I wish you all a good slip into the New Year!

No, I didn't fall down again, which is probably a good thing, in the not-fracturing-my-spine-again line of action. That is a direct translation of a German idiom: 'Ich wunsch euch ein guten Rutsch ins Neujahr!' I love the German way of putting things, like saying 'Ich hab kein Bock' which literally means 'I have no goat', but means that you don't feel like doing something.Anyways, I will get on to what you've all been waiting for... hopefully not with baited breath. ;) News, at least of the Margaretical sort! Once again it has been ages since I posted.
Most importantly, my recovery has gone entirely as planned. It has been just about two months since my injury, which is how long the doctors said it would take to heal. That, combined with the fact that, except for the occasional twinge, I'm not in excruciating pain anymore, is enough for me. I am (finally) getting back on a horse next Thursday!! My sister Kate, who inspired and encouraged me to start riding seriously, is visiting, and we're going on a hack together. I cannot wait. Then I'm taking a week off for exams, before starting regular lessons again.
But let's not get ahead of ourselves. When I left you, I was in the midst of midterms, and the theater was just gearing up. I'll start with that.
I did the fight choriography and training for an evening of Woody Allen plays, God, Death, Sex(earning major hardcore points with the cast for training them despite the injuries). I also did make-up and helped with props and costumes. While the time commitment was nothing to University Theater, the organization was proportionally worse for wear, so things got really hectic towards the end. Never thought I'd miss prod staff meetings! But it was fun, and the actors were so polite! that was a real shocker. :)
I went to Paris to visit Caro and Sarah for a weekend, which was awesome. The travel was a bit epic. My alarm didn't go off (or I slept through it, which very rarely happens), so I missed the only bus that would get to St Pancras by 5am, in order to catch my Eurostar train at 5:30. The taxis were remarkably unhelpful, and ofcourse, the tube doesn't run at that hour. I slunk into St Pancras at 5:15, which was too late for that train, but by some miracle, the Eurostar people gave me a free ticket for the next train, even though I had the cheap, non refundable, non exchangeable student ticket. So I was safely on a train to Paris. However, Caro had arranged to meet me... at the time the first train was due. Being clever, clever children, we had not thought to exchange phone numbers. So I contacted all my friends who I thought might be remotely awake at that hour. El got back to me, and I gave her my login info for facebook so she could send a note to Caro. which, sadly, Caro did not get, until she had waited in Paris Nord for several hours. She left at 10:30. I arrived at 10:40. Not even kidding. Just like in the movies, only Caro and I aren't lovers. ;) Anyways, panicking, I found a dodgy internet cafe, where some guy tried to pick me up, but I didn't understand what he was saying, because my en peu Francais does not include pick up lines. I got online, and again, by the grace of God, managed to get in touch with Caro, who had gone home. She came back in to get me, and all was well. Except that the heroic Caro had something between bronchitis and death, and I had a fractured spine. That afternoon, I went to the Louvre, and wandered around it's labyrinthine passages, filled with images I'd studied, and almost couldn't believe I was really seeing. My favorite part was the historical rooms though. Of course, I imagined sweeping through them in (naturally period appropriate) grand gowns, and mentally bemoaned this age of ratty jeans and loose tops. We are expected to fulfill an image much like that held up to women of all historical eras (at least western), without the aids they had, of corsets and ruffles, and crinolines. Obviously, we are freer for that, and have many more options, but could we drop the unfair physical ideal too, please? And I have to admit, I find women's clothing of pre-1920 to be far more beautiful than the stuff we slouch around in.
