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There are moments in our lives when we are forced to look at ourselves and realize that what we’ve known and what we believed may be vastly different truths then the realities around us. We go through the days, thinking that things are going to turn out exactly as expected, but, as life usually does, we are thrown twists and turns and curveballs that make us reevaluate our situations and adjust accordingly. It is often a difficult journey, and making these nessessary decisions can be incredibly hard, especially when you can’t see how either choice will end up working out.
For those of you who don’t already know, I had to leave early this semester, and I will not be returning to Edge Hill next semester. I loved my time here, but certain factors in my life have caused me to reevaluate what the best decision for me is, and after weeks of debating and many, many sleepless nights, I have decided that returning home is the best option for me.
This has not come easily. Abby and I have grown in so many ways while I’ve been here. It is almost impossible to find the words to express the amazing adventure we’ve had together, and saying goodbye to not only my best friend but the person I’ve relied on the most while here is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. There is nothing I can say to express how grateful I am to Abby for understanding, nor can I ever express how much her friendship has meant to me for the past three years.
We planned this and waited for this together for so long, and for my journey to be cut short so abruptly is really hard. I wanted to be there for our planned spring adventures, but I will have to instead pass the torch to Abby. I know she will do all of the things that we hoped we would do, and I could not be more excited for her to experience such wonderful things. I intend on coming back to visit as well, so those adventures will be carefully recorded for posterity as well I can.
Saying goodbye to England is difficult, especially because this time, instead of a short goodbye, it is a final one. I promise that I will come back on my own terms, when things in my life are sorted and I can enjoy my time here more fully. It’s not that I didn’t–I loved every minute of it. I have learned so much not only about differences of culture, but also about myself. Some of these revelations haven’t been so wonderful, but realizing this, I have also I think grown up a little.
This choice, in particular, is one that made me think hard about who I am and what is most important to me. It is difficult to say from my perspective that I have made the right choice, but I feel that I have. You can only be sure of things after-the-fact, and the fact is that right now, my heart is breaking. I just hope its for the right reasons.
We will continue the blog, don’t worry about that. I trust that Abby will update often, and I will live vicariously through her for awhile. I will continue to update, too. Iowa may not be as exciting as Amsterdam, but my belief is that every day, no matter where you are, can be an adventure. This blog has been my sanity and my outlet for the time I’ve been here, and we would like to thank our readers for coming back and taking interest in this great adventure.
And I want to thank everyone:
The amazing American students who became my family in only 2 months, the fantastic British students who welcomed us with open arms, and the people lesser known: The cookie guy, who makes the most amazing shortbread, Anthony, the guy who runs the hat shop and told me of his adventures traveling and how he spent 20 years doing nothing but, Tom, the awkward science fiction fan who bonded with me over vintage clothes, Robbie, the biker with a heart of gold who broke his leg in Iowa and once got chased into Portugal by the Spanish police–they were only in my life for brief minutes, but its the stories like this, the memories that I made here not only seeing the sights but being welcomed by such amazing people is what I will miss the most.
It is unfortuanate that the fates should colide at such a juncture in my life, but I believe, as hard as it was to come to this point, that I have chosen the right path. Someday, I will return, England.
This adventure isn’t over yet.
Sometimes our lives are like a badly written sitcom with no discernable ending.
How’s this for a plot idea for next week’s episode: Hilarity ensues, when Catie is forced through a freak set of circumstances, to shave her head.
The punchline here is that it’s a true story and it already happened.
The aventuring duo is now one ponytail short. I am bald.
Why I had to shave my head is a long and detailed one, but basically, its gross, you don’t want to hear it, and while I wasn’t actually affected with anything at the time of my hair cut, I was warned by the good doctor that I could, very easily, get it, and exposure, in itself, was enough to endanger myself and others, especially my dad. That was too many commas.
See, for those of you who don’t know, my dad was diagnosed with Chronic Lymphositic Leukemia last summer, and he is currently undergoing a bone marrow transplant in Chicago. Because of the transplant, they killed off all of his white cells, so he has, literally, no immune system. Anything could make him really really sick, and so I was forced to make a decision.
Should I risk his health in order to save my hair or do I suck it up and make (what I knew all along) was the right choice?
