Upon England's Mountain Green

Dr. Talbot shared this poem with us while I was in London, and I loved it. I have been meaning to write about it somewhere besides my London Journal for ages--and now here it is.

And did those feet in ancient time,
Walk upon England's mountain green
And was the Holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen!

And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon these Clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
among these Dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of Burning Gold
Bring me my Arrows of Desire
Bring me my Spear: oh clouds unfold
Bring me my Chariot of Fire!

I will not Cease from Mental Fight
Nor Shall my Sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green & pleasant Land

-William Blake 1809

The beautiful idea of this poem, is that perhaps England is like Jerusalem- that Jesus Christ walked there. I know--perhaps a little far-fetched. But is it? Christ visited the Americas. He held and blessed the children of the ancient worlds--why not in England? It's a beautiful thought, one I like to think about here and there, and one that should be pondered often. Why wouldn't Christ visit every land? I know one day He will, but who says He hasn't already?

Calling me Home

I ran across a dear friend's blog today (a blog I am devastated to say I had never heard of before) and she calls it, "London Calling". On it, she places all the things that remind her of that beautiful city and why shes misses it. It was also her blog during our stay at the London Centre. It's beautiful and lovely, and the fabulous thing about Emily-is that she is a beautiful writer. I am so often inspired by her gorgeous thoughts and her stunningly beautiful spirit.

May I just say though, that this gorgeous insight into a bit of Emily is making me very homesick.

I miss London.

Rather desperately.

Invited!

One of my absolute favorite Professors at BYU sent me the following email yesterday:

Dear Jennifer,

forgive me if I wrote you about this already, but I wanted to invite students who had the highest grades in History 202 to consider applying to this programme for Summer 2010:

http://www.pem.cam.ac.uk/ip/pkp/

If you are interested, I am available to answer your questions and help you to apply.

Yours sincerely,

Dr Kerry

Absolutely YES I want to go!!! A friend of mine went a few years ago and she said it was beyond amazing.

Well, I saw a few problems with it:
1. I'm married and don't want to be without Derek all summer.
2. Tuition is about $3500 for the summer term (YEOUCH!)
3. I'm married.

Sadly, I sent an apologetic email back to Dr. Kerry, but he fired back almost immediately saying that married students have worked it out! So, Derek and I started talking about it yesterday and I started to fill out the application last night.

Do I want to go? YES!
Do I hope I get in? YES!
Does Derek want me to get it? YES!
Will we actually be able to do it? -------------??

So...here's hoping. I'm going to talk to Dr. Kerry after class today, or sometime this week, and get his input on what he thinks will work. I hope it works out....what an adventure for us!

In other news...it's supposed to Snow Saturday. :D

Happy Guy Fawkes Day!

I realize that some of you who read this blog have absolutely no idea who Guy Fawkes is. Allow me to shed some light on this subject:

Guy Fawkes (the word "guy", meaning "man" or "person", is derived from his name) belonged to a group of Roman Catholics from England who planned the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. Their aim was to displace Protestant rule by blowing up the Houses of Parliament while King James I and the entire Protestant, and some Catholic, aristocracy and nobility were inside.

The Gunpowder Plot was initially led by someone else, but Fawkes was the guy (haha) in charge of the execution of the plot. He was arrested, however, a few hours before the explosion was to be set off. Apparently, Scotland Yard was notified by an anonymous letter.

Now, on 5 November in the UK, there is Guy Fawkes Night, aka bonfire night. In commemoration of this magnificent plot, the people burn an effigy of Fawkes and the celebration is often accompanied by fireworks. OOo!! AAAaah!

So, Happy Guy Fawkes Day.

Admissions Essay

Hey! He is the long-ago promised essay that I submitted to the David O'McKay School of Education. :-)

p.s. I got in! :-)

I gazed at the document in wonder, silent ecstasy playing upon my dropped jaw. I longed to reach out and touch it, to feel the parchment between my palms and watch the ink smudge onto my fingers. For this was it: the piece of paper that declared the American Colonies free and independent. Images flashed before my eyes, memories I wished were truly mine, of watching Thomas Jefferson present his work to Congress and John Adams staunchly defending it as it was critiqued and edited before an earthly tribunal. My young heart swelled within my breast and I longed to shout along the rooftops, proclaiming this feeling of pride, joy, and unfailing gratitude for these men who had sworn their “lives…fortunes and…sacred honor” to invite freedom and equality into their budding nation.

Ten years later, I clutched my notebook as I gazed up in wonder, my chin tickled by my scarf as, once again, my jaw dropped at the sight of the parchment before me. I stood in the British Library with the Magna Carta, one of four originals from 1215, hanging behind protective glass before me. Inside, that swelling motion once again made my heart want to burst. I felt the confirmation of the Spirit as I said to myself, “This is why I must become a teacher.”

