brandon's makes a difficult to describe, but equally awful, sound. Unfortunately, his wasn't in full swing when the following video was made. If you listen carefully you can also hear my bell which dings any time I go over a bump. This video was taken on the footpath to our flat, you can see the countryside beginning in the background. It was a windy day, which masks the sound a bit (and you're lucky for that). Sometimes it is just us and a stranger on a quiet path - it can be embarrassing.
A while ago my bike started violently dropping out of gear when in second resulting, more than once, in my shoe flying off and my having to hop back to get it! Looking extremely suave, as you could imagine.
I almost hit a pigeon and Brandon almost ran over a squirrel. I guess road kill is a problem even when cycling.
Brandon and I started yesterday morning off with Vivaldi's The Four Seasons, focusing especially on Spring (perhapshoping that we could coax it into fully appearing). Brandon's musical selection turned out to be more prophetic than I could've imagined.
We had bright SUNSHINE all day ... but then we also had hail ... at the same time.
Jill and I were at a baker's stand at the market when it started to hail tiny pellets. We observed that it was strange for it to be hailing while sunny and he said "I'm not surprised. This is ENGLAND! You can have all four seasons in one day!" At which point he began belting out Vivaldi's Four Seasons exactly where we had been listening to it that morning. He continued humming as we walked away.
It only lasted about 5 minutes and afterwards the sun felt so warm on my face. OH, how I've missed that feeling.
Not too long before we left Charlotte I cleaned windows for a family who had recently moved to the US from England. The son, who was probably about 10, followed me around and helped me a lot of the day and talked to me. When I told him we were moving here he said we would hate the weather because of the lack of sunshine. Well, we don't hate the weather, but last week I realized how much I miss the sun. I left for class about half-three and was struck by how warm and beautiful sunlight is when I reached our footpath. The sun was low which gave the light a very substantial and almost glowing effect. The last few days have been fairly grey, so yesterday I checked the forecast to see when the sun will return. This is the dismal image I found,
Last monday was the birthday of Scotish poet Robert Burns. He is another somewhat random-seeming historical figure that has a holiday here in England. On his birthday (called Burns Night) many families celebrate with a dinner of traditional Scotish whiskey and haggis (wiki says: Haggis is a dish containing sheep's 'pluck' (heart, liver and lungs), minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices, and salt, mixed with stock, and traditionally simmered in the animal's stomach for approximately three hours.) Doesn't that sound DIVINE?
To celebrate, the Visiting Scholars group taught us about Robert Burns and brought in a bagpiper and haggis to sample. Robert Burns wrote many love poems and also addressed many of his poems to more nontraditional recipients like a mouse or a haggis. You will probably recognize an excerpt from the poem he wrote to a mouse whose nest he accidentally destroyed, "The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men, Gang aft agley," which inspired Steinbeck's "Of Mice and Men."
They read (in genuine Scotish dialect (in which they were written) and accent) the "Address to a Haggis" before we partook. We were assured that it would just taste like sausage so Jill and I gave it a try. It really wasn't that bad. It did taste like a sausage with herbs and a slightly off-putting aftertaste.
The piper played quite a few traditional songs including Auld Lang Syne, also written by Burns. He told us that the bagpipes don't have any happy mediums and that you're either LISTENING TO THEM or you're not. He wasn't kidding. With just one piper in the large room filled with people the music was still extremely loud. Afterwards, I was asking him about how you play and he offered to let me try. I pretty much couldn't get any air to go through them at all so he took over the blowing, and had me try to play the notes. He asked me if I had played the recorder and said it was very similar. I don't think the week of recorder I played in third grade got me very far, what do you think? It was embarrassing enough that it sounded like screeches from a dying animal when I played but it was also so stinking loud that it probably hurt everyone's ears, and definitely drew their attention!
Here is a video Jill took of my horrible attempt. Seriously, if you're going to try and watch this make sure the sound on your computer is down as low as it goes before you press play. :)
Right?
