June? Where have you gone?

'Um, Ann? Where have you been for the last month? You've disappeared.'

Theatre. I read about theatre. I write about theatre. I think about theatre. And when that's done for the day, sometimes I go to the theatre. And on the weekend? I go to an exhibition of theatre.

In the last month, I've seen three different productions of Shakespeare at the Globe in three different languages: The Comedy of Errors in Dari, Hamlet in Lithuanian, and Henry V in English (less exotic). Next week I'll see The Taming of the Shrew (also in English). To complement these highbrow entertainments, I also saw Noel Coward's Hay Fever (a favourite) and The Mystery of Edwin Drood (I love that show).

Lest you think these will make me far too pretentious (more pretentious), I then saw Rock of Ages - possibly the dumbest show on the planet (even though I do like 80's hair bands). It does acknowledge its own ridiculousness, though. The meta-theatre dialogue where the narrator talks about his role and pulls out a program to show the other characters is priceless.

The two frontrunners in my recent excursions, however, have been One Man, Two Guvnors and Matilda the Musical. Loved, loved, loved both of them. (Matilda is coming to Broadway in 2013, so you'll get your chance to see it, Americans.) Thursday night I'm going to see The Woman in Black - a show I've attempted to see on every trip I've made to London since 2001. This time it's happening. IT'S HAPPENING.

Look at the size of that crowd!

But perhaps the most surprisingly delightful theatre experience lately was West End Live. Last Saturday and Sunday, every single West End musical (there are 39 at present) performed a song or medley for free on stage in Trafalgar Square. I had known this was happening, but had sort of put it out of my mind. One of the things that has really disturbed me this year is how very similar Broadway and the West End look at present. I know there's a whole study that could be done on this dealing with the corporate and capitalist nature of the mainstream theatre industry, but I'm busy with another one at the moment - so I'll register my disappointment with this state of affairs and move along. My neighbour Matthias reminded me of these performances and was quite keen on going, so I figured we might as well.

Matthias fell a little bit in love with Dorothy.

I underestimated the popularity of this idea in London. I find something so heart-warming about having to queue for over half an hour merely to enter the enclosure around Trafalgar Square and stand at the back of a massive crowd all gathered to enjoy musical theatre. Some of the shows (the jukebox musicals) were obvious crowd-pleasers with their flashy performance medleys: Mamma Mia, Thriller Live, Rock of Ages, Jersey Boys, and We Will Rock You all had the crowd moving and singing along with the familiar songs. But the crowd were equally mesmerized by solo performances from Matilda, Billy Elliot, The Wizard of Oz, and The Lion King (not a song from the film). Even when it started pouring rain on Sunday, the crowd gamely put up their umbrellas (brollies) and kept right on singing and dancing. It was really marvellously good fun.

Most of the time these days, I'm occupied with reading (and attempting to write) about The Commodification of Feminism in Contemporary Mainstream American Theatre. Only two weeks left to work here before I get swept back into the distractions of my real life.

Brandon and Sunny's meeting

Side note: theatre is also a useful distraction from the sadness of friends leaving. Instead of sitting in a very quiet dorm, I get to go places with lots of people and singing and dancing. There's a constant balancing act in my head these days between things I'll be really glad to see when I get home and things and people I'll be heartbroken to leave behind in London. When it's a little bit grey and rainy, I tend to lean towards the more melancholy reflections. Yesterday I was delightfully jolted out of that when I got to have dinner with a former student who's here on a summer program through Wheaton. Brandon Wold and I enjoyed fish and chips and conversation, and he helped to remind me of some of the amazing people I'm looking forward to seeing again very soon. (Incidentally, Brandon is also writing a blog of his experiences in England: read it here.)

And a special treat: Andover Theatre peeps on the 2006 trip to London, I took this little video for you. I think you'll know why, even if the quality isn't great.

The woman standing next to me was super impassioned with singing along to this one. Why do Brits love this show so much? (The world may never know.)

Transience

Spring has always been my favourite season. This is an unfortunate thing for a girl living in Minnesota where spring lasts maybe two and a half days before either a miserable return to a seemingly unending winter or a leap to oppressively unbearable heat. (Sorry, Minnesotans - much of the year your weather is not really my thing.) Growing up in Nebraska, I thought spring was a glorious time of wonderful, fresh smells of new grass and lilacs, coupled with a giddy excitement about school coming to an end in May. (Again, Minnesotans, sorry - keeping kids (and teachers) in school until mid-June is rough.)

