tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16142938331630607362024-03-14T00:45:56.891-07:00Elanor LawrenceElanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.comBlogger233125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-52049875100385753712020-11-10T08:05:00.004-08:002020-11-10T08:05:40.245-08:00NaNoWriMo: Surviving the Week Two Blues<p class="MsoNormal">Week One of NaNo is over, and the Week Two blues have
officially commenced. I’ve made really good progress so far (hoping to hit 25k
tonight), but I’ve written many of the initial scenes I was really excited
about and I’m now well into the meat of the novel. I’m also properly mired in
several of the logistical problems I’d been studiously ignoring. Now, it seems,
I’ve actually got to do the work of sorting out my plot rather than just
playing around with fun scenes. Sigh. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, when the initial excitement has worn off and the hard
work hits, how do we keep going? What are the best ways to beat the Week Two
Blues? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b>1-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Don’t Stress<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Firstly, don’t stress if you’re struggling a bit, or your
novel doesn’t seem as exciting anymore. This is completely normal! Every writer
goes through phases of self-doubt, and the early-middle is one of the hardest
parts of a novel. The shine of a new story has worn off, but the end is still
nowhere in sight. You now have to confront all the logistical problems you
could ignore at the outline stage. This stage of writing is just hard, so don’t
feel inferior because you’re struggling.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b>2-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Take a Walk<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If the creative juices aren’t flowing, sometimes the best
thing is to get away for a little while. Crucially, you should do something
that allows your brain to wander and be creative. Avoid scrolling through social
media or watching TV, as these activities take up too much of our attention.
Instead, do something to make space for your thoughts, like going for a walk,
taking a shower, or doing something artistic. Allowing your mind to wander is
crucial for creativity. Pro tip: keep a notepad handy to capture all those
brilliant thoughts when they show up!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b>3-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Spend Time Plotting<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If something genuinely isn’t working in your story, it’s
worth taking the time to sort it out. Just like tugging harder at a tangled skein
of wool only makes it worse, pressing forward with a story that’s broken can
just make a mess. Instead, take an hour out to brainstorm solutions. Try using
a mindmap, or freewriting (you can even count these words toward your NaNo
total, if you want!) You don’t need to do this every time you hit a minor snag,
but taking an hour to solve a major problem can make the words flow <i>much</i>
faster.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b>4-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Jump Ahead<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If you’re stuck on a section of your story, feel free to
jump ahead! There’s no reason why writing has to be linear. Whether you’re wrestling
with a stubborn plot hole or just feeling uninspired by a chapter, it’s okay to
leave it behind and move on to a more exciting section. Sometimes, moving
forward can give you just the energy you need to revitalise your story.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b>5-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Silence Your Inner Critic<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Someday, when you’re sending your novel to beta readers, or
agents, or publishers, it might matter if your novel is good. Someday, you
might need to turn your most critical eye upon your work. But today, in the
middle of NaNo Week Two, is not that day. Today, you write. With NaNo, the only
thing that matters is your wordcount. Try “sprints,” where you write as much as
you can in a short space of time, perhaps 5 or 20 min. Or, if you’re really
stuck, try writing one chapter as <i>badly</i> as you possibly can. It may
surprise you just how good your “bad” writing is!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b>6-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Keep Going<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Finally, the most crucial thing of all: keep going! Writing
a novel is a marathon, not a sprint. The most important thing is to keep showing
up. Even if you’re behind, even if you can only manage 167 words, not 1667,
just keep going. It doesn’t matter how small the steps are, as long as you’re
moving forward. <o:p></o:p></p><p><br /><br /></p><br />Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-42220785733137732542020-10-31T09:32:00.006-07:002020-10-31T09:32:32.812-07:00How to get the most out of NaNoWriMo 2020<p class="MsoNormal">With NaNoWriMo starting tomorrow, I decided to dust off this old blog and offer a few tips to potential NaNo-ers. I've done NaNo five times over the past ten years and I've "won" every time, though the novels have certainly varied in their level of quality! This year, I'm working on a new project called THE LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER'S HUSBAND, which is a character-driven fantasy. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Feel free to <a href="https://nanowrimo.org/participants/elanor-lawrence" target="_blank">connect with me on the NaNo website</a>; I'm always looking for new writing buddies.</p><p class="MsoNormal">But, without further ado, here are my 8 Top Tips for getting the most out of NaNoWriMo 2020.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><br /></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>1) Realise it’s a Sacrifice<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Writing 50,000 words isn’t easy. Writing 50,000 words in a
month while juggling a million other life responsibilities is even harder.
Doing NaNo will require at least an hour or two every day, and that time has
got to come from somewhere. Whether you chose to watch less TV, spend less time
with friends, or let your house get a little messy, something has to give.
The good thing is, that’s okay! While you probably shouldn’t ignore your family
for a month, you don’t need to feel guilty about cooking a frozen pizza or
ordering takeout. Writing is your priority this month, and that’s okay.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b> </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>2) Schedule Writing Time<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Winning NaNo is all about developing a writing habit, so it
helps if you establish a set time to write. This won’t be possible for everyone,
but most people can set aside a few minutes in a relatively regular pattern. I try
to do about 45 minutes before starting work in the morning, and then another 45
minutes just before bed. If I use those minutes well, I can generally just about
hit my wordcount in those times, then catch up a little on the weekend. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>3) Catch Up<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When starting out with NaNo, the number 1667 can loom large
in our minds. It’s definitely helpful to develop a consistent writing schedule, but it’s also okay if you don’t hit 1667 every day. The past
few years I’ve had really bad starts, with only a few hundred words over the first
few days. This may seem disastrous (“I’m already 5000 words behind!”) but over the
course of a month, it’s easy to catch up. Just do an extra 15 minutes here and
there, or schedule some focussed time on the weekend. A bad start doesn’t have
to be the end of your NaNo goal!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b> </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>4) Make a Playlist<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There’s nothing that gets you in the mood for writing like a
good playlist. While some enterprising writers take the time to curate a
playlist for each book, I adopt the much lazier approach of simply choosing an album
to listen to on repeat. I find the best kind of writing music is where the
lyrics aren’t really that important, and the songs all sound essentially the
same. Previous favourites include Maroon 5’s singles, anything by Bastille, and
Ed Sheeran’s early albums (don’t judge). <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>5) No Editing<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This tip is on pretty much every NaNo advice blog there is,
and for good reason. Not only is editing a waste of time during NaNo (if it
doesn’t add to your wordcount, don’t do it!) but editing also makes you more critical of
your work, which totally defeats the point. The beauty of NaNo is that you get
to turn off your inner critic and just <i>write</i>, so avoid the temptation to
edit, and focus on your wordcount instead!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>6) Avoid the Blank Page<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Have you ever found yourself poised at your keyboard, a
fresh document in front of you, the cursor blinking mockingly as you try to
think of how to start? It may sound exciting to begin a whole new project, but
staring at a blank page is a sure-fire route to the dreaded writer’s block. If
you don’t have the perfect opening line for your novel yet, don’t worry! Just start
with whatever you’ve got, and fill in the rest later. There’s nothing that says
you have to write your novel in order! You can even write “ADD BRILLIANT FIRST
LINE HERE,” to remind you to revisit the opening in December. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>7) Measure Your Progress<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Watching your wordcount rise is a powerful motivator. The <a href="https://nanowrimo.org/">NaNo website</a> lets you enter your wordcount every day and provides all sorts of
helpful statistics—you can even track your mood! I’ve also made my own
spreadsheet that tracks my wordcount, the words remaining, how far I am
ahead/behind target, my average wordcount per day, and the average wordcount I need
each day to finish on time. It took a little work to figure out Excel, but having
detailed statistics helps keep me motivated. If it would help you, feel free to
<a href="https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1LEgCWeIj1emax_bmCHrDmE9MLZr8yB0oR2Z38XAoCP8/edit?usp=sharing" target="_blank">download my spreadsheet template</a>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>8) Remember Why<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It might sound cheesy, but on those stressful nights when it’s
midnight and you’ve got to work tomorrow and you’re coming down with a cold but
you still haven’t hit your wordcount goal… it’s important to remember why you’re
doing it. Do you want to “win” NaNo, or just push yourself a bit? If you’re
determined to win, why? Are you desperate to tell your story? Do you want to
prove you have what it takes to be a writer? Or do you just not like giving up? In the depths of November, it’s
important to remember that “winning” doesn’t actually earn you anything (other
than a fun badge and <a href="https://store.nanowrimo.org/collections/nanowrimo-2020/products/nanowrimo-2020-winner-shirt">maybe a T-shirt</a>). Hitting 50K feels great, but focussing
on your personal goals helps you get the most out of NaNo. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Did you find these tips helpful? Add your own in the comments below-- I'd love to hear from you!</p><p><br /><br /></p><br />Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-89259722478779757032017-10-21T14:45:00.002-07:002017-10-21T14:45:36.696-07:00A Little Every Day<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Today I hit the illustrious milestone of a 100-day streak
on Duolingo. While this number is slightly misleading, as I did use the “streak-freeze”
option to save me on a few particularly busy days, for the most part I’ve used
the app every day for the past 100 days.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I started using the app again this summer in order to
brush up on my French in preparation for volunteering on a bilingual camp in
Belgium. I’ve been learning French practically all my life, so the app was simply
a way to refresh what I already knew.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
After I got my French up to speed, though, I decided to
switch tack and try learning some Spanish. I was, somewhat embarrassingly,
rather nervous about trying a new language. Other than French, I’d never tried
learning a new language, and I didn’t (don’t!) consider myself particularly
good at languages. I knew Duolingo was good for refreshing a language, but I
doubted it would be good for learning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Fast-forward several months, and Duolingo now claims that
I’m 37% fluent in Spanish. I highly doubt that’s true, but I can confidently
state that I have <i>some</i> Spanish skill,
whereas two months ago I had absolutely none. I know some basic verbs (tengo,
quiero), some helpful food vocabulary (pescado, ensalada), and I’m starting to
get a feel for sentence structure. I would definitely still struggle in a
proper conversation with a Spanish speaker, but I’d be able to order dinner in
a restaurant without an English menu.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
While I’m still a long ways away from fluency in Spanish,
it is really exciting to go from nothing to basic proficiency in just two
months, especially considering I spent only ten minutes a day working through
two quick lessons. I never sat down with a thick textbook and poured through
lists of conjugations. All I did was take a few minutes every day that I
probably would have wasted on facebook anyways and instead open up the Duolingo
app. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It amazes me just how much we can accomplish by just dedicating
a few minutes every day. How taking five minutes before bed every night for
journaling has filled a dozen volumes over a few years. How 100 days on
duolingo grants me basic proficiency in a whole new language. How writing for
an hour every evening results in a 119,000-word novel in two months. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As I prepare for NaNoWriMo again this November, it really
helps to see how far I’ve managed to get in Duolingo with just a few minutes a
day. Writing a novel, like learning a language, is a mammoth task, and it’s so encouraging
to be reminded of how much we can do by just keeping at it every day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br /><br />
<br />Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-61606580629826022112017-09-18T04:04:00.001-07:002017-09-18T04:04:29.665-07:00On First Drafts, Editing, and the Real Work of Writing <div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The first draft of anything is shit.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--- Ernest Hemingway<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A lecturer at St. Andrews has this quote hanging on her
office door, as if challenging all the complacent undergraduates waiting in the
hallway. I always found it vaguely encouraging, as much as anything by
Hemingway could be encouraging. Maybe the chapter draft I just sent to my
supervisor wasn’t all that great, but that’s fine. It’s a draft. It’ll get
better.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve never minded the idea of writing a bad first draft. I
love things like NaNo, where you just write without worrying if it’s any good.
I’m not a perfectionist, and the process of actually getting words down on
paper has always been relatively easy for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I’ve never been good at actually doing anything with
those words. I’ve written five novels, and none of them have ever made it past
a first draft. I’ve never actually polished anything until it was as good as I
could make it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With four of these novels, I know I made the right choice to
move on. The first one was essentially a Tolkien fan-fic. The second was a
mystery with plot holes as wide as the Northumberland Strait. The third was an
international thriller with even larger plot holes and a rather dubious
treatment of terrorism. The fourth was a YA dystopian, written just before <i>Divergent</i> was published and
unfortunately left unfinished before the dystopian bubble burst. I learned so
much from writing each of these novels, but none of them were worth polishing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then, after a six-year hiatus, NaNo 2016 produced my
fifth novel, a futuristic retelling of Shakespeare’s Richard II. I wrote
119,053 words in 68 days, and then returned to real life (or, y’know, writing a
PhD.) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The difficulty with this novel is that, nearly a year later,
I still think it’s good. I still love the characters. I love the story. I even
love the writing (some of the time…). For the first time, there are no major
flaws.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But that’s the problem. For the first time, I have no choice
but to actual return to my novel and edit it. I can’t just stick it in a drawer
and write a new novel. I’ve got to actually edit this one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s certainly not going to be easy. As much as I love it,
I know the story has significant issues. The world needs to be more developed.