But I digress. I met up with Sarah and her friend Caroline in the Louvre, before tottering home to get Caro. We all went out to a bar for a while, and were the loud group of Americans, before tottering home again to collapse. On Saturday, I went to the catacombs, which are amazing, if a bit macabre. I recommend them as a slightly off the beaten track, but really cool, thing to see in Paris. In the afternoon, Caro and I nearly froze to death going up the Eiffel Tower. We completely failed twice in trying to get into the line for the stairs, but realizing the second time around that we were just in line for a different elevator, we decided that, our health considered, this was probably a good thing. We made it to the top, enjoyed the view briefly, and sprinted down the stairs, fleeing the cold and the other tourists. It was cool though, because by the time we got to the top, it was dark, and we got a view of the lights of Pari'. Went out again that night with the gang, this time to a place where we were not the loudest. Sunday, I braved the freezing pouring rain to see Notre Dame, which is gorgeous. I was upset by the other tourists though, who had no respect for the holy space. I understand that people come to see the architecture for whom the cathedral is not holy. However, I have been to many churches all over Europe, some of almost equal fame to Notre Dame, and this was the first time that I really felt I could not pray because of the rudeness of the people around me. Is it not possible to have respect for something that is special to other people, even if it means nothing to you? well, I survived. I was much restored by going to Sainte-Chapelle, a hidden gem of almost unparallelled importance in medieval art history. Its architecture is truly revolutionary for its time, with the walls being almoste entirely glass. I went (sadly) on a cloudy day, but the intricacies of the detail of the interior were still worth it. There are two levels, the downstairs, for the servants and lesser nobility, and upstairs for the king and other royalty. Both are stunning. Please, do not go to Paris without seeing Sainte-Chapelle. I was also really pleased with myself for being able to order coffee and a crepe from a cafe in French that was good enough that the waiter deigned to speak French, rather than scornful English. I also managed to successfully ask for directions, although I didn't really understand the answer, which sort of defeated the purpose.
My return to London early Monday morning was uneventful.
At that point, I decided it would be good to try to get a job again, before/during the holiday season, when everyone needs help, rather than waiting til January, when people are being laid off, not hired. I had no trouble, in fact, the fourth place I asked hired me on the spot. I told them about my planned trip to Austria (more on that later), and the limitations of my time by school and visa, but they wanted me anyways. They were closing at the end of December, and just needed me for a month, but I figured it was better than nothing. Boy, was I ever wrong! First off, I had to work 20hrs a week for those first few weeks, and while they were somewhat accommodating of my schedule, I had to promise that after I got back from Austria, I could work more hours (illegally). Also, keep in mind that I was still going to lectures, keeping on top of my work, and spending a significant amount of time at the theater. It was really quite rough. The atmosphere was unpleasant, with snobby, rude tourists and rich people comprising the patrons, and the waiters mirroring that rudeness. I was a hostess, just responsible for seating people, making sure that reservations had tables, but that we maximized the space available. I was good at it too, and at convincing people to take tables they might otherwise not have taken, for example, outside under the heaters, thus getting more people in. Gosh, the wonders of being polite. Anyways, that's all I'm going to say about that job. It was by far the worst job I have ever had. Including Kang's.
In the mean time, we had the orchestra concert, which involved a seven hour rehearsal the Saturday before. Intense, but worth it. The concert went well. Some of us also went ice skating at Somerset house later in the week for a social, which was really fun. Caro visited for a few hectic days, and entertained herself, before dashing off to Spain. At this point, the play went up, and just about went crazy.
But on Thursday, I flew to Wien, and spent a few hours wandering around before taking the train to Salzburg to be met by Maria and her friend Gertraud! I had a wonderful, restful weekend staying with Maria and her boyfriend and his family. They live on a farm outside a small village, Sankt Wolfgang, in the mountains above Salzburg. Absolutely beautiful. As Mama says, I could definitely suffer for the Lord there! And der Familie des Freund Marias (gotta love German... that would have been so much more unwieldy in English) is absolutely lovely. Maria and I went to the Salzburger Christkindlmarkt, and also to Hotel Sacher, where the world famous Sacher Torte originates. We shared a coffee and a slice of cake, because it was a bit expensive for our student budgets. The next day, Andi (der Freund)'s mother took me to see the Krippenspiel, which is a nativity play. The children spoke with such thick Austrian accents, that I was completely lost. But it was cute, and the folk music was pretty. On Sunday, we all went to 8am mass, again in dialect too thick for me, and then I took a nap before joining Maria at the fish stall at the Wolfganerseeadventsmarkt. Oh, I forgot to mention that by this point, the minor cold I'd had for about two weeks had worsened, so I was really sick. But I loved the little Christmas market, which wound its way through the entire village of Sankt Wolfgang. Maria had to work her fish stall, but I wandered around, before being joined by Maria's father, brother, sister's boyfriend, and my favorite 11yo in the world, her younger sister, Katherina. We had a great time hanging out drinking, respectively, gluehwein and Kinderpunsch and nasching. they even got me to try a fish sandwich, which was pretty tasty, considering it was fish. ;) The next day, Maria drove me to the train station, and I took the train to Muenchen, from there to Frankfurt, and Frankfurt to Brussels. There I had planned to wander around for a few hours, but I had not reackoned on the dark, and on being really ill, so instead I huddled miserably in the Brussels train station, trying hard not to cry, until finally, my Eurostar was ready to depart for London. However, the trans-Europe train trip was totally worth it. Not really more expensive than the flights, it was much more comfortable and enjoyable, and I saw so much beautiful country.
