Perhaps I was Amelia Earhart

Have I mentioned that I'm deathly afraid of flying? Overseas flights particularly scare me, since large expanses of water cause knots in my stomach. (I'm also freaked out by large ships and submarines.) I'm a feet-on-solid-ground kind of person. Once I'm on the plane, fatalism or sedatives keep me calm. But in the weeks before an overseas flight I get panicked about making sure my affairs are in order. I've almost wondered if it's a past life thing, even though I don't really buy into that stuff. In any case, this certainty of doom means it takes a lot of psychological pep-talking for me to plan a big trip.

I had just decided I didn't have it in me, financially or time-wise, to go back to Canada again in September, even though I was heartbroken about missing Chelsea's wedding. Then all hell broke loose at Heathrow and now I probably couldn't have forced myself onto a plane around September 11 anyway, even though many others will and will be just fine. I'm worried about encouraging people to visit us, now, too. (You can quote statistics about the number of flights each day and car accident death rates, and argue that when your number's up your number's up. That's the thing about irrational fears - reason doesn't help.) I had started to consider ways to extend the European sojourn while we're fairly young and unencumbered by offspring. But for the past few days all I can think about is how much I wish I were only a comparatively safe VIA rail trip away from my family and friends.

A quick and inelegant rundown of what we've been up to:
We went to a lovely wedding at Christ Church Cathedral last weekend. The cathedral is beautiful, the choir was haunting, and it almost made me reconsider church weddings. During the civil war in the 1600s, Charles I resided at Christ Church when he made Oxford the royalist stronghold against Cromwell (there are remants of the war all over Oxford). His queen lived at Merton college, and he used to visit her through a little gate in the cathedral yard. After the wedding we all got to proceed through this gate, which is almost always locked, to a reception of champagne, Pimm's and strawberries and cream in the gardens of Corpus Christi college. (The vice-president of our university dorm at Queen's was at the wedding - since the groom was Dutch and the bride American it makes it an even more unlikely coincidence.) Naturally the celebrations ended up at a pub along the river. After that we had friends visiting from Canada, which necessitated more champagne and punting.

Otherwise, work is busy and stressful but good experience. The coworkers I am playing soccer with are improving really fast, and the numbers are if anything increasing. Women of my age here didn't have much opportunity to play as kids, so they are having a blast. And we even have some men coming out. The only problems is that noone can afford a house in Oxford, so they all have to drive home to neighboring towns after practice. This considerably reduces the amount of alcohol consumed at the pub. I miss the number of pitchers the Panic squad goes through! Jeff's job is also a bit stressful at the moment, mostly because there have been unforeseen challenges in getting projects off the ground. He's getting backup come autumn so things should fall into place. We haven't been travelling much other than day trips because it's nice to relax at weekends and catch up on miniscule loads of laundry and dishes in our micro-appliances. It's a chance to throw open doors and windows, hang sheets on the line, and freshen everything up. (I've brought back rolls of acrylic screen from Canada so now I just need to figure out how to rig it up.) We've also grown quite attached to a nearby village and conservation area, within an easy bike ride of Oxford.


A view from the hills of the Port Meadow (green space - look for the sailboat on the river) and behind it our neighborhood in Oxford. You can see how dry it has been here by the colour of the hills in the background and foreground.