The themes need to be more subtle. The emotional arc needs to be polished. Relationships
between characters need to be clarified. Certain scenes should be added, others
cut. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve written five novels. I know how to hammer out a story
in a few weeks. But I have no clue how to polish it. On a practical level, I
literally don’t know how to begin. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But also, on an emotional level, I’m scared to start
editing. Because once I start to polish my novel, then I’ll really know if it’s
any good. Then I’ll know if I’m actually any good. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If Hemingway was right, if the first draft of anything is
shit, then that means that the real work of writing isn’t in getting words down
on paper. It’s not writing 119,053 words in 68 days. If Hemingway was right,
then the real work of writing comes in taking those rubbish words and making them
shine. And that’s something I’ve never done. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s a strange sort of comfort in not trying. The world
is full of people who think they could write a novel, and they’ll keep saying that
until they try and fail. I think I can edit a book, and get an agent, and a
publisher… and I’ll be able to keep thinking that until I try and fail. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t really think I’ll fail, not ultimately. I believe
that with enough hard work, I’ll eventually produce something good enough to be
published. But I can’t say that I’m not scared of all the rejection that’s
undoubtedly going to come. The books I’ll try to edit only to find they’re
really not good enough. The agents who’ll send form rejection emails. The
publishers who pass. The readers who write bad reviews. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Right now I can call myself a writer and not have to face
any of that failure. Except, to keep calling myself a writer, I need to keep
moving forward. I need to move beyond what I’m comfortable with and start doing
what scares me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I need to start turning my gargantuan first draft into
something worth reading.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s see how this goes. <o:p></o:p></div>
Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-14438580036091141872017-04-30T13:20:00.001-07:002017-05-01T02:32:17.421-07:00Day 600: Almost Home<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.701961); font-family: "uictfonttextstylebody"; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRUBgaiccaC3KrzL9F-RbS6ZbPvCsiJpWNhvm7r9HOQWqO5Ipdf7y8lVyDvWjDQlCywc71VMfOJgZkDaqT2CNTul8sjBfRwKMHDehVNmbA_RalFCcgH8casdgM1mlNFNor_pcjQ5T9Q3BK/s640/blogger-image-433698340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRUBgaiccaC3KrzL9F-RbS6ZbPvCsiJpWNhvm7r9HOQWqO5Ipdf7y8lVyDvWjDQlCywc71VMfOJgZkDaqT2CNTul8sjBfRwKMHDehVNmbA_RalFCcgH8casdgM1mlNFNor_pcjQ5T9Q3BK/s640/blogger-image-433698340.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boarding passes for the flight home after my year abroad. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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If my calculations are correct, today is my 600th day in the UK. Well, since I've travelled a bit, I should say my 600th day in Europe (though perhaps not for long... *insert mandatory Brexit joke here*)</div>
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At any rate, it's the 600th day since I left Canada. 600 days since I stood in the Halifax airport, surrounded by my bags, and said goodbye to my country. </div>
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It's actually quite a fitting time for this milestone to occur. Firstly, two days ago was the two-year anniversary of the day I discovered I was coming to St. Andrews for the PhD. And, more immediately, I'm now just two days away from heading back to Canada. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC1mYP2MS5jSR2fbOihehzNEJxQd74lGF7QLQHdg1Dxbt4wMJgfno09wj4DwlqCkuyDtIdR0Ba7nWHCDR9kiL3kv4imFVK08uzuAhYGoSdcYNj5Htl0VZNxuIWMJRaksh5YrcGgGDVhHq7/s640/blogger-image--1566885392.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC1mYP2MS5jSR2fbOihehzNEJxQd74lGF7QLQHdg1Dxbt4wMJgfno09wj4DwlqCkuyDtIdR0Ba7nWHCDR9kiL3kv4imFVK08uzuAhYGoSdcYNj5Htl0VZNxuIWMJRaksh5YrcGgGDVhHq7/s640/blogger-image--1566885392.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back with my family for my 22nd birthday</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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For a variety of reasons, I haven't been back to Canada since starting the PhD. But this summer I'm going back twice-- first to Ontario, where I did my undergrad and masters, and then (in August) to PEI, where my family grew up.</div>
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I'm really excited to go back. There are a lot of people I can't wait to see, and I've started to get invited to facebook events at my old Uni that I can actually go to, and, of course, I'm very ready to get my hands on a Tim Hortons ice cap. </div>
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<div>
But there are also a few things I'm apprehensive about. I've never been to Canada as a visitor before. I've never been there not as a resident. I have no idea what it'll feel like to just be passing through, now that I don't live there anymore.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm worried about it feeling foreign. I pulled out my Canadian money from my stash of random currencies, sorting it out amidst piles of euros, American dollars, and Polish zloty and Romanian lei, and the Canadian money felt just that strange. After the weight of British pound coins, the 'loonie' just felt thin. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrQr8GgJR2-l6INlh1CgxU30Jmrzhn4GsmFk5PexOTqez0N3cU00k-h5Jq0ncrS0pYu3KHxvwHWELtaeqI15KnhLBqrcPLq3l2K8uC_lJzMkK0IGfgfPsf4MSfh-ydqu03S7G3PLr47Zrg/s640/blogger-image-1804106990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrQr8GgJR2-l6INlh1CgxU30Jmrzhn4GsmFk5PexOTqez0N3cU00k-h5Jq0ncrS0pYu3KHxvwHWELtaeqI15KnhLBqrcPLq3l2K8uC_lJzMkK0IGfgfPsf4MSfh-ydqu03S7G3PLr47Zrg/s640/blogger-image-1804106990.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Andrews friends at Starlight Ball</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div>
I'm worried about saying the wrong things. About accidentally asking where the toilet is, not the bathroom. About complementing someone on their jumper, not their sweater. I'm worried about sounding pretentious because I say 'trousers' and put the stress on the wrong syllable of Renaissance. </div>
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But there's a positive side to the fact that, for a month, I'll be a tourist in my own country. For the first time in my life, I'll be able to see and appreciate what's uniquely Canadian. Having spent 602 days in the UK, I'll be able to enjoy Canadian culture that much more, since I won't be taking it for granted.</div>
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I've come back to Canada after a long absence before, of course. Almost three years ago, now, I flew back to Canada after a full year abroad. I remember how weird it felt to stand in the airport, surrounded by people speaking in Canadian accents. I remember trying to walk to my university the next morning, only to take two hours because everything in Canada is so ridiculously spread out.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXDo0GeWgl-a1jpZBo2SEWm7-Wgb9gFjJcqQdp8n2Gl76FiAIpa5m7rI2sU_CzwlObkuH55PDjQwSrAqtPKDXI67vJ2sBRbkwuGdlce8LNBypatd4r4VNEAJTAoPMJr4jNMIPqMxAcgaJb/s640/blogger-image-430876643.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXDo0GeWgl-a1jpZBo2SEWm7-Wgb9gFjJcqQdp8n2Gl76FiAIpa5m7rI2sU_CzwlObkuH55PDjQwSrAqtPKDXI67vJ2sBRbkwuGdlce8LNBypatd4r4VNEAJTAoPMJr4jNMIPqMxAcgaJb/s640/blogger-image-430876643.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cast photo for Utopia Limited, this year's Gilbert and Sullivan show.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I remember hating these things. Reverse culture shock is hard. I missed Scotland. I missed British accents and narrow Scottish alleys and proper Yorkshire tea and decent public transit and having my friends all within walking distance. There were so many things I missed, it was hard to appreciate anything about Canada. </div>
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This time, since I'm only there for a month, I'm ready to love Canada. I'm ready to enjoy how everyone has the same accent. I'm ready to revel in the vast space.</div>
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I'm so ready for this chance to realize just how great a country Canada is. I'm ready to see my country with new eyes. </div>
Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-27084668314771398532016-04-29T09:57:00.000-07:002016-04-29T09:57:33.189-07:00A Year Past Rejection <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0bsobTLQREbATignvFuP3PBxERk99cYyzctJyNmCaE0fuzvtuH-2ANFN5BzJohmSQE9xfj4jTGIJeK-KhkI_5Iz2key9IMiBsBHIc-IsZ76qDcfqdnPaHSJ_gIh-Gswr9_qUYzDydriTh/s1600/moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0bsobTLQREbATignvFuP3PBxERk99cYyzctJyNmCaE0fuzvtuH-2ANFN5BzJohmSQE9xfj4jTGIJeK-KhkI_5Iz2key9IMiBsBHIc-IsZ76qDcfqdnPaHSJ_gIh-Gswr9_qUYzDydriTh/s400/moon.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<span style="background-color: white; text-align: center;">“The world is indeed full
of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is
fair, and though in all lands love now is mingled with grief, it grows perhaps
the greater.”</span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background: white;"> -- J. R. R. Tolkien, <i>The Fellowship of the Ring</i>.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A year ago today, I <a href="http://elanorlawrence.blogspot.co.uk/2015/05/success-and-rejection.html">posted this picture and quote </a>after
walking around my subdivision at twilight in a bit of a daze. The previous
Friday, I rode the bus to uni nearly crying because nothing seemed to be
working out. By the following Wednesday, I had a full scholarship to write my
PhD at the university of my dreams. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It’s been a year now, and within the next few days I’ll
be submitting my thesis outline and first chapter for review by the department.
It’s been an amazing year, full of plays, concerts, travel, church events,
friends, and (occasionally) academic work. The year hasn’t been everything I
expected, but, in many ways, it’s been so much better. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghUbVQrOqR7-f9a78AorTgFzAlCYHX5UFiea_xPfNzY4KvlxZjN6yRZbgI8JVniOO53u6kJJNmIS0QK3H_BILfJwA_Cx76VcSGqFkomVHNmkIRV6C8AVztzAauw9SVD3jLbCYmn_HJSkgt/s1600/office.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghUbVQrOqR7-f9a78AorTgFzAlCYHX5UFiea_xPfNzY4KvlxZjN6yRZbgI8JVniOO53u6kJJNmIS0QK3H_BILfJwA_Cx76VcSGqFkomVHNmkIRV6C8AVztzAauw9SVD3jLbCYmn_HJSkgt/s400/office.jpg" width="400" /></a><o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Now more than ever, though, I’m glad this PhD position
didn’t fall into my lap. I’m so thankful for those months last year where I
felt rejected, and alone, and a failure. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Writing a PhD is hard work. The hours are long, the
expectations are high, and the paperwork is never-ending. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
What’s most difficult about the PhD, though, isn’t the
work itself—it’s finding the motivation to actually do the work. It’s putting
in the hours at the office when people tell you, “You’re just a first year; you
don’t need to work so hard.” It’s managing to care about some entertainment
that Queen Elizabeth saw in 1575 when it seems like everyone else’s project is
so much more interesting and relevant. It’s keeping a smile on your face when your
supervisor is disappointed and you feel you can never be a real academic. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Basically, doing a PhD is about managing your
imperfections in a system that expects constant perfection.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzEhVfqQLVlNBrpLQ651WwkPz3YL1O7Nvya8iSOw5zG6IXjhWa8AZeexGslKrOlu8w2HjxEW40EOBME6GmBs3Lu5HmuoGdbxyVFHxipACa-ESo8AVkX2CQRlht8AAynMhbnlk6PVC6bIVk/s1600/tolkien.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzEhVfqQLVlNBrpLQ651WwkPz3YL1O7Nvya8iSOw5zG6IXjhWa8AZeexGslKrOlu8w2HjxEW40EOBME6GmBs3Lu5HmuoGdbxyVFHxipACa-ESo8AVkX2CQRlht8AAynMhbnlk6PVC6bIVk/s400/tolkien.jpg" width="400" /></a>For me, as a Christian, doing my PhD is about daily
acknowledging that I’m not doing this on my own strength. I’m so flawed, so
inadequate, but God has given me an amazing opportunity and He will guide me
through it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
That’s why I’m glad my PhD applications weren’t a
glorious string of acceptances. Because now I know that I’m not here because of
my intelligence, or my academic excellence, or my copious extracurriculars. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Facing rejection before starting my PhD taught me that I
am very much not perfect, but neither do I have to be. And now, whether my
friends are complimenting me on a theatrical performance or my supervisor is
tearing my chapter to shreds, I have absolute confidence that I am valuable not
because I can somehow achieve perfection, but because He strengthens me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEgaSDZ5X04fbPjnAy7gdYLi9SEnvCLcfXz-ucTCp8Gs3rYhy07bXTZ1IXPJFWz1UlMcGVMpbMpZPyDuayadnz8-GN0zpLppBNRs79hct3s36c5hDc-do-dvSA2ocuYYbQqBHHlxj8aDyYD5-eP3IaBDuAHWwfg1M8E892lV3uzdz5X04x2G69FJTdwarWg=" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img align="right" border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g469/wearcapelfy/Blog%20Stuff/elanor3.png" style="border: 0px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2Fi1103.photobucket.com%2Falbums%2Fg469%2Fwearcapelfy%2FBlog%2520Stuff%2Felanor3.png&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEgaSDZ5X04fbPjnAy7gdYLi9SEnvCLcfXz-ucTCp8Gs3rYhy07bXTZ1IXPJFWz1UlMcGVMpbMpZPyDuayadnz8-GN0zpLppBNRs79hct3s36c5hDc-do-dvSA2ocuYYbQqBHHlxj8aDyYD5-eP3IaBDuAHWwfg1M8E892lV3uzdz5X04x2G69FJTdwarWg=" -->Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-63785481143365492032015-12-16T11:19:00.002-08:002015-12-16T11:19:59.803-08:00Day 100: Semester One<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0e9RTVAEiv1Ep8T06rPjY14H516V6Fb1oMgvNcoX1bdjzBEWTu-LNkB13AmcH8q8ALyQmgoIBGqDgXGD0zhF26IH_tQaxubnj7w8QJBYLARf_b0tA9XqZT0Unvj9aQ60JgPWqQwKddC_/s1600/snowmen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0e9RTVAEiv1Ep8T06rPjY14H516V6Fb1oMgvNcoX1bdjzBEWTu-LNkB13AmcH8q8ALyQmgoIBGqDgXGD0zhF26IH_tQaxubnj7w8QJBYLARf_b0tA9XqZT0Unvj9aQ60JgPWqQwKddC_/s320/snowmen.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking advantage of a rare opportunity to have a snowball fight!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Day 100. It’s somewhat fitting that this milestone should
fall on my last day in St. Andrews this year. Far too early tomorrow I’ll catch
a bus, and then a train, and then another train, and another, and another, and
finally drive with my great Aunt and Uncle to their house just south of
Nottingham. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m really looking forward to a proper British Christmas.
