"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

6/1/13
    This is an odd summer for my parents. They'll have 23 days of utter quiet in the summertime months, interrupted only by the barking of determined little dogs and the roaring hum of the lawnmower. I don't think they've ever had a summer quite like it. The last summer without the near constant presence of children (or  teenagers) was in 1991. 1991. Sure, they got rid of us for 20 glorious days in 2008, but then we both came back for the rest of the summer. This year, they'll just have me. And I'm much less noisy. And no longer a teenager.
    Its really an odd summer for me as well. I feel a little stretched out by all my traveling. Not only physical traveling to live in a city thousands of miles away from home, but a sort of time travel. The medieval architecture here is almost overwhelming at points, and I look around at the stained glass and Gothic spires, and almost feel a need to introduce my alien presence.
    "Why hello, building from the 14th century, pleased to meet you." The buildings replies are normally quite stoic. I get a brief feeling that monks are watching me.
    But this feeling doesn't last for long, as I'm always jolted out of it by the bustling presence of Oxford itself.  A tourist asks for directions, a motorcycle zooms by, a tour guide speaks loudly, a street performer sings looking for change. And I'm surrounded by tourists, students, and a seemingly endless swarm of people that are undoubtedly in the 21st century. Quite honestly, the hoards of people are the biggest shock in coming here.
    So then, I read. I read about Britain in years of 1914-1918, and I can almost see those Brits walking about Oxford, albeit a much slower paced Oxford. Men in academic dress, small motorcars occasionally passing, and the whistle of a train in the distance. A sign hangs asking, "Daddy, what did YOU do in the Great War?" The sign is a bit wasted here. Enlistment rates were good at Oxford, and most students instantly became officers, experienced or not. (It was said that the life of football, ruby, and rowing had prepared the young elite men perfectly for war. That kicking around a football ball could be transferred to the battlefield, and indeed, one officer tried to kick a football to the German trenches to inspire his troops. He was killed instantly. The football in question is in the Imperial War Museum. I'm not quite sure whether to feel anger or pity at the young officer's stupidly brave and entirely unnecessary last kick.) Unfortunately for them, officers had the highest death rate. It gives me pause to remember how many died, and how that world changed so drastically. Its quite sad, even for someone as far removed as me.But I don't think we can ever be removed from human suffering. Its something we all know to varying degrees, and sympathy seems to be an involuntary reaction to the suffering of others, whether it be a crisis occurring ten years ago or two thousand years ago. Its when we don't feel sympathy that something has gone wrong. 
   At this point, perhaps I should try to escape my musings and actually try to tell you about my week. Lets see. I did a lot of writing and reading. I know. Super interesting to the outside observer. Perhaps instead of going in a day by day scenario, I'll just give you a stream of consciousness post.