Week 6 - In Being Different, We Are The Same

Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by

demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die,

it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other,

we may even become friends.

Maya Angelou 

http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/travel.html#HyCYYFCOvILyizgV.99  

Mile Post

Aberystwyth Train Depot

Travel, it is said, expands one horizons.  It does.  The train station at Aberystwyth transports one not only to parts north and then across the UK but it also pleases the eye and enlivens the imagination.  Yet those who live here, just see it as Aber with the glass-sided building being merely a second hand shop or Charity Shop as it is called here, rather than a repository of human stories.  I feel I've stepped back in time and would be unsurprised by a horse and buggy clip-clopping down the street.  It is becoming more than quaint.  It is becoming comfortable.  The sign post above, I pass by on my way to classes.

Language can be a bit of a barrier.  The neighbor referred the other day to a person being "turfed out."  Immediately golf course came to mind.  Must have been the look on my face as an explanation quickly followed that they had been evicted.  Teaching "your grannie to suck eggs" is to try to do the impossible.  I felt, however, that this expression translated pretty straight across when asked by a professor in class if I knew to what he was referring.  We all laughed.

What perhaps doesn't translate is distance.  In the US, at least in Oregon, we think nothing of visiting Portland and returning in the same day.  Approximately 90 miles away, it takes an hour fifty minutes to two hours each way.  This past Sunday found me on the way to Merthyr Tidfyl (Mur tha Tid vil), a journey of under 50 miles as the crow flies; however, crows did not design the roads.  Sheep did.  It was just over two hours when we arrived and it was said that we made excellent time.  There are A roads and B roads and motor ways.  It is difficult to upgrade to wider roads as porch steps often front the existing roads.  From Aber one must travel east for an hour so that one can travel north and south.  It is one of the prices for living in another place in time.  I for one enjoyed the ride and provided great entertainment to the others by exclaiming over hedgerows, sheep, and general terrain; and the fact that, when we arrived, there was actually a water cooler.  "Jan, you are hilarious."  "Well, it's the first one I've seen in Wales."  It was.  The Welsh do not have water coolers in their buildings.  The water comes in separate faucets sporting either frigid or scalding water (it actually steams coming out) and never the taps shall meet.  I can now wash my face but it is a process involving great timing.  When I asked about this, the estate keeper explained that having a joined faucet was a bit unsanitary; but that in the newer, posh homes, it appeared to be catching on.

 The first time I went to the market to get eggs, I couldn't find them.  When I asked, I was told to turn around for the eggs were right there on the shelf.  "Oh," I continued.  "I mean the real ones.  The refrigerated ones."  I consider myself moderately intelligent but that is not the look I received.  "Eggs are not refrigerated," I was told.  I wondered how all of the UK was not dead.  They don't refrigerate them when they get them home either.  They vaccinate their chickens against salmonella.  Clever.  After two weeks, the eggs were still quite good.  However, old habits won out and the new batch are now safely stored in the refrigerator.

Bacon is called rashers.  American bacon is called streaky bacon because it has so much fat in it.  The students, who have spent time in the US, love our crispy bacon and wish it was easier to purchase here.  I, however, love rashers.  Less fat and the flavor is amazing.  I've used it as a base for a bean stew as well as for potato soup and in a sudo-German potato salad.  Lovely.  Just lovely.

Tonight I try to make a lamb stew.  Wish me luck for I've never done it before.


Outside my window there is a cacophony of gwacks each morning.  I've been trying to figure out how to reproduce/spell the sound of these birds and that is the closest I've come so far.  I've been told that they are crows but they don't really look like and certainly don't sound like American crows.  Can crows have accents?

Further research reveals that they are actually Rooks, a member of the crow family.  Many have left the area but when I arrived there were swarms  which worked like a perfect alarm clock each morning.  I was sorry to see their numbers diminish with the departing leaves.

Fall color, drifting leaves, wind singing in the eaves comfort and lull me to sleep each night.  I do miss my laundry at home but, in spite, of sore muscles, I'm beginning to enjoy the pace, the walking to do laundry, check out a book at the library, learning to read a bus schedule; but mostly finding that people are kind.  They want your stay at Aber to be enjoyable and go out of their way to help a stranger.  The bus driver is Barry.  The librarian is Joy.  I'm beginning to fit, to breathe, and to mentally unpack... which is a good thing.
 

“Not all those who wander are lost.” — J. R. R. Tolkien http://exploreforayear.com/inspiration/55-quotes-travel

Week Two - Journey in Fairyland

October 1, 2012

Just east of Aberystwyth/University of Wales, a steam train stops at a reasonably level station - Wales consists of hills that go on forever.  It was only, however, a short walk to Devil's Bridge and Mynach Falls.