I love mulled wine and mince pies and carol services with beautiful descants
and bell-ringing and Christmas pudding and Christmas specials on the telly and
nice chocolates and queuing in M&S for the Christmas turkey and being
excessively confused at Christingles. Yes, I’ll miss spending the holidays with
my immediate family, but there’s something really special about British
Christmas traditions.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0taQ0myGwd9_GJ10bWu_fSF79Dc5o9vCiCDxYTgV6bDUZaCB_7P_SYzKC-nT5dH3h0k55wsCN5ZAEkqxuySWcZGFSSNJDNAudcJ5rYYTNLn3EsTH17EyyDm_V5HJA0kE7Tp-Stac-FnEQ/s1600/cathedral+profile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0taQ0myGwd9_GJ10bWu_fSF79Dc5o9vCiCDxYTgV6bDUZaCB_7P_SYzKC-nT5dH3h0k55wsCN5ZAEkqxuySWcZGFSSNJDNAudcJ5rYYTNLn3EsTH17EyyDm_V5HJA0kE7Tp-Stac-FnEQ/s320/cathedral+profile.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mandatory cathedral shot</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Still, I’m sad the semester is over. The past 100 days
have truly been wonderful, if tiring and stressful and confusing at times. I’ve
made some amazing new friends, have attended and hosted so many wonderful
get-togethers, and also managed to write 11,000 (reasonably) intelligent words.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The fact that I’m 1/9<sup>th</sup> of the way through my three-year
PhD is a little scary. Although I had quite a satisfactory meeting with my
supervisors last week and I’ve produced half a chapter and an annotated
bibliography and a three-page outline of the thesis, I can’t help but feel that
time is going to catch up to me far too soon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
All in all, though, I love the PhD. I love the fact that
I get paid to live in a town I adore with people so dear to me and my “job” is
to go sit in a cozy office and read and write about a subject I find
fascinating. I really can’t imagine anything better. <o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3vMfcB40rRnQAJkfvjZqZyhkUoSs-L5tm2dW4QU2Hx61eB3ixIfwXTXY2-vFI_HrEsqBJCEyX3O3EjhzLVaGwnfU2WU0HLq5FlY3DnDThC1XPpUmtZJpTGZMJ7RmzCAat0-Hvd_kgw5r5/s1600/photo+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3vMfcB40rRnQAJkfvjZqZyhkUoSs-L5tm2dW4QU2Hx61eB3ixIfwXTXY2-vFI_HrEsqBJCEyX3O3EjhzLVaGwnfU2WU0HLq5FlY3DnDThC1XPpUmtZJpTGZMJ7RmzCAat0-Hvd_kgw5r5/s320/photo+%25283%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My squad.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m working on being more grateful for everything God has
given me. More than anything, I want to grow in a deep-rooted joy that isn’t
dependant on circumstances, even though those might be great at the moment. I’m
so happy right now, but I don’t want to lose that joy when my supervisor tells
me my work isn’t up to par, or I have a falling out with a friend, or I can’t
get a job after I graduate. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It’s been a semester of growth, both academically and
personally. I’ve come face-to-face with so many of my weaknesses and built up
some of my strengths. I’m so grateful for the
people God has placed in my life this year, from my brilliant office-mates in
the English department to the keen freshers at church to the loyal friends I
can call at any time of day and know they’ll be there for me. Adjusting back
into life in St. Andrews hasn’t always been easy, but these people have all
made it so, so worthwhile.</div>
<img align="right" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g469/wearcapelfy/Blog%20Stuff/elanor3.png" style="border: 0;" />Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-27064509268408188842015-10-23T08:47:00.000-07:002015-10-23T08:47:57.418-07:00Day 46- A Year Later<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_vfGRKMFvLdhEaYeWNohRT2xDrjcgxN6A1cQ0btWprkzoirXRDq-rBQwmHnrBzJPRMXYZRbOu6FBvPUJU2JhlXRjTI70U83pKCkUD9TXOnAKfidyOnZ6UcQBHxRu9MbydfFp9VbXf0GmG/s1600/Convocation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_vfGRKMFvLdhEaYeWNohRT2xDrjcgxN6A1cQ0btWprkzoirXRDq-rBQwmHnrBzJPRMXYZRbOu6FBvPUJU2JhlXRjTI70U83pKCkUD9TXOnAKfidyOnZ6UcQBHxRu9MbydfFp9VbXf0GmG/s400/Convocation.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Receiving an inordinately expensive piece of paper</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A year ago today, I convocated at Western with a Bachelor’s
degree in English literature. The next day, I submitted my SSHRC application—a 25-page
document for a scholarship worth up to $105,000.<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Today, I should be crossing the stage with the other
members of my cohort to receive my Master of Arts Degree from Western. Instead,
I’m sitting in a flat in Scotland, working towards my PhD at the University of
St. Andrews, courtesy of a SSHRC scholarship and generous funding from the
university.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It’s been a wild ride. I’ve read thousands of pages,
written 45,000 words, cried at rejections and jumped with joy at the
acceptances that meant everything. The Masters year wasn’t always fun. Nothing
about it was easy. But it was so, so worth it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
To be corny and cliché, it was the people that made my
Master’s experience enjoyable. I owe so much to everyone I interacted with that
year: the family I lived with who were there for me through the string of
rejections, the professors who helped me with proposals or wrote references or
just listened when I needed to rant about the stresses of grad school, and,
most of all, the wonderful MA and PhD students who made classes so enjoyable.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I might not miss the long nights struggling to finish
marking, or the mornings waking up at five to read 90 pages of Freud before
class, or the 12 hour days writing three papers in a week, but I definitely miss
Wednesday evenings at the grad club and Friday mornings grumbling about the
uselessness of bibliography class and afternoons in the “bunker” chatting about
everything from the definition of “English” literature to the meaning of
marriage to Victorian mummy unwrappings. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigrZWmik2_dj8NhhFiqtGbDDANuMnYjs_ekEoTTFY26YJILvHVQ7AG3VRjgT7PO7qmAn8ZWzu7o9uooFI4wpmjEbzDXf4GSJoHKwV6OY_GKDoBzi_wH2AG9RcFsTLQPpVQZ8XWAdJDl9OU/s1600/MA+Friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigrZWmik2_dj8NhhFiqtGbDDANuMnYjs_ekEoTTFY26YJILvHVQ7AG3VRjgT7PO7qmAn8ZWzu7o9uooFI4wpmjEbzDXf4GSJoHKwV6OY_GKDoBzi_wH2AG9RcFsTLQPpVQZ8XWAdJDl9OU/s640/MA+Friends.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Final day with the MA cohort</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I wish I could be there to convocate with everyone this morning.
I’m so proud of everyone who made it through the year, as well as those who had
the courage to drop out when they realized that the program wasn’t for them. I’m
so thankful for the intellectual discussions and the Doctor Who evenings, for
people who love both Shakespeare and David Tennant. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
To everyone convocating today, I wish you all the best.
Whether you’re heading on to a PhD or running away from academia as fast as you
can, know that I’m thinking about you and praying for you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Enjoy your thirty seconds on the stage this morning—I might
be in Scotland, but I’ll definitely be there in spirit… and possibly lurking
the video livestream… <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<img align="right" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g469/wearcapelfy/Blog%20Stuff/elanor3.png" style="border: 0;" /><br />
<br />Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-65187612093542186742015-08-28T05:43:00.000-07:002015-08-28T05:43:30.212-07:00The Art of Losing<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>The art of losing isn’t hard to master;<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>So many things seem filled with the intent<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>To be lost that their loss is no disaster…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>Some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
-- Elizabeth Bishop, “<a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/176996">One Art”</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’ve never been good at leaving things behind. People,
places, pieces of paper with hastily scribbled story notes, ugly plastic
Gandalf statues with long-faded sentimental value… Pushing stuff out of my life
has never been easy for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9fUFh9_IJ-vDOKRKhnCZeONgjnn9EPlOnMEbch7SqBAUt2V4zCRUF-c6174QsSi4vR6o9V_EauBzaTYGDlPjAzC3IFZTAqqQ4t9XJOmLhyZg7fIaNqoNpNqNS3B2FEuohtJ62A0QJ6YxX/s1600/Books.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9fUFh9_IJ-vDOKRKhnCZeONgjnn9EPlOnMEbch7SqBAUt2V4zCRUF-c6174QsSi4vR6o9V_EauBzaTYGDlPjAzC3IFZTAqqQ4t9XJOmLhyZg7fIaNqoNpNqNS3B2FEuohtJ62A0QJ6YxX/s320/Books.JPG" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't think they'll all fit in my suitcase...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For that reason, I’m very thankful to have over a month
at home on PEI to sort through my boxes of stuff and choose what comes to
Scotland, what stays behind in semi-permanent storage, and what heads off to
the local thrift store or garbage dump. Some of the choices are easy. Many aren’t.
It’s a time-consuming process, and I’m glad I haven’t had to rush myself at
all.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’ve discovered that giving something away isn’t nearly
as hard as throwing it out. It’s not the thing itself I’m attached to, but the
idea of the thing being valuable. I’d give you my favourite dress if I knew you’d
appreciate it more than I do (for the record, you won’t, so don’t bother
asking). During the decluttering process, nothing makes me happier than giving
stuff away to a good home: my kettle to my brother’s new apartment, my jewellery
to an adorable six year old, my seldom-worn dresses to a good friend. It’s so
easy to part with something when I know the new owner will use it more than I
did.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcgiDjEuAoYhTg0G-RQpuQAj3CCebmBy4OOEP6LK7bp4OydOH12kLDj2tgHhtkWb1e1i6Uapzk4rt9N2Zho6IoELY51nukBfjgN8wc9NOFRXXQyGaQmeH5i5Bf_dv_WCuix9ufwUY4rSYr/s1600/Uhaul.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcgiDjEuAoYhTg0G-RQpuQAj3CCebmBy4OOEP6LK7bp4OydOH12kLDj2tgHhtkWb1e1i6Uapzk4rt9N2Zho6IoELY51nukBfjgN8wc9NOFRXXQyGaQmeH5i5Bf_dv_WCuix9ufwUY4rSYr/s320/Uhaul.JPG" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Uhaul truck for taking my stuff (and Nana's old couches)<br />back from Ontario</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Giving something to a thrift shop is harder. Yes, I’m
happy to support a charity, but by the very nature of thrift shops, everything
I donate will be sold for a fraction of what it’s worth. I don’t mind too much
if they sell an old sweater for a dollar or two, but what about the hand-woven
Romanian purse that they price like a cheap Wal-Mart knockoff? Or the expensive
Perplexus game I only played a few times? Or the authentic Royal Shakespeare
Company poster from David Tennant’s Richard II? There’s no way a thrift store
would price these anywhere near their real value.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Thinking about the thrift store issue made me realize
that my difficulty with giving stuff up isn’t just part of my sentimental
nature—it’s also related to my somewhat excessive drive to save money. None of
the objects I just listed have any practical value to me anymore. Anything the
thrift store gets for them is a gain. Yet, because I (or someone else, in the
case of gifts) paid good money for these objects, I feel like throwing them out
or underselling them is wasting money.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I grew up in a money saving household. “Upcycling” wasn’t
really a term back then, but we did it anyways: toilet paper rolls became
beanie baby castles, old (hopefully sanitized) toothbrushes became sink
scrubbers, threadbare sheets were woven into rugs… Before throwing anything
out, you thought carefully about whether it could be used to make something
else, and the answer was often yes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjFPbnOXsOZcNUROZdylrteV4gsy44n_epGqsjNzAHRqIya5ooinnzmYW2oU2Fe9DHc46ldq8A7q6A9KIng-MnIURSADXOMVvx5nlAKsc3cyLgMMowaxHb0oU4utgVwozUzTjLcteLQmJ4/s1600/Seaglass+Necklace.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjFPbnOXsOZcNUROZdylrteV4gsy44n_epGqsjNzAHRqIya5ooinnzmYW2oU2Fe9DHc46ldq8A7q6A9KIng-MnIURSADXOMVvx5nlAKsc3cyLgMMowaxHb0oU4utgVwozUzTjLcteLQmJ4/s320/Seaglass+Necklace.JPG" width="315" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turning my collection of seaglass into a necklace</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It was, in many ways, a great way to grow up. We saved a
lot of stuff from going to the dump and we saved a lot of money. The downside
is that it’s hard to break the habit when throwing things out becomes
essential. Getting rid of something and saying, “I’ll buy a new one if
necessary” is foreign to me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I need to practice letting go (cue Disney music). Sentimental
attachment hasn’t been as much of a problem this time; I’ve managed to throw
out a lot of stuff that no longer means anything to me. Now, I need to tackle
my money-saving heart. I need to convince myself that being frugal doesn’t mean
being a packrat, that when something has no practical value in my life I should
let it go without obsessing over its value in dollars and cents. I need to stop
worrying about wasting money and start allowing my life to be a little clearer.</div>
<br />
It’s time to lighten my suitcase and flood the thrift
store.<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br /><img align="right" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g469/wearcapelfy/Blog%20Stuff/elanor3.png" style="border: 0;" /><br />
<br />Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-8324458339195127662015-08-18T17:45:00.000-07:002015-08-18T17:45:19.556-07:00-21 Days: Three Weeks and Counting<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In three weeks,
I'll be back in St. Andrews. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I leave Halifax
on the 7th and arrive in Glasgow early on the 8th, meaning that by mid
afternoon I'll be installed once again in St. Andrews. I'm hoping the jet-lag
won't be too severe, as I'm arriving in the middle of Freshers' week and I'll
already have missed a number of events, so I'd rather not miss more. It'll be
so exciting to do Freshers' week again, this time going to events to see old
friends, rather than standing awkwardly at a dozen different 'give it a go'
sessions. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This year will
be different. I don't even know how different yet, but I do know that I can't
count on it to be all that much like my exchange year. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For starters,
I'm a legit student this time. As in, an honest-to-goodness
staying-for-three-years and earning-a-degree student. This isn't a year out,
where courses transfer as pass/fail. This time, academics need to be top
priority.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
On top of that,
I'm a legit <b><i>PhD</i></b> student. I won't be an undergrad
moaning about 9:00am lectures, or madly scrambling to finish a reading, or
pretending I'm intelligent because I took a quick look at secondary sources.
