I have traveled on my own for a few days and survived! And the Alhambra in Granada is magical and Cordoba even more so, and Oxford as dignified as I imagined except for the mad scramble in the going-out-of-business Borders, which does rather fit with the town. And York is perfectly lovely and medieval with its little snickelways and such.

People are kind to a solo, young female. My tour book warned me about the bouncers at Christ Church College, fulfilling their guard duties for centuries and even with a required uniform! My tour book would be quite astonished to learn that I got a private, personal tour of the Great Hall by one of those intimidating old men, who was delighted to find a visitor who cared as much about Alice in Wonderland as Harry Potter. I got to wander around everywhere, see the hidden door behind the high table, the tiny carved teacups in one chair (a reference to a certain mad hatter), the dodo, and Alice in the window. It was pointed out to me that look as I might, I could NOT find a Cheshire Cat--and really, should it be any other way?

A kind lady at the infamous Bodleian library helped me slightly less-than-legitimately get a pass to reading rooms normally off limits, though I had to see the medieval wing with the normal tourist crowd. I got to see books in Maimonedes' hand and the oldest copy of the Chronicle of Eusebius. Another lady gave me my own tour of Oxford, and yet another of the cathedral there, including rare stained-glass grotesques.

In Malaga, the hostel not only gave me a room to myself but one with an open balcony facing the front of the medieval church, not 3 yards away. In Cordoba, I got into the mezquita for free. When it began pouring rain, not only did one young man offer me a ride on his motorcycle (declined), but a somewhat older gentleman insisted on escorting me about with his umbrella, going quite out of his way. Someone clued me in to a way of reaching Madinat Al-Zahra, the Shining City, an archaeological excavation that I'd been dying to see.

And in Granada, my hostel was literally right next to the Alhambra, illuminated throughout the night. The Nasrid Palaces and Generalife look otherworldly--but not the elves or fairies we know! They are delicate, alien, and completely enchanting, full of gardens and fountains, graceful arches, white stone carved almost like lace, and a pervading sense of openness and fresh air, a paradise on Earth. I also strongly approve of the Moorish approach to fountains, simple and flowing with no overly ornate decoration. Channels run everywhere, since they took the sensible approach that people can darn well step over an 8 inch wide stream.

Or, at least, most people can manage not to get their shoes wet. Stop laughing.

But I got back to Edinburgh eventually, packed, and set out this morning. I had an early train to Heathrow just in case, but BA said my flight to Heathrow was good. Went to the airport. Waited. At precisely the moment of check-in, they announced that it was canceled, as were all other flights that would get me there in time for the Chicago flight.

I tore a bit of hair out and grabbed the next train for London. My flight takes off at 3:25, gate closing at 3:05. My train gets in at 2:10. It's anywhere from 40min to an hour to get to Heathrow from King's Cross with a taxi. Maaaaybe this will work. Maybe, even if it doesn't, I can raise hell enough to get home tonight. Worst case scenario, I go tomorrow. And given that I turned in my dorm key in Edinburgh anyway, it's not like I'll have to pay extra for housing in London that I wouldn't otherwise, and this cuts out one of the variables for tomorrow.

Meanwhile,  I schelp along two darn heavy bags with heavy whisky for my -father and grandfather and a heavy sword for Aaron. Yes, a sword. It's taped to the duffel bag. In retrospect, yes, a bad idea, now that I haven't been able to just check the bags.

Isn't life fun?

But hey, the train went along the coast and I saw Lindisfarne, the Holy Isle, and saw Durham and Berwick-upon-Tweed and the whole coastline in the snow. It's beautiful. And I have internet. So train service for the win, and the sooner British Airways goes out of business, the better (once I get home!).

I can't focus on my paper anymore. I really, really don't give a damn about the folklorist Lady Gregory.

Instead, you all get to hear about the Scottish weather. I literally flew home from class the other day--the wind shoved me the whole way! Umbrellas get turned inside-out so much that you simply can't use them, it's pointless. I can hear the wind roaring outside even through my music, and the gusts come in despite the decently-insulated window. Everything is drenched. I despair of ever being warm or seeing the sun again.

But oh, it's impressive. And I still love Scotland.

You know it's been a bad year when you remember something your grandfather said, but can't remember whose funeral he said it at. Fail.