The story of my decision to become a history teacher is a short one, but the road to get there is full of ups and downs, trials and blessings. Opportunities to stand in historical places, steady influences from my teachers, and my own teaching experiences have led me to Brigham Young University and my determination to become a history teacher.

I developed a deep love of history in fifth grade as my teacher, Mrs. Henstrom, encouraged me to learn about my country. I can remember sitting in my desk listening to her, passion and pride etched in her voice as she described the first steps taken by America on the road to democracy. Those moments deeply touched me and I found myself wanting to tell everyone about it. It was there in her classroom at Rock Canyon Elementary that I made the decision that the best way to convey that love and passion would be with students of my own.

Mrs. Henstrom soon handed the baton off to my eighth grade history teacher, Ms. Thornock. Once again, I sat at the feet of someone who inspired me to share my passion. Her confidence in my abilities inspired me to take risks. Second semester, she invited me to be her teacher’s assistant. I was launched into the world of grading and learned how to truly encourage learning from even the most reluctant students. She introduced primary documents into my academic life and I began to devour historical books that she recommended. My summers, once full of reading about the Black Stallion and Misty of Chincoteague, were now bursting with David McCullough and Stephen Ambrose.

Experiences in my young academic life led me to BYU and through various occupations that bring me closer to history. Currently, I am a transcriber in the L. Tom Perry Special Collections. Every day I sit down to my desk with a stack of primary documents and make them available to the masses through technology. The virtue and importance of these documents is made manifest to me as I see hundreds of patrons enter through our doors each day seeking to thumb through their pages. It has deepened my conviction that primary documents are essential to understanding history as it really happened. This experience has influenced my thinking in regards to my future classroom. I intend to make primary documents the core of my curriculum. In truth, it is among the pages of primary documents that my love of history and desire to teach collide.

Teaching has always been a part of my life, just as history has been. As a child, I taught my sister everything I knew (or thought I knew). I was called on to teach in Seminary, church, and even a few of my high school classes. My senior year of high school, my AP Literature teacher presented us with the opportunity and challenge to teach for an entire week. I threw myself into the project and found myself spending hours with my group on research for our assigned novel, Heart of Darkness. The week was a success and I felt an incredible joy as I realized that I had influenced the students in my class. I left Mrs. Yip’s class determined to seek more opportunities to teach. Those opportunities I sought arose when I reached BYU.

My sophomore year at BYU, after scrimping and saving, I earned enough money to go on a Study Abroad to London. During my four month stay, I was called to teach Primary in the Spanish/Portuguese branch located in a very poor area of Kenington, London. My limited vocabulary and lack of confidence in my Spanish skills made each Sunday a challenge. Not only was I expected to teach children of varying ages (from three to eight), I was also teaching in a language I could, at best, sort of understand and barely speak. While this experience was a challenge, and often a trial, it was also one of the most rewarding four months of my life. I cannot say that I left the Kenington Branch a fluent and confident Spanish speaker, but I fell in love with my students and with teaching. I looked forward to Sunday each week and felt an incredible satisfaction when I saw understanding brighten their dark eyes.

The following year, I was hired as a Resident’s Assistant in Helaman Halls. My world completely turned upside down as I suddenly became the mentor, friend, and mediator for forty-two freshman girls. Teaching suddenly became more than a hobby and turned into a lifestyle as I introduced them into university life, helped them through roommate conflicts, and taught them how to live on their own. Simultaneously, I was called as the Ward Family History instructor and taught nearly half of my ward how to use the indexing program set up by the church. Teaching consumed my life in both formal and informal ways.

Thousands of moments and experiences have brought me to the point where I cannot imagine any other vocation but teaching history. I am determined to use the experiences I have had throughout my life to influence others for good and teach them that we stand on the shoulders of those who have gone before. By introducing primary documents into my classroom I hope to foster an environment where students can easily see the importance of keeping their own histories and realizing that what they do and what they record will impact generations.

Things I Love

This one is for Betsy. It was a great idea.

So, I set an online stop watch for one minute, and typed anything I could think of that I love.

One minute of things I love:

1. singing in a choir
2. reading British novels
3. reading about history
4. visiting museums
5. taking walks at sunset
6. going to the Temple
   
7. humming/singing as I clean
   
8. whistling when I walk across campus
9. watching the leaves fall
10. building snowmen
11. playing scrabble with Derek
    
12. talk about the future with Derek
    
13. traveling
    
14. making cookies
15. eating with friends
    

Hmmm, nice. Here are a few more things I love:

1. writing in my journal
2. playing with Derek's hair
3. watching movies with my sisters
4. talking to my brother about life
5. watching BYU football
6. going to soccer games
7. horseback riding
   
8. hiking
9. listing to General Conference (especially when I'm there!)
   