In London, I've enjoyed something of a return to my Nebraskan roots and love for spring. Flowers were blooming in early March and I got to enjoy being outdoors much sooner than Minnesota ever allows. Even though we had a relapse to a very grey and rainy April and dreary early May, the weather this week has erased any misery that caused. Sitting in the park eating lunch or reading a play for my dissertation, I recognize my good fortune once again to be in this lovely place.

These days are not without their emotional pitfalls, however. Even though I'll be in London for another few weeks, this most surreal year of my life is nearing its close. Messages from home are coming more frequently and thoughts (of work, classes to prepare, theatre to direct, students to teach, an apartment to find, a cat to reclaim, friends to see, bills to pay, and the like) break into my work more often and insistently than they have done since October. Dissertation pressure is beginning to mount, and I foresee a smothering level of stress in my near future.

Mostly, though, I'm getting a little sad about the lovely people I've met here who will soon no longer be a part of my daily - or even weekly - life. When I thought about spending a year in London, I imagined all the wonderful things I would get to see and do, but I could not have imagined the people who would do so much to shape my time here. Last night a group of my friends got together for the last time before we begin to go our separate ways. Typically, the evening was characterized by laughter rather than sadness, and the talks of philosophy, art, literature, and life didn't suffer because we knew it was the final time. If anything, they became more important.

Sigmund Freud's essay 'On Transience' deals with exactly this idea. He discusses that time limits placed on enjoyment of something should increase its value rather than diminishing it. Because an experience is temporary, we should relish it all the more; many people let the mourning for the impending loss lessen their joy in the present. If you've never read this essay, please do. It's not long, and Freud says all this more eloquently than I can.

Spring's ephemeral nature is partially the cause of my love for it; the first beautiful days after a grey and chilly winter call to me with their blue skies and sunshine, creating an intense longing to make the most of those precious gifts. And part of what I find so precious is knowing that my heady euphoria is entirely temporary as spring flowers and delicate breezes inevitably make way for their heartier summer counterparts.

Tavistock Square

This is how I feel about my stay in London. It was always fated to be of short duration, so appreciating its wonders is that much more important. The friendships I enjoy won't be ending because of physical distance, though they will be materially changed. That does not make them less valuable. I find myself occasionally mourning these changes that will soon come, but the incredible quality of these people and our time together won't allow me to mourn as it happens. In this case, as in the spring, beauty triumphs over transience.

Gordon Square

As I write this, I'm looking out my window over the house where Virginia Woolf lived; I see a perfectly blue sky only marred by a single airplane trail (insert Mrs Dalloway reference here). I'm in the middle of research into representations of females in contemporary mainstream American drama, and I'm about to do some more reading in the park. My work in 21st-century American drama means that I'm rereading Henrik Ibsen's 1879 play A Doll's House today (obviously), and the sunshine is calling me to come out and enjoy it. My hands and ego are a little bruised from falling up some stairs last night (the name Ann means graceful, also obviously), but nothing will diminish my enjoyment of these last weeks in London and this surreal and ephemerally beautiful year.

Mediocrity: A Rant

I might be an incredibly naïve person.

There are lots of people who wouldn't describe me this way, but those who know me best know that, at heart, I'm an optimist. I do genuinely believe that everything will work out for the best. Sometimes this is incredibly silly and it can be terribly hard to hang onto, but it's the way my brain is wired, so it's what I think.

My childhood was full of people telling me I could do anything I wanted to do, and I can't thank them enough for that now. Even when I wasn't particularly good at something, no one around me would ever discourage my attempt. As an adult, I know the impulse is to protect kids from making fools of themselves - as a teacher I've been guilty of this myself - but as a kid I relished the opportunity to try things for myself. If they didn't work out, well, I generally figured out something about myself or my limitations, but I figured it out on my own.

As an adult, I understand that the world places an incredible premium on money. Those who have it are somehow worth more than those who don't. Let's be honest: I'm a teacher - I don't have all the money, but it's never been what's most important to me. The concept that 'those who can't do, teach'? It's incredibly offensive, and yet it's staring in my face all the time: at parent-teacher conferences, in universities, in a casual conversation with friends or at a bar. 'Oh, you're a teacher? What did you really want to be? A writer? An actress? You're pretty smart. You could make more money doing something else, you know.'

Yes, I do know. I also know that teaching is my gift and my passion. Money is not, and it never has been. If it were, I definitely would have made different choices; I am smart enough for that. Making more money does not inherently make someone smarter, more deserving, more educated, more talented, or more anything, really. Because how did all the major money-makers of the world get to where they are? Someone taught them what they needed to know.