I'll be heading in to my office every morning setting my own schedule,
studiously reading everything I can find in my area, and hopefully contributing
articles of my own. My MA gave me a taste of real scholarship, but next year
will crank that up a notch.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Most
importantly, I'm a legit PhD student at <b><i>St. Andrews</i></b>. As in,
the third oldest university in the English-speaking world. One
of the top universities in the world. 600 years old. The alma matter of royalty. An institute
of learning that was already well established by the time Shakespeare wrote the
plays I study. Last year, I had the privilege of temporarily belonging to that
world-- the next three years will tie me forever to the name of St.
Andrews. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
To be honest...
I'm terrified. Excited, yes. Exhilarated, that too. But, more than anything, I
can't believe my dream is coming true, and I'm both excited and scared for what
that means. Getting my PhD from St. Andrews will be both the hardest and the
best thing I've ever done. And it all starts in three weeks.</div>
<img align="right" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g469/wearcapelfy/Blog%20Stuff/elanor3.png" style="border: 0;" /><br />
<br />Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-40359988993364883312015-07-06T09:10:00.000-07:002015-07-06T09:10:14.241-07:00The Stratford Festival <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFcQlVxJGZMiLy8rr479dB0orFgHs4dNRWNSzas17QARR7nRtJSgdxITs5jCkYx8kx0nAxYwD0T6mGl-xxgKQuu1UpRuod8pHYGSN3Ltx571jdAuBWsnZ6PXkbPEF3RBwV8TXjuwJirCN/s1600/photo+2+%25286%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFcQlVxJGZMiLy8rr479dB0orFgHs4dNRWNSzas17QARR7nRtJSgdxITs5jCkYx8kx0nAxYwD0T6mGl-xxgKQuu1UpRuod8pHYGSN3Ltx571jdAuBWsnZ6PXkbPEF3RBwV8TXjuwJirCN/s320/photo+2+%25286%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Myself and Elly with The Bard</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Over the past week, I’ve had the privilege of spending
two days in Stratford, Ontario, home to the Stratford Shakespeare Festival.
While the way the town so blatantly copies Stratford-Upon-Avon in England is a
tad amusing, it does an excellent job. There’s the gorgeous Avon River,
complete with swans, a quaint high street perfect for window shopping, and a
half dozen theatres hosting world-class performers. In other words, it’s pretty
much my dream town.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
By taking two trips with my friend Elly (who definitely
deserves a shout-out for organizing and driving!) I managed to see four shows: <i>Pericles </i>(late Shakespearean comedy), <i>She Stoops to Conquer</i> (18<sup>th</sup>
century marriage comedy by Oliver Goldsmith), <i>Hamlet</i> (no explanation required), and <i>Oedipus Rex</i> (Greek tragedy by Sophocles). It was a rather eclectic
mix, spread out over two thousand years and a variety of genres. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>Hamlet</i>,
unsurprisingly, was my favourite. <i>Pericles</i>
was beautiful and <i>She Stoops to Conquer</i>
was hilarious and <i>Oedipus Rex</i> was
intense, but <i>Hamlet</i> was all of these,
and more. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx3Rf4pNswuuEpbhtyOg58sUgBLpbRy5gPpUUkEkchzf0DZDgfQeXYMKu6ooSmYjOgMrv2qF4KZYtSbXvkYZOq3w7y251xI3KH8B34_HS_6T_fd0ZIhTpzZW6jFZUuf7f171V6LdqhDisT/s1600/photo+3+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx3Rf4pNswuuEpbhtyOg58sUgBLpbRy5gPpUUkEkchzf0DZDgfQeXYMKu6ooSmYjOgMrv2qF4KZYtSbXvkYZOq3w7y251xI3KH8B34_HS_6T_fd0ZIhTpzZW6jFZUuf7f171V6LdqhDisT/s320/photo+3+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Programs! :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from the production. <i>Hamlet</i> is my favourite play of all time;
I’ve spent countless hours poring over the text for essays and presentations,
and I’ve watched the 2009 RSC production starring David Tennant nearly half a
dozen times. I have full scenes memorized (just ask my grad school friends!)
and I can pick out variants from the three different early printings. I’m more
than a little bit of a <i>Hamlet</i> nerd.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The beginning wasn’t fantastic. The lines in the first
two scenes were spoken so quickly I could barely catch them, and Jonathan Goad
(as Hamlet) raced through soliloquies and spoke lines almost sarcastically when
I was used to hearing them delivered in a melancholy tone. It also took me
quite a while to get used to the Canadian accents—event though I’ve been back
in Canada for nearly a year and my own British accent has long since gone, it
was still weird to hear Shakespeare with a Canadian accent for the first time,
since every other production I’ve seen, whether live or on film, had British
accents. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But it got a lot better. Or, perhaps, I allowed myself to
enjoy it more. I began to appreciate this new Hamlet, with his dry humour, and Claudius
with his hearty laugh, and Gertrude with her slow loss of everything she loved.
Over the course of the play I stopped caring about the accents or whether the actors
fit my mental picture and just lost myself in the story. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkRaW0nrWfs8RoaatBAasoaciVj2-_bWSygzHMMHwI-e0GdUqo_THl3tJJ-W2F7t7b4P2pNtWSpDQksufFPyjhZ0EDqK5AJ9zwrbD6h-Y64NNqIadf02Y6B3VbVgaAzQdWaCJFT0zIKKu/s1600/photo+1+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkRaW0nrWfs8RoaatBAasoaciVj2-_bWSygzHMMHwI-e0GdUqo_THl3tJJ-W2F7t7b4P2pNtWSpDQksufFPyjhZ0EDqK5AJ9zwrbD6h-Y64NNqIadf02Y6B3VbVgaAzQdWaCJFT0zIKKu/s320/photo+1+%25283%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Backdrop of She Stoops to Conquer at the Avon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I cried at the end. Not because I was so sad that Hamlet
died, but because, just sitting in my seat for three hours, I had been through
so much. In front of me, characters had lived and died, hated and loved,
laughed and cried, fought and made peace, betrayed and been loyal, found
forgiveness or died unrepentant. The whole of human experience had been played
out there, directly in front of me, and I had been a part of it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It made me remember why I love theatre, why I plan to
literally spend the rest of my life studying plays from over four hundred years
ago. It’s because the stories are timeless, because a good dramatist can create
characters and plots and themes that are no less applicable now than they were
hundreds of years ago. And also because, in the theatre, we can become part of
those stories, watching the characters come to life in front of us. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Sometimes, when I spend all day at my laptop in a
windowless office typing words that seem meaningless, I forget why I study
English. Yesterday, at the Stratford festival, I remembered.</div>
<br />
<br />
<br /><img align="right" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g469/wearcapelfy/Blog%20Stuff/elanor3.png" style="border: 0;" /><br />
<br />Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-75259743799749953782015-05-02T07:32:00.001-07:002015-05-02T16:59:01.648-07:00Success and Rejection <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPiyYtftE5payJvm1Y4IhLRQ-MHdBxPo-zv7rTrGNnPM_oBxxI_kOj8VRLmzV5qobBcgGYymo2F-O-mlA5LhqfpOhFMgWBlwF4uS3y2ilXmuBhsUSaPjkbMqoHHs8_mL2Oo_se4FsX2fu6/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPiyYtftE5payJvm1Y4IhLRQ-MHdBxPo-zv7rTrGNnPM_oBxxI_kOj8VRLmzV5qobBcgGYymo2F-O-mlA5LhqfpOhFMgWBlwF4uS3y2ilXmuBhsUSaPjkbMqoHHs8_mL2Oo_se4FsX2fu6/s1600/photo+1.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forest near my home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">I'm so
bewildered right now. My life could not possibly have taken a more dramatic
turn in the past few days.<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">Just over a week ago, I took the bus to university nearly crying. I'd been rejected from two
universities and the other two weren't providing me with enough funding to afford to attend. My papers weren't going
well. I was looking for jobs, but even with a Masters it seemed like I wasn't
qualified for anything.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="background: white;">And then
Friday Afternoon happened.<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">I can't
release details yet, not until everything is finalized, but I now have the
opportunity to go do my PhD in the UK next year, which is what I've hoped and
prayed and worked for all this past year.<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">One big
yes began an avalanche of yeses, all happening so fast I could barely keep
track. I went from a burnt-out MA student uncertain if I'd ever enter a
classroom again to a desirable PhD candidate with grad chairs at prestigious
universities casually saying they'd love to have me and graduate financial
managers suggesting we meet up for drinks and world experts in my field
chatting in my office and offering to help in any way they could.<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">It's
wonderful. It's crazy. It's utterly beyond what I could have expected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4tPHtTFYgqnGfvVnGWEZ3SJ9lUgr8_j21xtJCWywArT0bI3ysNwQzZGv5DAUpuZFvzOjrBYToDnQCBn7EI6YBEliiGzyl_wR1E_SJu6KHM0aoO5i52pULjo8N0QLb06ls8B2OVHS6nsN/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4tPHtTFYgqnGfvVnGWEZ3SJ9lUgr8_j21xtJCWywArT0bI3ysNwQzZGv5DAUpuZFvzOjrBYToDnQCBn7EI6YBEliiGzyl_wR1E_SJu6KHM0aoO5i52pULjo8N0QLb06ls8B2OVHS6nsN/s1600/photo+3.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moonlight walk the evening I heard the news</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">It’s also, quite frankly, a
tad uncomfortable. I’m exactly the same person I was a week ago, but just with
one highly important piece of paper in my hand. And now everyone wants to help
me out. I’m the go-to success story that makes my department look good. I’m the
rags to riches fairy tale. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">I always assumed that people
doing PhDs at prestigious universities with sizable scholarships had it all
together. They were the best of the best. They were smart. And hardworking. And
somehow magical—everything worked out for them. They could sit in their comfy
office chairs with all their applications and grant proposals comfortably
behind them and smile because they had succeeded at life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">But that’s not how it is.
Maybe for some people, but not for me. I was rejected. I was burnt-out. I was
so lost and confused. If there’s one thing I know about life, it’s that I most
definitely don’t have it all together. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">There’s a lot of hard work
coming. I may have gotten the PhD position of my dreams, but actually getting
the degree won’t be easy. And then there’re postdocs. And adjunct positions.
