It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like December

Snow, snow, and more snow.  Before I came to England, and when I got here, all of those who had previously traveled or lived here, namely the British themselves, described Canterbury's winters as "quite mild."  Perhaps a bit of snow in the coldest months, but nothing much.

I've had a much different experience, and winter's just begun!

I will start though, with last week.  It was great on Thanksgiving, to Skype with Zen and see a house packed full of my loud, crazy, amazing family.  I was so thankful to have a few moments with my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins waving, asking questions, and cheesing it up in front of the camera so that, in one instance, I had a close-up view of the gap from a first lost tooth, which the Tooth Fairy did come for, by the way :)

I was able to experience a Thanksgiving away from home on Saturday the 27th. Some wonderful Kent graduate students prepared a huge meal - for thirty of us or more - and although nothing replaces family and friends for the holidays, this certainly came in as a close second.  I was able to enjoy my two favorites, mashed potatoes and green beans, over chats about everything from Canadian weather to Freudian theories and left after my second plate of dessert, just when everyone was getting silly from the eggnog!

On Sunday, the temperature dropped rather rapidly and a few, weak snowflakes attempted to usher in the month of December a few days early, but the ground proved too warm for them to last.  It made for a bit of a laugh really, all of the young English adults - and other International students not used to snow - calling their friends and updating their Facebook statuses to exclaim, "It's snowing!" I thought how nice of a break it was going to be away from Indiana's harsh winters if this was all I had to put up with.

Tuesday morning, I opened my curtains to sunshine and... real, accumulated, glittering, white snow.  I couldn't help but be a bit excited instead of upset, it was beautiful.  Of course, my lectures came at the time of day it was beginning to warm up, and it was the wettest falling snow I've ever experienced.  I decided to take a bus that could get me to the building in two minutes instead of walking for nearly fifteen, but it seems public transportation in England does not get on well with even the lightest of snowy conditions and I waited twenty minutes longer than expected.  I still managed to make it to class before my professor and still ended up drenched enough that I could wring out my hair.

My entire day on campus, I was kept amused, not to mention on alert for oncoming snowballs.  Students from all of the snow-deprived areas of the world found their inner-kids and were building snowmen and making snow-angels in front of the library and having massive snowball fights on the way to class.  On the walk back to my flat, I couldn't help but feel relieved that I finally fit in when it comes to walking in the snow.  I don't care how used to it I should be, having grown up in the Midwest, I'm the absolute worst at walking in the winter.  I stare in awe as people pass me, walking normally as if there's nothing endangering their stride, while I carefully slide one foot in front of the other, eying the ground for slippery patches that wait to bring me tumbling down.  Although I kept this same method up, I was the one passing waddling students and people who abruptly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, checked left and right for their best option, and made a huge, half-circle around areas that had accumulated major slush.  Still, this was no comparison to what I'm used to.  That night, there was a massive group of people who took part in a pub-crawl/snowball fight, while I attempted to master a sonnet.

Yesterday, I woke to just a few flakes falling here and there, and left for my poetry seminar.  About two feet from my door, I was ready to turn around.  The sidewalks and roads were covered in ice.  I literally skated my way to the bus-stop, stopping at the tops of the small hills along the way to assume a stance that would best prevent me from falling, close my eyes, hoping for the best, and let myself slide down it, as it was a better option than trying to walk down (even the grassy bits of the ground were ice-laden) and waited for the bus.  It was only later in the day, after class, that I noticed salt is not put down until afternoon, when it doesn't really matter because everyone has already broken a leg, wrecked their car, or thrown their hands up in the air and returned indoors for a self-proclaimed snow day.  Aside from one other student slowly making his way toward the stop, the place was empty.  The bus was late, again, but I made it to the classroom without a scratch.  Four more students made it for the last workshop day of the year as well - our professor praising our determination to get there.  She also suggested we go for drinks at a bar after next week's seminar, as it is our last meeting... oh, the perks of studying English.

This morning, I woke to see what appears to be the heaviest snow falling of all.  It's still coming down.  I am supposed to have a lecture at noon, but am keeping my fingers crossed that it's canceled.  Every school in Kent is closed, buses are hardly operating, and apparently staff is being advised to not come onto campus, so I won't feel entirely guilty for staying in and pondering International Relations to myself instead.

If I make this all about me, it seems as though there are two possibilities for this record-breaking British blizzard.
1.) England believed that it should prove itself as being capable of more than just 'mild winters,' and perfectly able to compete with Indiana's conditions.
2.) England believed that it should make me feel at home while I am here.

Well, England, you've both proven your point and made me feel very much at home.  I've appreciated it, but would much rather experience your own, unique December weather while I'm here... thank you!

In other news, I've been struggling through one of the last of my essays, for International Relations. It's been almost comical - after a week of research and the first two days of writing it, my paper consisted of my name, the date, a title and the words "In the 1800s,..."  This is funny mainly because I don't even discuss the 1800s. Ugh! I've chosen the question: What drives American foreign policy?  At the moment, I have a great deal of knowledge about American foreign policy over the last century, with about a million directions I could go in, and absolutely no idea how to compress it down into 2,000 words, nor how to do so in a non-creative, straightforward format.  If anyone is an expert on this, I'll most gratefully accept your advice!  I finished what I thought would be a wonderful, very detailed outline last week and have since changed it around several times -- after posting this blog, I'm afraid I've no option (as escaping outside or into town is not a very tempting possibility today) but to open the document I began last night and try to finish.

After that is finished, I have one essay and a poetry portfolio standing between me and the holidays at home!  I can only hope the weather is more agreeable on the 17th and I am able to arrive on time.  I'm looking forward to an unhealthy fill of carbs, Christmas cookies, American television, nights out, and naps by the fire with all of my favorite people!

I hope this finds everyone warm, cozy, and looking forward to something wonderful.

Love,
Aly

P.S. - As the photos were uploading for this blog, I received an e-mail that the lecture is off!  Hello, hot cocoa and Facebook... err... I mean, essay writing!