Recently a friend said to me that 'a completely fulfilled life isn't possible' and 'I long ago accepted the mediocrity of my life.' On one hand, it would probably be smart to agree with my friend. Expecting to get the best from all aspects of life is overly optimistic and, probably, unlikely. On the other, this is heartbreaking. I will not accept that mediocrity is what I deserve. I would never expect that for my students or my friends, and I won't expect it for myself. Mediocrity is not what my family raised me to expect. Mediocrity is not what I uprooted myself from a very comfortable life in Minnesota and moved across an ocean to seek. I will not accept that mediocrity is the best I can achieve.

And why should I? There is a point when settling for less is probably the prudent course, but I don't have any idea when that will be for me. I am a teacher because I want to be, and I'm really good at my job. I will continue to look for happiness and fulfilment in all aspects of my life because that's what I deserve. And why would I dare to let anyone tell me differently?

Perhaps I'm naïve. Maybe I'm just stubborn. I know that I can't honestly tell students to pursue their dreams if I don't continue to do it myself. And maybe the refusal to settle will doom me to a life spent alone in the quest of something ... more. I'll be honest; I'd rather that than know I settled for less than I deserve. As a teacher, my students require a better example. As a person, so do I.

Mantra for the Week: Pudding!

In Thornton Wilder's play The Matchmaker (or the musical version Hello, Dolly! if you prefer), the lovable bumblers Cornelius Hackl and Barnaby Tucker leave Yonkers, NY, where they're supposed to be minding Horace Vandergelder's store, and spend the day in New York City (I think these names are hilarious, by the way). They are afraid they won't know if they're having an adventure or not, so they decide on a code word to let them know: Pudding. For Jill and me, this week was definitely pudding.

Jill and Sunny at Tower Bridge

Jill left this morning and one of her requests on the way to the tube was that I write a blog entry about her time here before she gets home to read it. After taking a three-hour nap, I'm ready to oblige - seriously, this touristy stuff is hard. I know I've said it before, but it's really true.

What have we done in the last week? Just about everything we had time for. The weather didn't much cooperate with her visit - it was pretty grey and rainy the whole week, and the temperature was a bit chilly - but we managed to do a lot of fun things, including some I hadn't done before. Probably my favourite new thing was climbing to the top of St. Paul's Cathedral. Typically I'm loath to pay the admission to get into London's big churches (but as I'm a good guide, we went to both Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's), so I've only been into St. Paul's once before and it was a very quick visit a decade ago. This time, we spent the time (and the £15) to do the tour justice and climbed to the top. Even though it was a pretty dismally cloudy day, the views were spectacular and the cool breeze felt really good after all the steps. A word to the wise: when there are seventeen signs saying 'Watch Your Head', you should do that. Right, Jill?

One view from the top of St. Paul's

Another highlight to the last week was renting a car to drive to Stonehenge and Bath. I'm not going to pretend to describe the whole day. Suffice it to say, getting out of London in morning traffic takes a long, long time; when it's windy and a little rainy, Stonehenge is not the warmest place to be; and there is never enough time in Bath. I think I've been there at least four separate times now, and I always feel rushed and like there's still so much more to see and do. It's such a beautiful city and it's a shame there aren't ever more hours to do it justice. At some point I'm going to have to spend a couple of days there rather than always making it a day trip out of London. We did manage to squeeze in a quick visit to the Jane Austen Centre, though - this is what happens when I'm your tour guide.

At cold and windy Stonehenge

Bath (photo courtesy of Stephanie Sinclair)

Sunny at Stonehenge

Renting a car was a definite adventure, and trying to get it back to London on time was more than we had bargained for. Nonetheless, a successful and hilarious day in the English countryside. What's better than that?

One of my biggest challenges this year is not having a smart phone. I didn't realize how much I unconsciously relied on it until it wasn't there; as Jill put it, we were suddenly living in 1997 again. Jill didn't have a phone at all this week and mine is, well, a not-smart phone. In the spirit of 'pudding', Jill and I left London last weekend for a quick jaunt to Paris. The morning had a somewhat magical start (my alarm didn't go off at 5:45 when I wanted it to and I still managed to wake up by 6:00 so we didn't miss our train), but we were a little less organized leaving for Paris than one might wish. The post-it note with our hotel information spent a lovely weekend alone on my desk in London. So with no way to check email for our hotel information, no GPS or maps with us, and my phone which died on the train, we arrived at the Gare du Nord in Paris. We knew the area of our hotel, so figured out the Metro and guessed which stop to take, found a map that gave two possibilities for our hotel, and picked one. We guessed right.