Last year, Cory Johnson, one of my theatre proffessors who is freaking amazing, was telling us about how she shaved her head when she was cast in the lead of “Wit”. We were all really impressed with her ability to do something so drastic, and I remember very distinctly her speech to the class. She told us that every day, hundreds of people lose thier hair because of illness or disease and they have no control over it–but they suck it up and move on with dignity, and the least she could do as an actor was respect those people enough to do it the right way.
That stuck with me, for some reason. Maybe just because God knew that in a year I would be debating a similar choice with myself, or maybe its just because I really liked that class. Either way, I’m glad that I had that perspective already engrained in me, because, well, I’m a girl, and I worry about how I look sometimes.
Even though I looked like Harry Potter or Charlie Bucket depending on the day and my choice of sweater, it was hard for me to make that choice. But I did, I had it done and that is that. There’s no turning back now, and I am really certain I made the right choice.
So, in the interest of my father’s health, I went to the barber shop in town like the true adventurer I am and had it all sh–sh–shaved. (Sorry, it’s still kind of hard to say). The lady at the barbershop actually started crying halfway through my hair cut, which was funny because I didn’t, but she did. Funnily enough, she also shaved off about half of it, stopped, looked at me and said “are you SURE you want to do this?”
So, there’s that. I’m bald. Which, all in all, isn’t as incredibly tragic as I thought it was going to be. People either think that I’m GI Jane or Natalie Portman…or Mr. Clean. I’ve started rocking a lot of fun hats, and I bought a really terrible wig for those occasions where I can’t wear hats respectfully. (Thankfully, it’s so cold here all the time that no one questions me wearing winter hats 24/7). The street market in Ormskirk has been amazing, as they sell loads of different winter hats for really cheap, so I keep stocking up on Thursdays and Saturdays.
Most of my close friends (both here and at home) know already, and its been really fun waiting for the perfect moment. My favorite way to do it is to wait until someone is complaining about the terrible day they had, and then whipping off my hat and saying something like “yeah, I know how awful it must have been getting a library fine. Did I mention that I DON’T HAVE ANY HAIR?
And so while this entire situation may have sounded like “this week on a very special episode” I’m glad that this happened to me. Its taught me alot about perspective and what’s really important.
Because honestly? (Here’s where it gets cheesy, folks) I did it for my dad. He has gone through so much in the past year, I feel like having a crappy hair cut for a few months is the least I can do. Yes, I would have preferred to keep my ’do, yes, I think it sucks that I now look a whole lot like the chick from Alien, and yes, it sucks that I can’t use “I have to wash my hair” as an excuse any more, but you know what? Seeing my family and being there for my father, especially this year, at Christmas is WAY more important than being able to put my hair into a pony tail– any day.
Sometimes it’s wise to travel off the beaten path.
It came to my realization the other day that we have basically stuck to the same two cross streets in Liverpool. Which is fine, but there is only so much damage to my credit card that Primark can wreak until things start to get a little old. (Even Liverpool donuts seemed to be saying “enough”…the upped the price to £1.40! What’s that about?!?)
It seemed that our reputation as Adventurers was being tarnished by, basically, force of habit. So we (literally) did a 180 and decided to explore away from the town center and Liverpool One.
It is here that I would like to say that I find it hilariously ironic that Liverpool, in order to celebrate its status as the Capital of Culture 2008, built a giant shopping center. That has a Pizza Hut.
Anyway, so we went exploring, and, basically, had one of the best days out in a long while.
It is here that I should mention my love for vintage shopping. I can spot a vintage store at 50 yards, and I will spend hours pawing through boxes and bags if I have to, just to make sure I’m not missing anything. So discovering not 1 but 2 of the best vintage stores I have ever encountered in my life pretty much made my day.
First, the winner (by far) is the Rose and Anchor Boutique, located on 66 Wood Street. We found this store completely by accident, when I decided an adventure up a side street was nessessary. Thank God. As we came around the corner….we saw it. This amazing blue and white 50’s style polka dress. Color us excited. Vintage for Catie, polka dots for Abby…are you kidding? Yes please! We went in and spent the next hour talking with the awesome owner and looking over everything in the shop.
It’s small, but the amazingly adorable jewlery/assessory/handbag line that they carry (all designed and hand made by the aforementioned store owner) is worth the trip, even if you aren’t interested in vintage fashion. It’s based on inspiration she gathered from Pick-N-Mix….how awesome is that?? However, there’s even more good news. They have a website. And an Ebay store. And a Myspace.