When I arrived in London, I went straight to the restaurant to tell them I wouldn't be working in the morning, and to show them how sick I was. Also, my parents had brought me to see the light, and I didn't want to work more than my visa allowed, namely twenty hours, not the thirty I had reluctantly agreed to. However, the manager that night said that I still had to come in the next day to talk to the ueber-manager, thus defeating the purpose of coming in at all that night. I did look at the rota however, and discovered that I had been assigned not twenty, not thirty, but FORTY-SIX hours that week. Which meant I was working some twelve hour shifts. Did I mention that we didn't get breaks? Yeah, so the next morning I went in, not to say I wasn't staying that day, but to quit. For the first time in my life. Evil manager gave me hell about it, but I finally shrugged, said whatever, and stalked off as haughtily as I could muster.
I spent the rest of that week mostly sleeping, and thus managed to recover my health and my equilibrium. Never have I been so at peace with such a drastic decision, even now as I watch the last pence bleed out of my bank account (no worries, help is on the way. theoretically, the restaurant still owes me money, and I get an allowance. I won't starve.). My experience really put into sharp perspective what I want from a job. I do need to get one, but I need to have higher standards. I want to be able to work 10 hours a week and not be pressured to work more (I will eventually give in, under enough pressure). I would like to not work in hospitality for a while, so as not to have to deal with the festering turds that are humans on vacation, otherwise known as tourists. Ok, that's unfair, but some of them can be really awful. Ideally, in my dreamiest of dreams, I would be able to get a job at St. Martin's, as office minion if I have to, but getting paid. I wanted to give them a break after Christmas before asking, but hopefully, miraculously, they will have something. Please keep this situation in your thoughts and prayers. Alternatively, if you know of a job such as I've described, preferably church related, in London, do let me know! :)
I spent the week of Christmas with my friend Amber and her family in Reading. Her mum directs the choir, so I got to sing with them. This made a huge difference, helping me ward off homesickness better. We sang the 9 Lessons and Carols on Sunday, Midnight mass on Christmas eve, and Christmas Day service. I also played cello in the band at the crib service for the kids on Christmas Eve. I ate a ridiculous amount of delish food, and was welcomed into the family completely. It was wonderful. Obviously, homesickness still lurked gloomily in the corners, but we can't have everything. And I got to have two present days, because the Nunns showered me with gifts, and then my box from home was waiting when I got back to London.
Amber and her friends came down to London for New Year's Eve, which was awesome. We partied a bit in halls, before hitting the streets, intending to go to the Student Union club, Tutu's. But we hadn't reckoned with the crowds, and we didn't make it. So instead we watched the fireworks from 100 yards behind the London Eye. Yup, that's right folks, I was there. That moment they showed on TV while waiting for the ball to drop in New York, of midnight around the world. I'm sure they showed London, with the amazing fireworks show off of the Eye. I was in that screaming crowd at it's foot, making my only new resolution: to learn how to make fireworks. Then we were amongst the first to surge, or rather wobble across the newly opened Waterloo bridge, and make our way up to Tutu's. There we partied with some 600 other people, dancing until early in the morning, when my old ladiness kicked in, and I had to go home to bed. That ranks pretty high amongst the best NYE celebrations I have ever had.
My room is bright with Christmas cards and decorations, and my two new calendars. However, it is also freezing, almost literally, because my heater is not working, and my window is drafty. Thank God it doesn't get as cold here as it does in Chicago. Also, the hot water is being dodgy, in and out all week. Not fun.
In upcoming events, I'm cooking dinner for Kate, John, and Natasha, and will finally get to meet my nephew on Tuesday. Hurrah!
Less happily, exams approach like a freight train running loose down a mountain. I'm doing my best to prepare, but I'm a bit terrified, to be honest. So a few prayers there wouldn't hurt either. ;) I hope you all are well, and I wish you a blessed and wonderful 2009.