 There you will find three bridges.  The first was built by the monks of Strata Florida in Medieval times.  In the early 1700's the second bridge was built and in the Twentieth Century the third, a wider bridge for cars, was completed as the topmost bridge.  One can easily drive or walk across the narrow ravine oblivious to the hidden jewels that lie beneath the triple span.  Corroding iron turnstiles on either side of the road mark the way down.  Don't let the antiquity of the gates fool you.  It's still ₤2 to enter.

There is, of course, the name and the myth, which I will recount in my own words...  

In ancient time an old woman lost her cow on the far side of the river and was bemoaning her loss and how she could reclaim her property when a man appeared and offered a most miraculous proposition.  He would build a sturdy bridge over the torrent during the coming night but she would have to agree that the first living thing to cross would be his.  Wishing her cow back in her possession, the old woman agreed, turned, and journeyed to her home.  As the night wore on, she reconsidered the bargain she had struck; however, her need to reclaim her cow overcame her concerns as to how the man might accomplish all he offered.  The next morning, she rose, wrapped a loaf of bread in her skirt, and accompanied by her dog followed her way back to the river to find a fully completed stone bridge with her cow standing just on the other side.  It was truly amazing.  The woman, however, had not become old by being foolish.  She approached the bridge, unwrapped the loaf and threw it across the expanse.  Her dog joyfully ran to the other side of the bridge to gather his treat and disappeared.  The Devil, for such was the man, stormed and stamped his feet for the dog was the first living thing to cross the bridge and he had lost the woman's soul in spite of his cunning hard work.  It is said that the old woman and all who came after have used the bridge undisturbed, as the Devil, shamed at being outwitted by an old woman, was never seen in these parts again.

Built by medieval monks or the Devil, himself, to peer over the rail of the topmost bridge, the view is daunting.  There are two trails - a long and a short - both treacherous to say the least and one must choose based on how adventurous they feel.  The short trail, pictured here, takes only 10-15 minutes and, wanting to take my time and explore, I chose this one and was greatly rewarded by nearly unbroken solitude and a chance to stop, sit, listen, and write - pages of pent up emotions that softened the bands that bound grief and fear within my heart.  I wandered the trail, sat repeatedly to write, inhaled the green of Wales, the magic, the wonder, the eternal nature of the water as it swirled in the punchbowl and forced its path through the narrow divided cliff faces.  A newly turned autumn leaf floated down and with a soft but audible scritch landed on my open journal.  "Hello, mom," I murmured.  I could feel her joy that I was here in this place; and bittersweet, I knew that part of her joy was the renewed companionship of my father, who recently joined her on the other side of eternity.

Healing was not the only jewel I added to my collection of memories and wonders during my hour on the slate stairs.  The sound of fairies was in the rush of the torrent, the rustle and bite of the Welsh wind in the tree tops, and the sight that met my eyes around a bend in the path forced me to stop.  This was truly an enchanted place.

I had just framed a scene in my iPhone when I very nearly dropped it.  Peeking over the top, I questioned the play of light, a trick to my eyes.  Could I be seeing what I thought I saw?  Buried beneath the varied flora, I saw... what?  You tell me - a sleeping dragon, nose almost touching the iron rail that guarded the path to the falls.  I walked back and forth, peered into the depthless eyes, and finally in wonder touched the outstretched snout in blessing.   

     

Imagination is a powerful thing.  I had come on the student trip wishing only to see some of Wales, to overcome my fear of travelling alone, and disappointment that my husband could not yet join me as planned.  Instead, I found childlike wonder as I stood between worlds - the beauty of our Father's creation and His gift of imagination.  Until next time, I will continue to follow my path where it leads.

Write - Can children cuddle up with ebooks?

In response to Gabe Habish: http://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/childrens/childrens-industry-news/article/50346-digital-book-world-panelists-gauge-the-children-s-e-book-market.html

Terry Brooks in his "Shannara" series addresses the fantasy world the comes after the technological apocalypse where knowledge contained on DVDs, etc., has been lost. Dark Angel, a TV series, did the same. As a society, what do we leave behind to show we were here if all writing enters cyber-space, if cursive is no longer taught (already implemented in some areas)... we've already eliminated history and language as requirements in education. Technology is great as an adjunct not as a foundation upon which to raise a child.

Peter Pan, Uncle Wiggley, Nurse Nancy, Tarzan of the Apes, Scuffy - The Tugboat. The names invoke private reads behind my uncle's leather chair in San Francisco, while the murmur of adults became white noise as Tiger Lily was captured, Wendy told stories gleaned from other books, and the clapping of one's hands saved Tinkerbell from death. Scuffy, lovingly referred to as Scuppy by a two year old, was cradled in his arms as he drifted off to sleep night after night until it was dog-eared and worn. It waits on a shelf now for the next generation.

What is gained through ebook use? Ease of travel (doesn't weigh much), instant gratification, and with backlight, they can be read anywhere, cost of books is a bit less but one needs to buy 20 plus full sized print books to make up the cost of an inexpensive electronic device, which will last how long until another replaces it?