And maybe, sometime in the future, a professor’s chair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_QvmUvAYmw5QpK6CaQiA8IxPi7VKYmRl4Kiq9kLaUzWuRHQ8QzyN2p-Fwrl9AzzCND4EPKgX_5W4jX1qA5p9rXcRdgV8trdp2Jt3ReTAfTkpGKvE11blvSDL71JKTtkTNnutjdVvWfQo_/s1600/photo+2+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_QvmUvAYmw5QpK6CaQiA8IxPi7VKYmRl4Kiq9kLaUzWuRHQ8QzyN2p-Fwrl9AzzCND4EPKgX_5W4jX1qA5p9rXcRdgV8trdp2Jt3ReTAfTkpGKvE11blvSDL71JKTtkTNnutjdVvWfQo_/s1600/photo+2+(1).JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Western</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">I certainly haven’t written
my last application or received my last rejection. Life is not all sunshine and
rainbows from here on. I may have gotten accepted where it counted most, and I am
beyond thrilled. But I am still the same person who was rejected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">I want to be the person who
learns from those rejections rather than the one who pretends it’ll never
happen again. I want to remember how hard the road has been so far so I can be
more empathetic towards the ones travelling behind me and more respectful of
the ones ahead. I want to sincerely thank everyone who has supported me so far
and in turn support everyone I can. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">I want to grow, yet not
become a different person from last week, before everything went right. My
worth as a human being does not depend on what one scholarship committee thinks
of two pages I’ve written. I want to work hard and trust God and move forward
knowing that I am not defined, ultimately, by either my academic failures, or
my successes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<img align="right" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g469/wearcapelfy/Blog%20Stuff/elanor3.png" style="border: 0;" /><br />
<br />Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-79063671796647766792015-04-01T08:43:00.001-07:002015-04-01T08:46:12.922-07:001 Admin vs. 70 Grad Students: Who Really Works at Western? <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixq6uHJmvcW6o6TnunOi9rLUOQz22QcI2TRO6Xc5rXPEq02dgbwbPtXzHn7jWkLrscNy4LDlsZ_k8m3Osvj-cJU9JJbYBbIl-x-uYUYgIAzIfLu06nyNJh2o8yMAuvtAmHg_ZnxMi2trRk/s1600/Convocation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixq6uHJmvcW6o6TnunOi9rLUOQz22QcI2TRO6Xc5rXPEq02dgbwbPtXzHn7jWkLrscNy4LDlsZ_k8m3Osvj-cJU9JJbYBbIl-x-uYUYgIAzIfLu06nyNJh2o8yMAuvtAmHg_ZnxMi2trRk/s1600/Convocation.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My convocation, featuring Amit Chakma (left) and the late Chancellor, Joseph Rotman (right)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
On Monday morning, <a href="http://www.westerngazette.ca/2015/03/president-amit-chakma-receives-cash-payout/">Western’s student newspaper</a> informed
me that Amit Chakma, Western University’s president, made nearly a million
dollars last year. Apparently his salary is capped at $440,000, but he chose to
work through a year of paid leave, earning bonuses which brought his salary up
to $967,000. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m normally not the sort of person to complain about
other people making a lot of money, and I feel very blessed to receive nearly
$20,000 in research grants and TAships from Western. To me, getting paid $35 an
hour to fangirl about <i>The Hobbit</i>
makes grad school the ultimate job and I don’t care that my salary is
technically under the poverty line, because it’s plenty in my current
situation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So why do I feel the need to write about Chakma’s salary?
Not because I think that there’s something inherently wrong with a human being
making a million dollars, but because I attend a publically-funded university
that’s cutting arts programs and replacing faculty with sessional instructors
in order to save money… and that same university just released <a href="http://www.uwo.ca/ipb/publicaccountability/documents/2014-salaries.pdf">a list of over 1200 people</a> (admin, faculty, and staff) who earn more than $100,000 every year.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As a grad student, I know money talks. OGS (Ontario
Graduate Scholarship- $15,0000 for one year) and SSHRC (Social Science and
Humanities Research Council- $20,000/35,000 for 3-4 years) carry enormous
weight. If I was to win a SSHRC (I won’t know ‘till May) I would be accepted by
virtually any university in Canada (potentially even ones which had previously<o:p></o:p></div>
rejected me) because funding is just that important. <br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
SSHRC applications work in two stages: you apply to your
university, and they forward the best applications to the Canada-wide
competition. I discovered in January that I had been forwarded, but I’ve yet to
hear of anyone else from my 60-person department who was. Through the
grapevine, I know that there can only have been one or two other applications
sent on. This means that, absolute best case scenario, the English department
at Western could receive three new SSHRCs, totalling $105,000 next year. Worst
case, we’ll receive nothing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Western currently offers 278 OGS scholarships every year
(heavily government subsidized), which amounts to approximately $4,000,000 in
funding. That sounds like a big number, until you realize it’s only four times
what Chakma made last year. Chakma’s salary alone could fund almost 70 graduate
students. In fact, since these scholarships are so highly government
subsidized, UWO only spends $1,400,000 on OGS’s, or approximately Chakma’s salary
plus the next top earner, Michael Strong (Dean of the school of Medicine and
Dentistry, $462,125). Are these two men doing more for the university than
nearly three hundred grad students?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Full disclosure: I was just rejected from UBC (University
of British Columbia-- known for being one of the best and biggest English grad programs in Canada) because they only had enough money to offer four funded
spots this year. Funding for graduate programs is obviously in crisis. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I don’t care that Amit Chakma makes at least fifty times
what I do (100 times, if you count the fact that half my salary goes towards my
tuition). He’s got a lot more experience than I do. I’m perfectly happy with my
current salary.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But I do care that arts programs are in a funding crisis,
unable to offer spots to graduate students, overworking underpaid TAs and
sessional instructors, increasing class sizes, and ultimately hurting students
at all levels. And while instructors and programs are being cut, lowering the
quality of education students are paying for and our government is subsidizing,
the top dog is making a million dollars. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Seventy graduate students leading tutorials. Thirty
sessional instructors giving dynamic lectures. Ten full-time faculty conducting
ground-breaking research. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Or one head-honcho speaking at convocation about how valuable
our Western degree is.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This isn’t about Chakma. This isn’t about him making too
much or me too little. This is about my university, which, when money was
tight, chose to more than double the salary of an overpaid administrator rather
than hiring the teachers and researchers who form the backbone of the
university. And that is a decision which I cannot agree with. </div>
<img align="right" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g469/wearcapelfy/Blog%20Stuff/elanor3.png" style="border: 0;" />Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-28823993224606622612015-03-07T16:05:00.000-08:002015-03-07T16:05:44.091-08:00Day 189: A Working Vacation <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiataaY2wvpo0BBfMsvgXNFS2x-h8N4aCG0XHmrOj640B7HKfakC9paTqUpTNLpt_dxXShwvUkRQbYPddgrjpBxW4o0Q7xE-O0WQaZF6AxW8fNmA61oQgor4A9RcWptjMic9YCEE_U3FHEA/s1600/CN+tower.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiataaY2wvpo0BBfMsvgXNFS2x-h8N4aCG0XHmrOj640B7HKfakC9paTqUpTNLpt_dxXShwvUkRQbYPddgrjpBxW4o0Q7xE-O0WQaZF6AxW8fNmA61oQgor4A9RcWptjMic9YCEE_U3FHEA/s1600/CN+tower.JPG" height="320" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">CN Tower in Toronto</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
If it wasn’t for the three large screens playing the
hockey game, the Irish pub would almost feel authentic. There are certainly
enough signs advertising Guinness, and the waitress’s accent sounds foreign yet
familiar. Still, the ceiling is a tad too high, and the mirrors on one wall
make the building appear airy and spacious, nothing like the quaint cramped
spaces I got used to in Ireland and Scotland. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Of course, I’m not in Ireland, or the UK. I’m in downtown
Toronto, halfway between Ottawa and London. I’ll be “home” in a few hours
(still not quite sure what that word means) but for now I’m enjoying the last
meal of my working vacation, courtesy of Western University. Gotta say, the
food-allowance part of going to conferences is definitely something I could get
used to. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Where have I been these past few days? In Ottawa, at the
21<sup>st</sup> Annual Underhill Graduate Student Colloquium, hosted by the
History Department at Carleton University. The conference was centered around
the idea of performing history, so I presented a paper on dance in Ben Jonson’s
1609 <i>Masque of Queens</i>, a court
performance where the dance styles were very much tied to political opinions. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit at the National Gallery in Ottawa </td></tr>
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I’d never presented a paper before, so I can’t say I wasn’t
nervous, but this colloquium was pretty much the ideal place for a first
presentation. It was an extremely supportive forum for graduate students to
present their research—the conference was fairly evenly divided between MAs and
PhDs, there were a fair number of universities represented (UNB, U of T,
McMaster, Western, and UBC, to name a few), and projects outside of straight
history were definitely welcome (such as Art History, Medieval Studies, Digital
Humanities, and my field, English). The other conference attendees were
extremely friendly, the other papers presented (41 in all) were fascinating,
and the question periods at the end of each session generated intriguing
discussions. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catching the train</td></tr>
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I presented on the first session of the first day, which
was originally something I was quite pleased about. After all, it was lovely to
show up on Thursday morning, present for fifteen minutes, and then enjoy the
rest of the conference stress-free. However, since the conference was such a
supportive environment, it was too bad that I presented so early, before many
people had shown up. There were only ten other people in the room when I gave
my talk, which I’m told isn’t a poor showing for an academic conference, but
the rest of the panels I attended later in the day had 20-40 attendees and a
much more energetic question period.</div>
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Still, it was a fantastic experience to tell other people
about my research. After all, up to this point, no one except my professors, my
mother, and my best friend have <i>ever</i>
read anything academic I’ve written, so an audience of ten actually represents
a 333% increase. I loved standing in front of the room, presenting my ideas to
a group of people, however small, who cared about what I was talking about and
who were all working on equally fascinating projects. Underhill may have been a
great conference to start with, but it certainly won’t be my last.</div>
<img align="right" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g469/wearcapelfy/Blog%20Stuff/elanor3.png" style="border: 0;" /><br />
<br />Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-78208676878375407262015-01-31T19:13:00.001-08:002015-01-31T19:13:36.708-08:00Day 150: Well, I'm Back <div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>“But Sam turned to
Bywater, and so came back up the Hill, as day was ending once more. And he went
on, and there was yellow light, and fire within; and the evening meal was
ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and
put little Elanor upon his lap.<br />
He drew a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m back,’ he said.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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-- J. R. R. Tolkien, <i>The
Return of the King</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Final day in St. Andrews- a walk on the 18th hole of the Old Course</td></tr>
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Day 150. I’ve been back in Canada for 150 days. Yikes.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s been good, for the most part. I won’t lie and say
that it wasn’t hard to leave Scotland and that every moment back in Canada has
been amazing and that I never want to leave here again. Coming back was
difficult and stressful and full of reverse culture shock and longing for
cobbled streets and old stone buildings. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But, despite all that, it has been good to come back. I
needed to return to Canada and see my country through new eyes. Yes, there are
plenty of things that now frustrate me, like how spread out everything is or
how people don’t know how to queue or how no one properly appreciates a good
cup of tea. Yet, there are so many things I do appreciate, like proper malls
and nice airports and heated houses and having all my clothes with me and
having a family who knows me so well and loves me anyways.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m glad to have returned. I don’t think it would have
been good for me to have stayed away much longer. Living the crazy life of an
exchange student, it’s far too easy to forget that “home”—whatever that word
means—does actually matter. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s the problem with going on exchange: it’s so
temporary… and so exciting for that very reason. During my one year at St.