Also, I am here safe, have lost my voice to Fresher's Flu, danced at tons of ceilidhs, drank lots of scotch, tried haggis, kayaked (and capsized) in the North Sea, hiked the hills, made friends, visited castles, palaces, and cathedrals, paid my respects to the monuments of Robbie Burns and Admiral Nelson, and generally had a ball. Laura has already threatened death because said ball was a formal occasion at the place that inspired Hogwarts castle, my student union (complete with crazy, non-moving staircases), and I've eaten at the Hog's Head pub and the Elephant House cafe and passed by the Balmoral Hotel. Brownie points if you know why all of those are significant. More info and pictures later. Right now, sleep so I can go to Stirling Castle tomorrow.

Fuck.

I just spent two hours typing an entry, and it vanished. There was a hell of a lot to say. Highlights:

My application is being sent to Edinburgh as we speak, and will get there by Friday. People will miss me, and I will miss them, but it is an excellent opportunity. The study abroad office doesn't know whether they hate me or love me after I bullied them into this, but it was probably the fastest application ever (1 week exactly), with epic recs and speed and carrot cake as thanks.

I have an apartment for this summer with excellent people, called the Casa del Bano. More on them, and the house, much later.

I got to spend the past week having an impromptu birthday party (yay for pledge Nathan mysteriously bringing birthday balloons), and hanging out with all the new pledges and graduating seniors, and going on hiking trips through Purgatory Chasm, seeing an owl, and sleepovers watching The Princess Bride until 4 AM in the TV room with Bethany and Jimbers and Little Can, then curling up like a puppy litter to fall asleep, and getting to know the pledges I didn't very well, and Bethany and I establishing the Heavy Metal Bakery and catering epic sweets for the ADPhi formal, and sitting on the porch swing as Jon Cannon fiddles away with a guitar accompanying and Little Can spinning like a dreidel, and contra with pledges and people I'll miss and saying goodbye to the seniors, to Aragorn Lord of the Universe (and telling him his contra nickname), and Jack who's off to join a Buddist monastary, Martha the future corporate businesswoman, Karla, Deull, Benjamin the Monkey, so many.

And I came home early because Mom was having surgery. She's been having hand troubles for years now, originally thought to be carpal tunnel, and the doctors were at their wits end. The pain spread to her shoulder. She went in yesterday to get surgery for diagnosis. She's also been gaining weight around her midriff only and has had little appetite and energy. You can see, perhaps, where this is going, laid out in a hasty little narrative. We couldn't.

I got home after her surgery last evening, and Dad called us all in for a family conference.

She has cancer, metastatic, in her hand and shoulder and liver and gut.

Not the type you get better from.

Not the type that goes into remission, either.

She has four weeks to four years. She'll get chemo this summer and we'll learn what sort of cancer within a week. We know nothing else. She doesn't want flowers ("I don't want the living room looking like a mortuary.") I will happily hang out with people, but this takes first priority. And please, please, don't bring it up or call just because of it. I have a lot to do and I'm functioning by ignoring it. If you want to be on the email list for updates about this, let me know.

Wednesday: the first floor came down massively with a stomach flu. Lasted one day, hit hard, and left.

Yesterday: my second floor got a cold/fever thing. Still congested, but I can go to class today.

...there's a third floor.

So who's interested in touring downtown Evanston with my friend from Beijing tomorrow night?

And I think my missing her messages about being in town May 31-June 2 until just now rather take the cake for hard-to-reach. You all may stop complaining about last-minute dance organization and such.

I passed my instructor certification by a very, very slim margin. Some didn't. I am exhausted but thankful. And muscles are complaining about hauling water to wash boats up ramps in huge bucketsful.

Next summer (and no, I don't know quite how yet) I will be going to England for a few weeks. If my schemes work, a few of those weeks will be studying medieval stuff at Cambridge or Oxford. However, I want at least a week to go explore London, Stonehenge, Ireland, and Scotland, staying in youth hostels and such.

I would love to go with a friend. Any takers?

In my happy little world, when a guy asks to hang out outside of contra, I assume he wants to be friends. This is a good thing, and should be answered with yes. I do have enough self-preservation that when he wants to take me to see Forgetting Sarah Marshall, I say no. DAMMIT, EVAN. Couldn't you have waited for Gail to tell you I'm not interested?

In other news, I will begin compiling guides for male and female friends to Anna's Happy World. On page one will be the OED definition of platonic, along with guidelines for behavior. On page 2, any future references to the OED will be banned until my History of English exam is over on Saturday.

(And side note: Forgetting Sarah Marshall? When there's a kung-fu movie playing? More reason for me to come with a manual.)

So who exactly is coming to NEFFA, and when? It's in Mansfield, MA, Apr. 25-27 I believe.

So, people in Evanston now: can we meet maybe 1ish Saturday (today) to hang out/build possible snowfort of doom?