What is lost through ebook use? Books can be heavy so one must choose well when one travels but then how many children travel? And the choosing of a book in itself teaches us who and what we are. Indeed, it informs who we will become. We live in a world of instant gratification - I know I've grumbled at the lines at the DMV or Post Office, not to mention check out queues. But delayed gratification teaches patience, a commodity our world finds in short supply. Why does everything have to be right now? Can we allow children to be children, to savor the moment of discovery, to trace a picture from an illustration as the artist within develops? How do you cuddle an ebook? If you drop a book, you lose your page. If you drop your ebook, you can lose your library.

I love walking into my physical library and seeing old friends. The folly of Jardyce vs Jardyce (Bleak House by Dickens). Does Peter ever grow up? I feel the tears and inward struggle contained in A Room of One's Own where the "willows weep in perpetual lamentation" and am grateful for my own small writing alcove. Alcott, Barrie, Riordan, Dickens, Pearl S. Buck, Poe (ah, the terror of turning a physical page), Shakespeare, Rowling, Tolkien, Austen... the list is too long but whether dead or alive, I am among friends. I can touch their spines, flip through their pages, find a pressed leaf - that was the day I sat in the "airplane" tree and ate ripe tomatoes and read of Tarzan finding his birth place and teaching himself to read - or a violet placed in an antique volume by my grandmother's hand. Where was she when she read this missive? What were her thoughts? All I know is that the flower was plucked and tucked purposely between the pages. But why? As bookmark, as something lovely to remember, what were her thoughts? One cannot tuck mementoes in an ebook, creating a connection to the next reader.

Do ebooks have a place? Yes. Just like the computer upon which I send my thoughts and words into the world, technology is here and is convenient and places my beloved research at my fingertips; but for a child... I say to let them discover the feel, the smell, the world of paper books; let them be grounded in the joy of a favorite book - a talisman that winks memory at them from a shelf; give them their foundation of patience, the savor of delayed gratification, the excitement of being the first to open the pages into a new world as they make it their own.

Allow them to press their own flowers.

Right - How we make purchases affects us all

Attention Readers: Please read: "Amazon Should Partner with Independent Book Stores" by Sarah Green in the Harvard Business Review. The web site/article can be found here: http://blogs.hbr.org/hbr/hbreditors/2011/12/amazon_should_partner_with_ind.html

Brilliant idea and one that has potential. Rather than "I'm in this world for what I can get" or "He who dies with the most toys wins" logic, it points a light on being in the world for "the us/collective" and reminds me a bit of Oriental logic.

Western thinking is notorious for planning for "now," thinking in terms of weeks, months, years at the longest. A burger and fries takes 6.5 minutes, a law suit takes three years, a pregnancy lasts 9 months (or 10 lunar cycles), most schooling takes twelve years, buying a stamp (well, perhaps that's not a good example), etc. The wisdom of the Far East is perhaps found in its patience. They make plans based on generations. Life is a subtle game of chess, a give and take, ebb and flow.

As a student, mother of many, and grandmother of many more, I am an Amazon buyer but also an occasional local book store buyer. Lucy's Books, Godfather's Books and the new kid on the block - Amazing Stories are small but vital to our community in Astoria, Oregon.

And now to my confession as a writer and avid reader. I have often turned to Amazon when a local store did not have what I wanted right now in spite of their heartfelt offers to have it in two or three days. Where was my logic when I'd trot home and order on Amazon, rounding out the order to $25 to get free shipping, saving a dollar or two on the first book, and then waiting a week to get my order? What was I thinking?

If we lose our local independent book stores, we lose more jobs in an already dwindling economy. There is a word for this when it reaches critical mass. It's called "ghost town." The locals have gone out of business, the infrastructure collapses, people move away, quality and diversity slide into oblivion, and the we/collective suffer in the end.

What gives me the right to say these things? Experience. I once owned a retail business and sold electronics or "brown goods" as we called them. We'd, of course, purchase from the wholesalers who in turn bought from the manufacturers. Then the "big box" stores came into existence and offered prime deals to the wholesalers - "We'll buy 10,000 of these but you have to sell it to us for a dollar less." The wholesalers were in hog heaven. The independents began to leave when in the following years the big box stores bought more but demanded the wholesalers receive less. Our personal critical mass hit when we drove to a local big box store to fill an order for a client because the big box price was lower than we, as an independent retailer, could buy from our wholesaler. Death knell - the wholesalers were cut out when the mega stores began to buy directly from the manufacturer. Many of the independents also went under as they could no longer compete.

Okay, rant over but I do hope I've got you thinking. When you make your next purchase, what are you saving? Who are you saving? What do you want your world to look like? Perhaps as Sarah Green suggests there is a middle ground, a merging of independent business with the convenience of the Internet, a joining of philosophies, perhaps a chance at a win/win situation.