Andrews I packed in several years’ worth of travel and theatre-going and
celebrity-meeting. I did so much that home couldn’t help but feel boring… but I
only did so much because I wasn’t at home. My friends who call Britain home
could have done just as much as I did, but they didn’t, because they were at
home. It was the exchange that gave me license to have such an amazing year,
not the living in Britain. <o:p></o:p></div>
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An exchange is fundamentally transitory. It’s got an
absolute beginning and end. It’s like a little bubble space off of real life. I
never want to say that it has no bearing on real life, because it absolutely
does, but it still is a special time that must end. I might even go as far as
to say that the fact that an exchange year ends is ultimately what makes it all
worthwhile. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s why I had to come back. Because returning to
Canada and reevaluating my homeland also allows me to look back and appreciate
Scotland for what it was: a life changing year. My year abroad changed me in so
many ways that didn’t even become evident until I came back. It’s all well and
good to reinvent yourself in a new country, but the real test is when you come
back “home.”</div>
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This probably all sounds too final, like I’m content
return home and put my exchange year behind me. That’s not true at all. Right
now I’m doing all I can to get myself back to Britain and I still don’t
particularly want to stay in Canada long term. But I know that returning here
was important, even essential, and I’m so glad, after 150 days, that I came
back. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<img align="right" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g469/wearcapelfy/Blog%20Stuff/elanor3.png" style="border: 0;" /><br />
<br />Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-69338804240185288572014-09-01T02:31:00.001-07:002014-09-01T02:31:26.360-07:00Day 365: I'm going... Home?<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhJE0DoAir8TVYESAqHjIV6GMIXlQdyiQc8jYGVLXv6FTkckgZ0Drd068B4sKYziuAyCovi2g286BGw8DIkRV67G3NXyTToDBY0tkv4BXikqrFUWoUllLUJik0NXntT2DSqbJlEDWqW3Ho/s640/blogger-image--1995788339.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhJE0DoAir8TVYESAqHjIV6GMIXlQdyiQc8jYGVLXv6FTkckgZ0Drd068B4sKYziuAyCovi2g286BGw8DIkRV67G3NXyTToDBY0tkv4BXikqrFUWoUllLUJik0NXntT2DSqbJlEDWqW3Ho/s640/blogger-image--1995788339.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>My flight leaves in two hours. I've all but left Scotland- Edinburgh airport doesn't really count as part of the country I've called home for the past year. I've said goodbye to England, to Scotland, to my friends, to St. Andrews... All that's left is to board the plane, sit back, and let it take me across the ocean. </div><div><br></div><div>Am I excited to go back to Canada? Yes, of course. I do miss my country, my friends, my university, my family... I'm looking forward to seeing everything again and it'll be great to start my MA at Western. </div><div><br></div><div>Still, I don't want to go. Over the past year Britain has truly captured my heart. St. Andrews has become my home, the town I know and love best in all the world. When I'm there I truly feel alive, like I belong. </div><div><br></div><div>Going back to Canada doesn't feel like going home- it feels like travelling. Maybe it would be different if I was heading back to PEI, to be with my family, but flying straight back to Ontario, which I'm not particularly attached to, feels almost a little alienating. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm not trying to downplay Ontario, or Western, or my friends there, or Canada as a whole. God has blessed me with twenty wonderful years in that country and I have so much to be thankful for. To all Canadians reading this, I'm not trying to imply that there's anything negative or lacking about our country. I'm proud to be Canadian.</div><div><br></div><div>It's just that travelling complicates the idea of home. After living in Britain, gaining the accent, and travelling Europe, I cannot be solely Canadian anymore. When I've lived in more than one place for so long, finding just one place to call home becomes pretty much impossible.</div><div><br></div><div>Maybe I'll go back and discover that Canada really is where I belong. Maybe I'll want to settle down there and content myself with occasional visits to Europe. </div><div><br></div><div>But maybe I'll return to find that it's really not my country anymore. Maybe going 'home' will cement my sense that actually Britain is where I want to live long-term. Maybe Canada will be just as amazing as it always was, but I'll want something different. </div><div><br></div><div>At this point I really don't know. I've got my one year MA ahead of me, but then my PhD could be anywhere. Canada, the US, Britain, Australia? Who knows? At this point I'm up for adventure, trusting that God will eventually show me a place I can call home. </div>Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-24261142009792531992014-08-04T03:33:00.001-07:002015-06-23T13:21:12.234-07:00Day 338: Living the Dream?<div>
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<div>
I write this while sitting on a patio in Venice, a canopy to protect me from the brilliant sun, jazz music playing, a cup of tea steeping on the table, Italian waiters at the ready to bring me milk, or more hot water, or anything else I should need. </div>
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I'm living the dream, apparently. </div>
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Except, at the risk of sounding like the biggest spoiled brat in the history of the known universe (barring Justin Bieber), my life is no dream. </div>
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<div>
Over this past year I've done so many things and been so many places that I've always dreamed about. Scotland. England. Ireland. Holland. Italy... the list could go on and on, but those are some of the main ones. Basically, for the past year, I have been quite literally living my dream. </div>
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<div>
But, of course, this little thing called life tends to get in the way. The dream Britain is full of rolling hills and fish and chips and cups of tea with the Queen, but the real Britain involves wind and rain and supper in crowded MacDonalds and overnight busses breaking down at 5am.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The dream Italy involves relaxing on a balcony over the Mediterranean sipping wine, then taking a gondola ride through Venice and eating bowls of gelato in expensive florentine cafés. The real Italy involves grabbing meals in overpriced supermarkets and riding on crowded trains and getting hit on my creepy middle aged men and suffering blistered feet and sunburns. </div>
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<div>
I'm not saying this to complain. Italy is amazing. All my travels have been fantastic. I wouldn't give up this past year for anything. But I just want to make it clear that my life is about as different from a travel magazine as a real life relationship is from a romance novel. </div>
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Yes, I love my life. But it's really not a dream. That's why it's called life. </div>
Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-72941427566493566312014-08-03T23:29:00.001-07:002014-08-03T23:29:46.618-07:00Day 332.2: Rome!<div>I love this place! I'd been warned that it was a bit of a dump, and yeah, it kind of is, but the sheer number of beautiful buildings make up for the crumbling ones and the illustrious history compensates for the mediocre present.</div><div><br></div><div>After the thoroughly tiring plane flight, I made it to Rome a bit before 9am. Dragging my little green suitcase behind me I set off to find the hostel, which was apparently just seven blocks away. Well, it wasn't far, but it wasn't exactly easy to find, as it was on the top floor of a normal looking apartment building and there was no sign whatsoever! Thank goodness I had printed out a map with the address or I never would have found it. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-rIheaw8v85SApz4xeQwRkYhidhyphenhyphenFfODxfZGpzblW7w9fY38Abiitbqldx149xss2W7cOiM9EMuoCpB2u8T69Rt2QWQDS7u7moa-_L7RHjvc3yQh0LlZDp6DMf5AhA1R4zCLE_NQViTbS/s640/blogger-image--1142240901.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-rIheaw8v85SApz4xeQwRkYhidhyphenhyphenFfODxfZGpzblW7w9fY38Abiitbqldx149xss2W7cOiM9EMuoCpB2u8T69Rt2QWQDS7u7moa-_L7RHjvc3yQh0LlZDp6DMf5AhA1R4zCLE_NQViTbS/s640/blogger-image--1142240901.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>When I rang, the door was opened by a middle aged Turkish man who turned out to be a traveller in the same predicament as me- he arrived too early to check in. We left our bags in a side room, then set off together to the Colosseum. </div><div><br></div><div>The first sight of the Colosseum was surreal. I've seen hundreds of pictures of it in history books and tourist guides... and then to have it rise up in front of me... Crazy... Unfortunately, the effect was diminished slightly by the fact that half of the main facade was covered by scaffolding. Still. So cool.</div><div><br></div><div>Admission cost €12 and also included the nearby Roman Forum and Palatine hill, which I thought was reasonable. Going in was so bizarre, thinking about the thousands of Romans who flocked there 2000 years ago to watch the gladiator fights... Strangely, the arena itself was much smaller than I expected. The outer walls, which look so thin in photos, are actually really thick to allow for layers and layers of seats. This means that the actual fighting ring is comparatively tiny. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcDBdxsSokrU7KXT5_7FTZN1pn1Mkf09yYiESRywET0qoFB3He01YEmp2aKAYnhX296uvYzvT9sVERnlZFnpOwbNtUseSM1UKWqq0GDRhN_WA9bNdw3fF3Rtv7yZcqSi228KKGWmLzbCPC/s640/blogger-image--1189026813.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcDBdxsSokrU7KXT5_7FTZN1pn1Mkf09yYiESRywET0qoFB3He01YEmp2aKAYnhX296uvYzvT9sVERnlZFnpOwbNtUseSM1UKWqq0GDRhN_WA9bNdw3fF3Rtv7yZcqSi228KKGWmLzbCPC/s640/blogger-image--1189026813.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>After grabbing some lunch from a cafe manned by a lanky Italian guy with long hair and a bored expression, I returned to the hostel to check in. I had reserved a six bed dorm, but it turns out I was given a room with just two beds, the other taken by an eccentric but friendly Hungarian woman who grew up in the US and now lives in Germany. She's a tad odd, but fun to chat with, and definitely an improvement over a dorm full of strangers!</div><div><br></div><div>I took a quick nap to make up for my sleepless night, then set off for the Roman Forum. This was certainly a highlight of the trip and one of Rome's most underrated attractions. It's the original site of the Forum, the Senate, the home of the Vestal Virgins, half a dozen temples, and Augustus's place. Basically, anything you've read about Rome- it's there. Of course, all these things are in ruins, but the site is actually an active archaeological dig, so you can see what they've discovered and what they're still looking for. I spent three hours wandering around here and ended up getting kicked out at closing time. Definitely recommended. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmgZa8ddZBsCmq99k6NOg1mgJ4UyQcJ_p4lwPKa1kQbz49gMrVqLd9hezZe7jm_1-9sPihjTa6X3IutN21xOlqMEoG9h1OnrtFMe80mXbRzBmxdUPkFYDOWsgbcSufbQ0dCUNImjRQTG8D/s640/blogger-image--1062756857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmgZa8ddZBsCmq99k6NOg1mgJ4UyQcJ_p4lwPKa1kQbz49gMrVqLd9hezZe7jm_1-9sPihjTa6X3IutN21xOlqMEoG9h1OnrtFMe80mXbRzBmxdUPkFYDOWsgbcSufbQ0dCUNImjRQTG8D/s640/blogger-image--1062756857.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>At this point I was tired and hungry, so I returned to the hostel and got to sleep early. I wanted to be good and ready for the next day, touring the rest of Rome and the Vatican!</div>Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-4768060789532483142014-07-30T13:18:00.001-07:002014-07-30T13:18:57.176-07:00Day 332.1: Farewell Romania, Hello Rome!<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4aBrFxxyfRTZ3VrCIJr7ZOJmhsz0CtvVvnwdlP_SO4Qjf3dsIJGdF8HgRol-YKLOs37nVdQa-NmlgnkLG9K5efjjTFMB3IE8KppCC1RpMz5s-pY1apVYdl6qdR7f2tX0yA9923ai83_sY/s640/blogger-image--810599122.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4aBrFxxyfRTZ3VrCIJr7ZOJmhsz0CtvVvnwdlP_SO4Qjf3dsIJGdF8HgRol-YKLOs37nVdQa-NmlgnkLG9K5efjjTFMB3IE8KppCC1RpMz5s-pY1apVYdl6qdR7f2tX0yA9923ai83_sY/s640/blogger-image--810599122.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>It seems like most of my travel experiences involve being ridiculously tired. This is probably because the budget airlines always fly at inhumane hours of the morning, like the flight I'm waiting for right now, which leaves for Rome at 6:35am. That's why I got up this morning at 3:30 to be at the airport by 4:30, where, fortunately, the check in desk and security queues were quite efficient. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm waiting at the boarding gate now, slightly before 5am, so I've got awhile to go yet. Boredom, combined with extreme tiredness, of course puts me in the blogging mood. Apologies, internets. Whenever I'm awake enough to write coherent blogs I'm probably off doing something more exciting.</div><div><br></div><div>Passport control was a tad awkward, since the guy kept flipping through my passport, looking from my photo to me and back again. I have got my hair cut fairly drastically since that photo, so that was probably the issue. He also asked me about my trip to Ukraine, about who I went with and was it safe. After chatting for a bit and actually joking a little he let me through, so I don't really know what the holdup was at first. </div><div><br></div><div>(Have I mentioned I went to Ukraine? Don't think so... Well, I did. The day after the plane got shot down. Definitely genius planning on my part. But I survived, and some interesting blog posts will come from it, at any rate.)</div><div><br></div><div>So, I'm going to Rome. In fact, by the time I actually post this, I'll be in Rome. That's pretty crazy. I'm not quite sure why, but Rome has always been one of the top places in the world I've wanted to visit. A lot of people have told me that it's overrated and actually kind of a dump, but I'm still excited. It's got the colosseum, for Pete's sake! And the catacombs! And the Vatican! There are quite literally thousands of years of history standing right there-- I don't see how that can not be exciting.</div><div><br></div><div>And now, time for a power nap, and then I'll start praying the boarding crew doesn't ask me to put my bag in the sizer...