What I’m saying is, check this stuff out. It’s worth it.
http://stores.ebay.co.uk/roseandanchorboutique
Next up is Cosmos. (Note: this post will be edited with addresses and websites/phone numbers as they are discovered). Just off of the main road outside Central Station, I did my vintage clothes at 50 yards trick and discovered this place tucked away down a little side street shopping annex. Everything is currently on sale from 5-10 pounds, which is brilliant for the vintage shopper on a budget. The guy working there is also the funniest man I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. While he tried to force us into hideous vintage frocks, he taught us the finer nuances of English dining fare such as Spotted Dick and Toad In The Hole, neither of which I trust, soley based on the names. He was also an enthusiastic fan of Barack Obama, although it took us about 5 minutes to understand that he was talking about “Barack Obama” not a barren llama. Ah, the beauty of the Liverpudlian Scouse accent.
There is another store called Rejuvination (we think), that sells mostly new clothes, but they have a highly excellent vintage section on the second floor…hidden/suprize vintage is always the best kind!
Then, of course, there are the adventures that you stumble in on. Today on the train I sat next to two guys named John, who I randomly struck up a conversation with. It turns out that one is a tailor, the other a chef. They are friends from college, and they were going to Ormskirk to visit a friend they hadn’t seen since graduation from Edge Hill. We traded recipes, talked about costume design (I showed him my new dress and he critiqued it’s construction…), they regaled me with tales of their college adventures and of the years that John 1 lived in New Zealand….and had, all in all, a very nice chat. it’s funny…random strangers in a foreign land standing by you on the train can suddenly, out of pure coincidence, become rather close through nothing simpler than a smile.
I think that’s one of the things that I like best here. Taking a chance–whether it be smiling at a stranger on a train or walking down a road less traveled–infaliably leads to a new discovery and yet another adventure.
And that, my friends, is what we’re here for.
Ah, reading week. What a thoughtful, intelligent gift given to us by Edge Hill University. A whole week in the middle of classes to catch up and to work independently on papers and projects that are coming up due in a few days. What a great way for students to manage their work load!
Of course, you could also use the time to persue other interests. Perhaps travel, hang out with friends, work on your novel for National Write Your Own Novel Month (or NaNoWriMo for you cool kids). Or, you could sit and watch a lot of House.
The problem with Reading Week is the glorious sense of accomplishment it provides simply by rolling out of bed before 10 AM. By then, you feel like such an achiever that you spend the rest of the day basking in your own productivity and checking Facebook for the 50 millionth time. Procrastination is a powerful thing, and it hit campus hard this week. After all, you have 4 more days to get that paper done.
Eventualy the realization that you have to get some actual work done sets in, as does the bitter resolve to grind out those papers. In the library, row after row of glowing computer screens show the familar blue-and-white layout of Facebook. It’s also 1:30, which means that all of the computers in the library are going to be full for another 2 hours**, so you head over to hang out with your friends. Suddenly it’s 7:30 and you’re way too busy enjoying the company of your friends to worry about your paper. You’ve got like 3 days left.
See how this works? I thought coming to England would take care of the whole procrastination thing, especially because the Milton House doesn’t have internet access (yet….they keep telling us they are working on getting a hub in place so we can get wireless) so I would be forced to sit in my room and bang out my papers, no problem. Nay nay! Instead, I’ve found myself resolutely walking to the lab every night determined to get that $*&(“*$&£$ paper finished….and winding up on Facebook. Again. My mother also finally figured out how to use AIM, so there’s another few hours that can be wasted without getting anything actually accomplished.
Even this blog has suffered the plight of being my resource for another few minutes of procrastination. (Reading week is over and I’m still taking it out on our poor blog. Hence this entry). Basically, it comes down to the knowledge that I have to get these papers done or I don’t do well in school.
Someday I will be able to sit at a computer to work on a paper without immediatly hopping on Facebook to inform everyone that I just sat down to work on a paper. Until then, I guess beating procrastination at its own game is my theory. Procrastinate so much that by being productive it feels like you’re procrastinating on procrastinating. It’s a good system.
I’ll just go and share it on Facebook.
The Following Is Something Of Actual Merit That May Help Someone In the Future.
**Prime time library is 11:30ish to about 3:30 ish. Don’t listen to anyone who says to not bring your laptop. The wireless on campus is pretty reliable and the magic of electrical converters ensures your computer’s saftey. It’s worth it to bring it. Trust me.