10. listening to someone with an accent
    
11. speaking in Spanish
12. running into someone I haven't seen in a long time
13. writing stories
14. taking pictures
15. hot chocolate
16. galaxy chocolate
17. my primary kids in London
18. looking at Better Homes and Gardens magazine
19. America's Next Top Model
20. pink gel pens
21. decorating for holidays
22. Disneyland
23. warm, fuzzy blankets
24. chicken alfredo
25. eating a whole pizza by myself
26. having lunch at the Creamery
27. talking to friends on the phone
28. writing and receiving letters
29. root beer (especially A&W)
30. good roasts on Sundays
31. naps
32. wandering around Wal-Mart
33. visits to Duchesne
34. buying books
35. looking at Christmas lights

There are a million more things...but I kept it at 50. :-) I agree with Betsy though...maybe I should do this more often.

Wish I had

I really wish I had kept a blog while I was in London.

I've seriously thought about adding things from my journal and my emails home and just...MAKING a blog now. Now that's it's been almost a year and half...

But I think that would be kind of lame.

But it was lame of me not to do it in the first place.

So which is more lame?

My Closet and I

I went through my closet this morning, looking for something to wear. I was running a little late, and the only thing I cared about was: comfort. Bright purple looked great, and so I pulled the simple, long sleeve tee off the hanger, and tossed it onto my bed.

Five minutes later, I was pulling it on and suddenly, I was overwhelmed with a memory. The last time this purple shirt had been dropped over my head, I was on my way out the door of 27 Palace Court, headed towards Green Park and Buckingham Palace. I nearly cried, as I pressed my face into the fabric, hoping beyond all hope, that somehow the smell of London would still be there, clinging to the fibers of the fabric. I searched for any sign of the delicious smell of rain, the polished scent of the glass windows of the Victoria and Albert, the ancient smell of the British Museum, the devastatingly beautiful green of Hyde Park. Unfortunately, the only smell that soaked my nostrils, was that of Tide, the laundry detergent that washed out all the pleasant memories of a past life.

I guess clothes can do that to you, bring back a memory. I remember what I was wearing on my first date, the dress I was wearing to audition for All-State Choir, the shoes I wore when I stepped off the plane in Rome, the shirt I was wearing when I puked my guts out into my sink, the pajamas I wore when I broke up with a boyfriend.

My closet is full of more than just clothes; it's full of days in the sunshine, nights with a million stars overhead, walks along the Tiber River, wind blowing at Versailles, and the hugs I gave my nephew the first time I held him in my arms. If walls could talk, imagine what amazing stories they would tell. If clothes could talk, just think of the people they've met, the hugs they've given, the cold they've banished, the places they've been, the defining moments they've influenced.

Maybe someday, we'll sit and have a chat, my closet and I.

Hello, Boy.

I found Peter Pan one day as I ran through Hyde Park. Sweat dripped down my forehead and my trainers squeaked on the path which had, of course, been covered by rain the night before. I did my best not to fall over myself as I slowed my run to a walk, and eventually stopped at his feet.

"Hello, boy" I murmured, smiling to myself. He was just as I pictured, glimmering in the early morning sun, the Long Water reflecting the light onto his face. A squirrel ran around his feet, gathering nuts and twigs, no doubt stashing them in a hollow tree nearby. I laughed as he ran up and down the trees, through the grass, obviously driving the fairies around Peter to distraction.

I decided to take a break from running and spend some time with Peter. Sitting down on the wet grass, i grabbed my feet and started telling him about my morning. Of course he was totally enthralled by my story: waking up at 7:00, grabbing an English Muffin to hold me over till I got home, tying my shoes on the stairs, then jogging down Palace Court until I reached Bayswater, only to be stopped at the light. "That's the worst," I shook my head. "I hate jogging in place, with all the other Londoners looking at me as they drive by." I sighed, "Oh well." I told him about the crocuses that were beginning to appear in Kensington Gardens, the swans on the Round Pond, and the dog that followed me all the way down to the Italian Fountains. I could tell he was really interested, but unfortunately, I had class to get to.

Peter's a great listener, though. He nodded in all the right spots, smiled when I told him the funny parts of the dog chasing me, and felt sympathy when I told him about the light on Bayswater. When I said good bye, he very quietly told me to come again soon, and I promised I would come back the next day.

I miss Peter; probably more than anyone I ever met in Hyde Park. It's amazing what one person can do for you. Quite often, Peter was the first one I talked to in the mornings. He was always there, faithfully, to give me a smile and a good morning. On sunny days, we would spend hours together. I'd bring my sketch book or some stationary, and he'd tell me about Neverland. On rainy days, which happened quite often, I'd hurry by to say hello, my green umbrella sheltering me from the drops. But I couldn't stay long.

I can't wait to go back and say hello once again. I'm sure he'll remember me. I know that Neverland makes you forget, but after all; we met in London. On a January morning in Hyde Park