Although the weekend had a somewhat bumpy start, we had a wonderful time wandering Paris, the Champs-Élysées, visiting the Arc de Triomphe, Sacré Cœur and Montmartre, the Louvre, Notre Dame de Paris, and the Latin Quarter. Even the weather cooperated. 

On the Champs-Élysées

You know, I did a report on the Arc de Triomphe in fifth grade.

I spend much of my travelling life on guided tours, usually with students, but the freedom to walk and see things as we chose this last week is much my preference. Although there were still things we wanted to see and do, the flexibility to change plans, sit down for a pint, or enjoy something for an extra hour is so much fun. Additionally, the gift of reconnecting with a childhood friend for a week in two of the world's most fabulous cities is one whose value cannot be overstated. I've been a lucky, lucky girl this year: I have wonderful new friends I adore and with whom I've been able to explore, I live in my favourite city and get to see it every day, and lots of my favourites from home have been able to visit me. Don't get me wrong, I spent my fair share of time thinking about my life in Minnesota this week - partially because Jill and I went to see Singin' in the Rain last night, a show that's made me tense with fear since I directed it in 2004 - and I miss lots of things and people there, but there are no words for how much I love where I am today. Pudding!

More pictures from our week are on Facebook here. The album is public.

A Fleeting Impression and a Request

There is something inexpressibly melancholic about a single balloon floating away in the sky. When thousands of balloons are released at a sporting event it is joyful, triumphant even. But when there's just one - floating off alone - it seems so sad. Perhaps I'm thinking of the child who lost this balloon and is, even now, looking up at it hopefully, trying to recreate that moment when she let the string slip through her grasp. Obviously the balloon I saw float over the building opposite just now didn't have this story to tell me. I don't know if it was from a child or a couple in love, a birthday or a new car. I only know that, as I saw the solitary balloon floating in the twilight, I felt the wistfulness of lost opportunities.

This melancholy doesn't reflect my mood today, it was just a fleeting impression. On the contrary, I've had a lovely few days enjoying a reprieve from massive deadlines and a mountain of academic work. This weekend has been relatively quiet as I've been getting ready for another visitor from home; my friend Jill is coming to see me and I'm determined to show her a fun time for her first trip to the UK (no pressure). While wandering around my reasonably simple life in London this weekend, I've only had occasional twinges of sadness/joy/regret/pride that I'm missing the opening weekend of Annie, Get Your Gun at Andover High School. There are (right this moment, in fact - there's a matinee happening as I type) students on that stage I've seen grow from the awkwardest of fourteen-year-olds into truly delightful people I'll be proud to continue knowing as they leave high school, and I don't like missing their final shows on a stage that has played an important role in many of their lives. That said, I know they're giving the best performances they can and that they're making me proud from 4,400 or so miles away. Really, they make me proud always, I just happened to think of it today.

To stop the self-indulgent turn this entry has taken, I'll include another picture. This is me and my new/old friend Paddington. (If you've ever been in my classroom, you'll notice the wall behind me is starting to look eerily similar to that wall of playbills...it's apparently my thing.) Isn't he super cute? He and Sunny are friends now, although Paddington's much better-equipped for the never-ending rain London's been enjoying as of late. I've been considering trying to jam my sasquatch-sized feet into those adorable tiny rain boots.

SO, now it's your turn, blog reader. Are there places you'd like me to visit and chronicle on my blog? I've got lots of ideas for Jill's visit next week, but if there's something you want to see and you think I've been remiss in not showing thus far, let me know. I'm delighted to do what I can. I can already promise we'll be making a trip to Stonehenge and Bath...and RENTING A CAR to get there. This is, incidentally, why it's important to always make South African friends in London. They also drive on the left and so are less afraid of turning into oncoming traffic.

That's all for me this final weekend in April (seriously, where on Earth has this year gone? Didn't I just get here?). Let me know if you have any London-y requests for my tour guiding!

Being a Tourist

You know when you're on a trip to a place you've never been and you feel the urge to see all the sights and do all the things and eat all the food and find all the culture and walk all the places and ... ? You've done this?

Well, I do this. In my heart of hearts, I am a traveller - there are few things I love as much as walking in a new city, smelling its smells and feeling its rhythms. If there are historically interesting sights, so much the better. But occasionally I embrace being a tourist and I can't stop until I see and do everything.

It turns out, even when I live in the city in question, I feel a compulsion to do this. London is a great place to visit, but it's seriously exhausting.

Ex.Haus.Ting.

