The countdown is on

Above: Hanging out with my buddies Weber, Scott, et. al.

On the waterfront

There is an expression in Australian English - to make a dog's breakfast of something - and that is exactly what I did as stroke in my first rowing race. Two crabs! I caught two crabs! And after a brilliant start we lost the race. Darn it. I have since been consulting my dear virtual coaches, AJ and BP, in the finer arts of timing and blade-squaring.

I have to say, despite having just experienced the most significant athletic snafu of my long, mediocre though enthusiastic athletic career, that it at least showed what wonderful, easy going people I row with. Fingers crossed that with a session in the tank and another on the water that I can figure this out before the Christ Church regatta on Wednesday.

Well, until I am officially thrown off the team, I have been enjoying some beautiful mornings on the Isis. Pics, top-bottom: My team biking back after practice; sunlight on the bridge where we turn around; a jogger in the Christ Church meadow.

November Morning

Monday is my day to get ready for the week; I have no classes and instead tend to get up early and go to my college's common room in the Observatory for free coffee, sunshine and a good chair. This morning was no exception.

Photos, top to bottom: my mess; entrance to the college with view to Radcliffe Observatory; the common room; the view.

Where the Wild Things Are

I have never been to a place that sold so many crystals and pentagrams, nor stood amongst so many women dressed in crushed velvet, nor enjoyed an evening with so many men who have hooded cloaks in their regular wardrobes or go by the name of Merlin, Zephyr, Xylem, Phloem or some-such.

But there I was, at Chalice Well in Glastonbury, standing with H around a bonfire, listening to Merlin (brown cloak, facial hair) talk about the yew trees, stars, and the world's bountiful uterus (no kidding) in celebration of All Hallow's Eve and in preparation for the dark English winter ahead.* The gardens were lit with lanterns and tea lights, and once the hoo-hah around the fire was finished, we simply wandered the grounds, enjoying the tableau vivants of so many Gandalfs and Ravens gliding about the place and murmuring beneath vine draped arbors.

I like Halloween as a day of inversions and id with a get-out-of-jail-free card mentality. For instance, the most popular Halloween party here - HallowQueen - "required" all men to cross-dress. In Glastonbury, I got the sense that this was a day for all the closeted druids to lace up their best corsets and druidesses to pull out their favorite love spells. There may be a fantasy of power or control to it all.

But for me and H - we were in it for the chaos. With a quick stop at a service station for the classifieds and a roll of masking tape, I made us up a set of horns. Forget runes and incantations, we wanted to fight like water buffalo. And I loved my horns. My mind kept straying to new ideas of making them bigger or gnarlier or forked. I couldn't even look at Merlin as he prated on without thinking he'd have looked cooler with a pair. They were just so satisfying. They just scratched some itch.

So just let me know, and I'll make you a pair and we can go outside and fight like buffalo, make mean faces for the camera, and be glad.



* The effect of this effort reminded me of when yoga instructors tell everyone to just relax not think about their tough week ahead at work.