</div><div><br></div><div>---- LATER EDIT</div><div><br></div><div>I'm in Rome! And I've been in the colosseum! And St. Peter's basilica! And I'm not going to visit the Sistine Chapel because it's really expensive, but I've been close. And I've seen so many beautiful buildings... I love this city! </div><div><br></div>Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-69643401230316723152014-07-27T09:07:00.001-07:002014-07-27T09:07:11.832-07:00Day 330: Romania is a Wrap<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">On Friday I finished my second (and last) English teaching placement in Romania. We had a party, handed our certificates, and had a celebratory water fight... and then it was over. A few hugs, some thank you's, and I said goodbye-- perhaps forever-- to the group or students and volunteers who have filled my life for the past few weeks.</span></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP8qoY12ZHvih8YYtyOeQCiEmOlqIn9rkDy7rzzClxZKJ8rBdYRFkGBmwcM5lnb53zXtJu3yMnLtCrHL2lFblyK7nPIzLKzsF3HbGOjrsSizT4pCWLE-BBRvqxzjle9mf_-t8I96zy__IB/s640/blogger-image--819757413.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP8qoY12ZHvih8YYtyOeQCiEmOlqIn9rkDy7rzzClxZKJ8rBdYRFkGBmwcM5lnb53zXtJu3yMnLtCrHL2lFblyK7nPIzLKzsF3HbGOjrsSizT4pCWLE-BBRvqxzjle9mf_-t8I96zy__IB/s640/blogger-image--819757413.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">(Edumax, the first school I taught at)</div></div><div><br></div><div>It's a bit cliche, but it hasn't sunk in yet that I'm done. I've gotten so used to waking up at 7 every morning to plan lessons, to walking into the staff lounge and greeting the other volunteers, and to teasing Georgiana (my hostess/student). I'm pretty used to life in Suceava, and, despite it not being the most interesting city on the planet, I have enjoyed living here. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwKEEcLmKt4afhq52zVEZB-zWPkGgKOE10hcilf2VrLBR8O34NFpAkj-kNTnPvqXz1SgFeDj0S4VMvEvCbJUs5fcFfO0-sALzucdckAiR29t0HfLMxGk4Y82ZJLBcy2NvsMbchyDY6UXWI/s640/blogger-image-1444646761.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwKEEcLmKt4afhq52zVEZB-zWPkGgKOE10hcilf2VrLBR8O34NFpAkj-kNTnPvqXz1SgFeDj0S4VMvEvCbJUs5fcFfO0-sALzucdckAiR29t0HfLMxGk4Y82ZJLBcy2NvsMbchyDY6UXWI/s640/blogger-image-1444646761.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">(Photoshoot by an abandoned barn)</div><br></div><div><br></div><div>It's been a great month. Teaching certainly hasn't been without its challenges, and neither has been adjusting to such a different culture, but on the whole it's been really rewarding and a lot of fun. </div><div><br></div><div>Before I came, last year's volunteers told me that Romanians were really friendly-- that's certainly proved true. I've loved spending time with my host families and the Romanian volunteers at the school. Together, we've explored Suceava, climbed a mountain, and spent countless hours chatting in pubs. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQyrvfzpwQW_XqgfymGVD_XJTHBT_l7y_fI7A-ebsAwZI4tIWLOhY_AT8avRQBbER5bLrXjKYs8l2Kn-B_210CaVxx_IpOIF2vRB42axTKC7Cq-7wtb8pYROoQkto0_rjAjLH9Klurs327/s640/blogger-image--1171071455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQyrvfzpwQW_XqgfymGVD_XJTHBT_l7y_fI7A-ebsAwZI4tIWLOhY_AT8avRQBbER5bLrXjKYs8l2Kn-B_210CaVxx_IpOIF2vRB42axTKC7Cq-7wtb8pYROoQkto0_rjAjLH9Klurs327/s640/blogger-image--1171071455.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">(The top of mount Ceahlau, 1800m up!)</div><br></div><div><br></div><div>I can't say I'll be sad to get back to Britain in a week. As much as I'll miss the beautiful countryside and the friendly people and the great restaurants, I'm looking forward to getting back to a familiar language and a shared heritage and cleaner public places. At the risk of sounding horrendously snobby, I will be happy to return to a higher-income country, leaving the cracked pavement and the stray dogs far behind. </div><div><br></div><div>But before Britain, Italy! On the 29th I fly out to Italy, where I'll spend a week visiting Rome, Naples, Florence, Pisa, and Venice. It's going to be a whirl-wind tour, but I'm definitely looking forward to it. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis6zGPu_CUBvq7grPtElOqR8CJ14v1a2B6iF0eaGPL2lJ9uTSktt9YaGiti31_Udl8nOVQiX6AP9EK22a7IbhJCFeAq5nhfX77PJfU8L2a04tbLxYyx0kafA1bZ5ENja5C_vDVbjiXdV2i/s640/blogger-image--2092275442.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis6zGPu_CUBvq7grPtElOqR8CJ14v1a2B6iF0eaGPL2lJ9uTSktt9YaGiti31_Udl8nOVQiX6AP9EK22a7IbhJCFeAq5nhfX77PJfU8L2a04tbLxYyx0kafA1bZ5ENja5C_vDVbjiXdV2i/s640/blogger-image--2092275442.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">(A monastery)</div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Just one more month travelling Europe. Three new countries left, bringing my total for this year to 20. Being on the road again will be tiring, but there is just so much more to see and do. I'm gonna make the most of this year. </div><div><br></div><div>Romania, farewell. I couldn't live here-- I'm definitely too accustomed to my western standard of living. But even if Romania isn't as comfortable as the West, there's something more real here, a genuine vibrancy and warmth that made my stay so memorable. Hopefully I'll return some day. But even if I don't, Romania will always be part of me. </div>Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-15137713441229652632014-07-10T02:34:00.001-07:002014-07-10T02:34:57.912-07:00Days 288-293: The Mikado<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">On June 21st, a few days after mum went back to Canada, I performed as Peep-Bo in Gilbert and Sullivan's most famous operetta, The Mikado. Set in Japan, the story follows Ko-Ko, The Lord High Executioner of Titti-Pu, on his quest to obey the emperor, the Mikado, and find someone to execute... or be executed himself. </span></div><div><br></div><div>It's somewhat of a dark comedy, with a lot of the humour revolving around characters planning each other's deaths, and it's often been accused of racism because of its portrayal of Japan. However, I think that the over-the-top situations and the caricature of Japanese culture are used to satirize the British political system, rather than poking fun at Japan, and the sheer strangeness of the story makes the satire more effective.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDudIYJTFoklWeHhP_I5KCg9jhI02P0nD-_t9kOLVtacTZPxzME_c0XCz6qPQnMUIW1_OhiqIlHHUSKX6aA9jkPXER7szfmWLQycL9q-d6JwH76IxzSWrMPT9BTZCzLzF_FBYK2ck5sQrj/s640/blogger-image--1668334060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDudIYJTFoklWeHhP_I5KCg9jhI02P0nD-_t9kOLVtacTZPxzME_c0XCz6qPQnMUIW1_OhiqIlHHUSKX6aA9jkPXER7szfmWLQycL9q-d6JwH76IxzSWrMPT9BTZCzLzF_FBYK2ck5sQrj/s640/blogger-image--1668334060.jpg"></a></div>(Three little maids from school- I'm on the left, looking rather pleased about something)</div><div><br></div><div>The production came about in a sort of roundabout way. The performers were all members of the G&S society at St. Andrews, but it wasn't an official production. We just happened to have all the right people this year, performers who exactly fit the roles for the show, so we decided to put on a semi-staged version during the week before graduation. </div><div><br></div><div>Since most of our society members were gone from St. Andrews by grad week, the chorus was sung by the audience, and we ran workshops throughout the day for people to learn the music. The principle roles were all cast by our lovely director without auditions, since she already knew who she wanted for each role. </div><div><br></div><div>I got to play Peep-Bo, one of the 'three little maids from school.' Normally it's the smallest role in the show, with only a dozen lines and small parts in a few songs. In our production, however, we switched things around to even out the three little maids parts, so I ended up with quite a few lines and some substantial solo singing. It was a fun role for me, one I could bring a lot of energy to, with some pretty amusing emotional highs and lows. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbgvYNcLH3dETm2UfijSiZu2MyoH6F-x3GHJuwUfVHXJjpHls4b80s9moxh66UJXA7FlLWFL9daVbsbgyX8nvmS-xlUo64Kx1d9Vs6SdLy-3jF3WHHcqZais2W3Y68qpC0lEOPaRaOagWv/s640/blogger-image-136333652.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbgvYNcLH3dETm2UfijSiZu2MyoH6F-x3GHJuwUfVHXJjpHls4b80s9moxh66UJXA7FlLWFL9daVbsbgyX8nvmS-xlUo64Kx1d9Vs6SdLy-3jF3WHHcqZais2W3Y68qpC0lEOPaRaOagWv/s640/blogger-image-136333652.jpg"></a></div>("I will instantly perform the happy dispatch with this dagger!")</div><div><br></div><div>Our rehearsal period was less than a week. We began rehearsals on Monday and performed Saturday evening. This meant that everyone was expected to attend 9-5, and sometimes long into the evening. I was a little apprehensive heading into rehearsal week, but the condensed time period really brought out the best in people. We all knew it would be hard, and we were determined to make it work.</div><div><br></div><div>Show day was certainly stressful. Due to availability of two of our principles, we never actually managed a proper dress rehearsal- the performance was our first (and only) full run! However, as we saw a good twenty people show up for the chorus rehearsals, and as around a hundred enthusiastic audience members turned up for the show, we knew it would all work out.</div><div><br></div><div>And it did. The show was by no means perfect-- I think I managed to somehow mess up every one of my vocal solos-- but it was fun. We were having a fantastic time and the audience was laughing and cheering and clapping and calling out 'encore!' I remember, near the end of the performance, sitting backstage and thinking how being in The Mikado, my favourite G&S, was quite literally a dream come true. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0_eeGBM8m-6juf0QSG1Lw41521hbGPuBCjOd0siH_gSTPBpQr-eRHNYE_E8PsWyq167aZqDt3giLMzlLAiKFfIYY57ZKXCnhucfD_JilNU68JtGzF2JjeIC0LKXL7te-GdNCAxPk0mnS/s640/blogger-image--1091256462.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0_eeGBM8m-6juf0QSG1Lw41521hbGPuBCjOd0siH_gSTPBpQr-eRHNYE_E8PsWyq167aZqDt3giLMzlLAiKFfIYY57ZKXCnhucfD_JilNU68JtGzF2JjeIC0LKXL7te-GdNCAxPk0mnS/s640/blogger-image--1091256462.jpg"></a></div>(Behold the Lord High Executioner!)</div><div><br></div><div>My career in St. Andrews drama is basically over now. The Mikado was my final performance in St. Andrews, and in August I'll perform The Sorcerer in Harrogate with the society. Due to an unexpected job offer, one of our cast had to drop out, so I've been given the role of Hercules, which is a small but funny speaking role.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm so excited to have one more show with the society. Performing in St. Andrews has been an amazing experience. Eight shows later, I'm definitely a better, more confident performer, and as enthusiastic as ever. </div>Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-38729126593288250272014-07-05T04:41:00.001-07:002014-07-05T04:41:28.198-07:00Day 308: Week one of English Teaching<div><br></div><div>My first week of teaching English in Romania is officially a wrap. It's really satisfying to have finished a full week, but it's also a little sad to think that a quarter of my time here is already up, with only one more week until I switch schools and host families. </div><div><br></div><div>This week has gone pretty much as well as I could have hoped. Monday was certainly a low point: I was tired from my first day of teaching, I was really confused about what was going on because I don't speak any Romanian, I was lonely because I wasn't able to meet up with the other student teachers, and I just really wanted to call my mom but I couldn't find an app that would let me call phones.</div><div><br></div><div>The thing is, after last year in Quebec, I've learned that adjusting to a new place is hard. I know that I'm likely going to feel miserable for the first few days. And that's okay, because now, one week on, I'm so glad I came. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQeIPkjFMLAvAtadz_hGs1I8OG-FvJiYMDsPUQ6FZlOJzVGhgaaKec1CJqdkJii73HwSDDo_Rc65SwbA7MW3EK-wAYRQPcMM_c7QCDQdb3cN_TNBtVR52n-4V3ifm7Pks5ESRHgeqAPJWl/s640/blogger-image-916017911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQeIPkjFMLAvAtadz_hGs1I8OG-FvJiYMDsPUQ6FZlOJzVGhgaaKec1CJqdkJii73HwSDDo_Rc65SwbA7MW3EK-wAYRQPcMM_c7QCDQdb3cN_TNBtVR52n-4V3ifm7Pks5ESRHgeqAPJWl/s640/blogger-image-916017911.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>My host family is great. They have a large house on the edge of Suceava, so I get my own room and bathroom. The food is amazing- we've had shrimp and calimari, homemade schnitzel, goulash, stuffed pastries, and, of course, plenty of Romanian traditional dishes. My main problem is knowing how to politely decline food because I'm already way too full!</div><div><br></div><div>As for the teaching, it's been better than anticipated. I was a bit upset because I was allocated my last choice of group, 9-14 year olds in the afternoon, when I wanted to teach 15-18 year olds in the morning. However, when I first walked into class, I discovered that my students are mainly 13-16, and their English is fantastic. They're young enough to be pretty enthusiastic (I was worried about a 'too-cool-for-school' attitude, but it hasn't been a problem) but old enough to be taught at a fairly advanced level. </div><div><br></div><div>The teaching isn't really conventional classroom style. I don't give them workbooks or expect them to memorize lists of irregular verbs. Instead, the point of the summer school is to have fun in an English-speaking environment. Most of the lessons are much more like games, and if the students aren't enjoying a particular exercise I don't drag it out. I don't make a concrete lesson plan for the day; instead, I come to class with a list of games and choose whichever one seems to flow naturally from the mood in the classroom. As a former homeschooler, who worked one whatever subject I felt like at the time, I love this more organic approach. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbBz3DVVU2kBOY3sculdDAeFP5JEQFupfNU41T3swtpIwapUkm0R7iqu5WCDCyTL_nnBLIhdYzYm07AkIyJawJ0GfYrmdBghq8SkdLOCJ1WyquiN9xXL2VDyfRxgJtKZ1wibZlrMUQkQ9/s640/blogger-image-1104574612.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbBz3DVVU2kBOY3sculdDAeFP5JEQFupfNU41T3swtpIwapUkm0R7iqu5WCDCyTL_nnBLIhdYzYm07AkIyJawJ0GfYrmdBghq8SkdLOCJ1WyquiN9xXL2VDyfRxgJtKZ1wibZlrMUQkQ9/s640/blogger-image-1104574612.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>The school also puts an emphasis on learning about other cultures. Tuesday July 1st was Canada day, so I showed up to school in a big Canada hat, showed the kids photos about Canada on my iPad, and passed around some Canadian money. Since that was my first Canada day ever out of the country, I was so happy to share the occasion with my students. </div><div><br></div><div>On Friday, instead of our normal teaching hours, we held a ceilidh (a Scottish dance, pronounced Kay-lee) in the morning. Since the other teachers weren't as keen, I got the job of 'calling' the ceilidh, meaning I would teach the kids the steps and then yell them out while they danced. I was impressed by how fast the kids caught on, especially the little ones, and I'm looking forward to next Friday's last day of school ceilidh party. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwfy87w57I-VO-oCt2W-dlNBk5B0GwkudzgtVWaVOLJLl8cKSInScXeGpahcuu5-19Cm3EehIZpM_lywfp52Go9a9bshMnrw6ue5Q0DS9Wp7kEiZxg1v0wIUjzP0wk4F9lymjhMLMe_5aA/s640/blogger-image--776854924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwfy87w57I-VO-oCt2W-dlNBk5B0GwkudzgtVWaVOLJLl8cKSInScXeGpahcuu5-19Cm3EehIZpM_lywfp52Go9a9bshMnrw6ue5Q0DS9Wp7kEiZxg1v0wIUjzP0wk4F9lymjhMLMe_5aA/s640/blogger-image--776854924.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Suceava itself isn't the most interesting place to spend a month- it's not a touristy place at all, so there isn't much for us to other than sit in pubs and enjoy the cheap cocktails. The weather has been fairly cool for Romania, which I'm quite happy about, as it's been consistently mid-20s. I was worried it would be ridiculously hot, but instead it's been pretty comfortable. </div><div><br></div><div>I'll write more about Romanian culture later. For now, I'm off to visit a monastery with my host family, then tomorrow I'll hike up a mountain with the other student teachers. After a week of teaching, this weekend will be a fantastic holiday. </div><div><br></div>Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-1302350902697578262014-06-29T13:02:00.001-07:002014-06-29T13:02:59.170-07:00Days 298-301: Cluj<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1HNDkacgWaU66KDJBNHDlvIPqUYRIWGUWmsq8NkP1P4yYN6tO3VVMpoYzN6Kqcw7JXCxmSOYoxgSFnc85vMytoqTAp8SqaEQXFFIERoG8SuVreqljM8vzr4b3qEN-w3saETKcwgY5gRpm/s640/blogger-image--2056874725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1HNDkacgWaU66KDJBNHDlvIPqUYRIWGUWmsq8NkP1P4yYN6tO3VVMpoYzN6Kqcw7JXCxmSOYoxgSFnc85vMytoqTAp8SqaEQXFFIERoG8SuVreqljM8vzr4b3qEN-w3saETKcwgY5gRpm/s640/blogger-image--2056874725.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>It's been a whirlwind few days. The weekend in Cluj was one of the weirdest and most wonderful experiences of my life. Weird, because a year ago I never would have imagined I'd be spending a weekend in Romania with a group of students from around the world. Wonderful, because the experience of doing something so out of the ordinary gave me a real sense of freedom and the joy of simply existing.</div><div><br></div><div>Rather than wax awkwardly philosophical on the benefits of travel, I'll give you some more concrete observations about Romania, since the average western reader likely won't know much about this country. </div><div><br></div><div>While it's not a rich country, Romania is actually known as a medium-high income country on a global scale, meaning that the quality of living isn't all that different from what we'd experience in the west. While shops and restaurants are generally cheaper, many of the same items and brand names are available. My western clothing doesn't look out of place and neither does my iPad. (Also, I must say, my host family's house in Suceava is way nicer than mine in either Canada or Scotland, so I by no means want to give the impression that all Romanians are poor, because the flat screen tv in my guest room definitely says otherwise...)</div><div><br></div><div>At the same time, it's still obvious the country isn't rich. The sidewalk is often cracked and the roads are potholed. Many of the buildings are covered in graffiti and need a new coats of paint. There's a fair bit of litter, and smoking is extremely common. Most of the nicer houses are surrounded by metal fences and electric gates. </div><div><br></div><div>On Saturday afternoon, we visited a church near our hostel and chatted with the caretaker for a minute. We asked him if he had ever been to Scotland, and he just sort of laughed and said it was far too much money. This really changed my perspective-- to have a middle aged man admit that he couldn't afford to pay for the flight which I thought was so cheap. To say that he didn't have enough money to stay in Scotland, when I managed to pay rent for a year in one of Scotland's most expensive towns. That an established adult had less disposable income than I do. </div><div><br></div><div>Because of the income difference, our weekend in Cluj felt like living like royalty. We could afford to eat out multiple times a day at the best restaurants in town while paying less than we would at a fish and chips place in the UK. We could buy earrings at the midsummer market or pretzels from the streetside stand, because even 10 Lei was still pocket change to us. </div><div><br></div><div>It was so amazingly freeing and fun... and yet, somewhat unsettling. I've never been so comparatively rich, and I'm not quite sure how to deal with the feeling.</div><div><br></div><div>And I said I wouldn't wax philosophical in this blog post. Whoops!</div>Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-32758154111554867642014-06-27T10:52:00.001-07:002014-06-27T10:52:28.372-07:00Day 298: Romania!<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>I have arrived in Romania. I may be a little bit tired and hungry and more than a little bit in need of a shower, but I have safely arrived in the formerly communist country that will be my home for the next month. </div><div><br></div><div>It's been a pretty long road getting here. I left before 8am yesterday, catching a bus from St. Andrews to Dundee, then the megabus down to London. Because of delays, we didn't reach London until 9:30 pm, meaning I didn't get settled into my hostel until past 10:30. That wouldn't have been an issue, except that I had to wake up at 4:30am in order to catch the bus to London Luton airport in time to make my 8:30 flight. Things were a tad hectic and rushed at the airport, but I made it in time and they didn't make me check my carry-on bag (despite how I'm nearly positive it was too big) and I slept through most of the three hour flight. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqMTsmvc-vmkEtar-wuSGzURIOGR4DKNeml_xH1lhYwXOyH8vSLSEoyHGNVv0CiHICtcQqk_p6-P-OR1jXNpD02JSRUMdy0LTaFKHik6BsOcYMiZc2Rmidl2K0jbypVk25lTscRwI9jal/s640/blogger-image--645889138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqMTsmvc-vmkEtar-wuSGzURIOGR4DKNeml_xH1lhYwXOyH8vSLSEoyHGNVv0CiHICtcQqk_p6-P-OR1jXNpD02JSRUMdy0LTaFKHik6BsOcYMiZc2Rmidl2K0jbypVk25lTscRwI9jal/s640/blogger-image--645889138.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>The Romanian airport immediately made me miss Britain-- they don't seem to understand the concept of a queue here! Everyone just sort of jostled together to get through passport control, which was pretty lax. </div><div><br></div><div>Once through, the uncertainty began. I had been told that someone would likely be there to pick me up, but I had no idea where they'd be or what they looked like. I didn't immediately see anyone holding a sign with my name on it, so I wandered around the airport, got some money from an ATM (yes, I did go to a new country without a scrap of its currency on me. No, this didn't stress me out at all... maybe it should have?) attempted to locate a bus that would take me into town, and eventually decided to ask at the information desk, where I finally found the woman who was supposed to pick me up. Apparently she had been at the airport all along, with a sign, but we must have just missed each other. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj67wyM6VyTS4mNZNZF0DpGkcm-KSr0kgJ9x8xU9Xi5tvYvtTRIBTeMqj_qYjgGEt-zpEJCyX7gD9jEXQEGTSzfliCBT6yypQXkoqDaZbWn6BJJ18B7KHE117Rb_iTIibSjIt2So0p9_jxB/s640/blogger-image-238741617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj67wyM6VyTS4mNZNZF0DpGkcm-KSr0kgJ9x8xU9Xi5tvYvtTRIBTeMqj_qYjgGEt-zpEJCyX7gD9jEXQEGTSzfliCBT6yypQXkoqDaZbWn6BJJ18B7KHE117Rb_iTIibSjIt2So0p9_jxB/s640/blogger-image-238741617.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>She drove me into the centre of Cluj and dropped me off at the hostel where all of us TEFL volunteers will stay until Saturday night. Cluj is Romania's second largest city with a population of 450,000. It's a lovely place-- not too busy, with some picturesque buildings and slightly mountainous countryside visible just beyond. The overwhelming colours are adobe beige, yellow, and pink, with a bit of stone and stucco. </div><div><br></div><div>This afternoon I got the chance to explore a little bit. I set out without looking at the map and wandered along some old walls, climbed up to a university building, and visited a market square complete with cathedral and craft fair (I bought a lovely pair of earrings featuring little bronze ballet dancers). The hostel also had a party to celebrate their 12th anniversary, so I enjoyed the free cake and wine. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaNEvGPUHWIUHD7u7Cw5GaTN3lWyMRDPW-2mLV4_rBe783IPm_xo8aTqBSvyvPUEfnThbs3vvKHjlhF6YB6yAq-mzdd3XHnyoctsgKcd_hSYIIte21ZcD7whM_sUqIPorAuHMjW6XUATle/s640/blogger-image--128051063.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaNEvGPUHWIUHD7u7Cw5GaTN3lWyMRDPW-2mLV4_rBe783IPm_xo8aTqBSvyvPUEfnThbs3vvKHjlhF6YB6yAq-mzdd3XHnyoctsgKcd_hSYIIte21ZcD7whM_sUqIPorAuHMjW6XUATle/s640/blogger-image--128051063.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>On Saturday, the other TEFL volunteers and I will all be sent out to our placements. I'm going to Suceava, a city of around 90,000 people, in northeast Romania (about half an hour from the borders of Ukraine and Moldova). I'm looking forward to seeing the city, meeting my host family, and starting work teaching English! </div>Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614293833163060736.post-41157784844279559572014-06-06T06:12:00.001-07:002014-06-06T06:12:14.410-07:00Day 278: Update from the Continent<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0hvb-kBq-8Nwf9X8QerPoMypQibl7AiE9PByJGluPDd20Bkbn_FCZlggW_eKS7PEMwlyrt1tgRTasv5hyphenhyphenbXAbMnDMntsHTbD9V6J4Yqhq74mFhOremAunuDgc-_jYSRDGzt5jeGA3nWh/s640/blogger-image-495528983.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0hvb-kBq-8Nwf9X8QerPoMypQibl7AiE9PByJGluPDd20Bkbn_FCZlggW_eKS7PEMwlyrt1tgRTasv5hyphenhyphenbXAbMnDMntsHTbD9V6J4Yqhq74mFhOremAunuDgc-_jYSRDGzt5jeGA3nWh/s640/blogger-image-495528983.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">(Urquhart Castle on the shores of Loch Ness)</div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Apparently I haven't blogged in a few weeks, not since exams. Whoops... So much has happened since then that I could have blogged a dozen times, but I've been so busy living through all this exciting stuff that I haven't had time to blog.</div><div><br></div><div>Hopefully I'll get a chance to write more detailed posts about some of the travelling I've been doing recently, but in case I don't, here's a brief look at everything that's happened in the past few weeks. </div><div><br></div><div>1- I finished exams! My own exams went decently, I had fun soaking my friends after their finals, and when I got my marks back just yesterday I found I passed all my modules with quite a decent average. Perhaps my marks were a tad lower than they would have been in Canada, but I'm still happy, considering how busy I was, and how I had to get used to a new academic system. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj2Mkazco0AJsIoLNUKtAUNC4lwF5uSPw7Kv64V6qmhtXEneYyxVORbuClc4ttLUy-2WUeTItjudGNVE0V1dopJixub4wtmaNsefYYF2UoGeGNadJB3trekSXgSficEJLs_a6oFw4TR6vU/s640/blogger-image--840871229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj2Mkazco0AJsIoLNUKtAUNC4lwF5uSPw7Kv64V6qmhtXEneYyxVORbuClc4ttLUy-2WUeTItjudGNVE0V1dopJixub4wtmaNsefYYF2UoGeGNadJB3trekSXgSficEJLs_a6oFw4TR6vU/s640/blogger-image--840871229.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">(MUM IS HERE!!!)</div><br></div><div><br></div><div>2- Mum came! A few days after my last exam, mum flew out from Canada for a visit. She's here for a full four weeks, which means we're just a tad over half way right now. I loved showing her St. Andrews and introducing her to my friends, and she's a great travelling companion.</div><div><br></div><div>3- I moved out of St. Andrews. :( While I haven't said goodbye for the last time (I'm back for a bit in June, then for the last weekend in August before finally flying home September 1st) I have moved out of my flat and said goodbye to many of my friends. This, not surprisingly, was really hard, but having mum here definitely made things easier, since she helped me pack up my stuff, and travelling with her has helped take my mind of what I'm leaving behind.</div><div><br></div><div>4- I've visited four countries: Scotland (up north, so basically completely different from St. Andrews), England (Durham), the Netherlands (Friesland, Gouda) and now Germany (I'm writing this on the train just over the border from Holland, but we plan to visit Cologne, Manheim, and Heidelberg). It's cool to add a new country to my list (Germany makes 15), and I've really enjoyed seeing new places in countries I've already visited. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7W2q3nx5dOtpRvgzZoTpSPZls3D4CXY-v0WUWRFln1jjwqje0vX8V40jiuCmSQtS_IXRclhKiIDl2DsYg3sfyml_ov4i8ATf2Q_WT1Xw2-zRcgLLZAwTiMIIs8tMCtgaTd9ps1922qDFw/s640/blogger-image-675202057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7W2q3nx5dOtpRvgzZoTpSPZls3D4CXY-v0WUWRFln1jjwqje0vX8V40jiuCmSQtS_IXRclhKiIDl2DsYg3sfyml_ov4i8ATf2Q_WT1Xw2-zRcgLLZAwTiMIIs8tMCtgaTd9ps1922qDFw/s640/blogger-image-675202057.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">(The house in the Netherlands where my great-grandparents lived)</div><br></div><div>That's life now. Another week of travelling, then a week in St. Andrews performing in The Mikado (a Gilbert and Sullivan, what else?) and then I'm off to Romania for a month! I have the feeling this summer is really going to fly by, since I'm constantly busy. The month in Romania will probably be the quietest time I get, since August will be spent dashing across the UK. </div><div><br></div><div>As I mentioned in number 3, I do have a flight home now on September 1st. I'm flying Edinburgh to Toronto, which means that I'll leave from St. Andrews, which I think is fitting. Unfortunately, flying straight to Toronto means I won't have any time home in PEI this summer, so I won't get to see my family, friends, or the beautiful Island. On the other hand, I do get to spend the maximum time here in Europe, and I'll still be here when my BFF, Sharon, comes out for her exchange next year. Then, when I finally do leave, orientation for my MA program starts the very next day. It'll be busy, but I won't have time to miss Scotland if I throw myself right in to life back in Canada. </div>Elanor Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00936078326828012174noreply@blogger.com1