My family has been visiting me for the last couple of weeks. Because they had been here before, they weren't interested in seeing the 'normal', first-time touristy sights. Instead we went a bunch of places where none of us had ever been, meaning that I was just as rabidly taking in the sights as on my first visit here (when I never put down my camera and didn't see anything that wasn't through a lens). For me, this was a wonderful reminder of why I fell in love with London over a decade ago.

Favourite new place: Kew Gardens. I had honestly never considered going there before - partially because it's in Zone 4 (that means it's both too far for me to walk and an inconvenient amount of time/train-changing on the tube) and I rarely venture beyond Zone 2. In fact, I rarely venture to Zone 2. The neatest thing about living in a dorm again is that the location really couldn't be any better. I won't pretend there aren't drawbacks, but the good far outweighs the bad (of course, I'm only speaking for myself. My neighbours may have a different opinion about sharing a wall with someone who sings show tunes all day). Anyway, Kew Gardens is really lovely (and massive), so if you're interested in plants/climate zones/walking outdoors/looking at pretty things, you should check it out.

Second new destination: the construction for the 2012 Olympics in Stratford. This was also an adventure to get to - mainly because we tried to do it by staying in Zones 1-2 because of the limitations of my parents' travel cards. The stop we wanted is right on the border of Zones 2 and 3, so it meant a little more train-changing to get there, but it also meant more time above ground (we took the light rail). Here's something I can say with a great deal of confidence now that I've lived in London for a while: if you've only ever been a tourist in London you probably know the Underground system pretty well, but that is really not a good way to get to know this city. It took me weeks of living here to figure out some things were only about a seven-minute walk apart but a twenty-minute tube ride. Also, London is better viewed from street level. It's fantastic to pop out of a tube station and have something breathtaking suddenly in front of you (my favourite place to do this is Westminster), but it's so much better to see all the crazy alleys and unexpected bits that are between tube stops. The Olympic construction site, aside from being cold and super windy the day we visited, was also massive (expected) and interesting in the maps and discussions of post-Olympics usage of some of the facilities. When I'm at home (weird that I don't know where that will be...) watching the Olympics on TV this summer, I'll certainly be saying 'Hey! I've been there!' Just wait. You'll hear it.

'We're going to Paris for the day': what you should always be able to say on a random Tuesday. This was a very short, but terribly fun trip. Though I had been to Paris before (best trip ever - ask me about it some time), none of my family had. And though I had been there, the city is so beautiful that I took pictures of the sights all over again. The pictures from both trips will surely look startlingly similar. It was a wonderful day, however, made better by running into one of my favourites in the Musée d'Orsay a week before he came to London to see me.

So how did this London correspondent fare with getting back to her humble student life following a whirlwind of sights and sounds and food and trains? Not well. I promptly got sick and used a whole box of kleenexes in two days. There's also a tiny chance I'm writing this entry to avoid writing an essay.

Moral of the story: being a tourist is exhausting even when it's where you live.

See more of my pictures from my family and friends' visits on Facebook: click HERE for Paris and HERE for London. (I really like the one of me as Paddington Bear.)

Tuppence a Bag

Earlier this year, Sunny and I went to St. Paul's to see the steps from Mary Poppins where the little old woman would come to feed the birds (see the original post here). Instead we found the Occupy London movement at the beginning of what turned into a more than four month stay.

This was unexpected, but I promised to come back and take a picture of the steps soon. 'Soon' turned into several months as the occupiers were first turned out of Paternoster Square and then evicted from the space around St. Paul's itself. Returning at the end of January, I found this unexpectedly desolate scene of cattle gates and private security guards filling the square as the protesters' area was restricted more and more.

                                                        

When my friends Mary and Sebastian came to London two weeks ago, St. Paul's was obviously on the list of sights. We arrived and found the space totally returned to normal, as though no protesters had ever been there. Sunny finally got his picture.

Sunny and a little old bird woman at St. Paul's. Wasn't she nice to pose for us?

I have loads more visitors coming in the next month, beginning with my family. Anyone I've met here can probably tell you how much I love London (because I talk about it all the time), and when people ask me what food or 'stuff' from home I miss, I'm hard-pressed to answer. However, I can unequivocally say that there are a lot of important people that I miss and I'm really excited that a few of them are visiting over the coming weeks.

In the mean time, however, I'm going to be very boring and won't be having many adventures. This week I'll be in the library and then shut in my room writing a paper on trauma theory and how it's exhibited in some of Toni Morrison's works (that nifty Shelfari widget at the right of the screen always tells what I'm currently reading if you're interested). 

So if you're looking for me, that's where I am - seated in front of a window, staring wistfully out at the lovely Londony springtime.