portrait of a town

i wake up to my phone vibrating and the british woman's voice; "it's eleven thuhty. it's time to wake ohp. it's eleven thuhty. it's time to wa-" i stand over my desk holding my phone in wonder. i actually got up without turning my alarm off in my sleep! from now on, i will be putting my phone on my desk instead of beside my bed every morning. and by "from now on," i mean "until friday, when i leave." talk about strong closure. classical films have got nothing on my life right now.

after stretching to pull the pamphlet of bus times off the shelf, i slump onto the bed with my legs pulled up beside me, still half-asleep, and figure out how quickly i need to shower to catch a bus into town. 12:48. eh, no problem. i've even got time to make myself a cup of tea and wake up for a bit before i get clean and dressed.

kate comes into the kitchen as the water in the kettle starts to boil; we chat about how wonderful reading for pleasure is, and how lovely it is to have time to be informed about the world, and she makes herself an omelet. she has a very particular way of cooking; her shoulders hunch and she bends over the cutting board or mixing bowl, she walks quickly and intensely from the fridge to her cupboard and back to the section of counter she's cleaned off. she only breaks her focus to respond to my conversation, often pushing her glasses a little farther up on her nose as she does. she never cooks and talks at the same time, and everything she makes looks like it's come out of healthy living. she's a vegetarian.

after finishing my tea, i walk back to my room, and run into chris. not surprising, since he lives in the room directly across from mine.

"hey, do you have a non-yellow highlighter i can borrow?"
"yes? it's pink, and running out of ink, i think, but you're welcome to it"
"thanks"
"yep"

i close my door, glad for the peace offering, and get ready for my shower.

after getting dressed and collecting my books and laptop on my desk, i transfer the pile into my book-bag and grab two pounds to stick in my jacket pocket for the bus ride.

i get to the castle gift shop, realize that there is no one else there except the employees, shake it off and go ask the man in a uniform for a ticket to the tour.

"four pounds, please"
"yeah, here you go"
"alright then, you're the only one on the tour right now, but we'll start off in about two minutes"
"ok, thanks."

i leaf through the coat-of-arms magnets in the middle of the shop, wishing that my family had such a history. i do see a "baker" magnet, but apparently my ancestors changed their name to baker after coming to the states, so i can't even claim it. it does look like my mom's family, though; a little stark, very classy, good, basic colors.

"right, we'll start now, as soon as this group comes through"
"thanks so much"
"now, you ask any questions you have, since there's only one of you - i can't really just talk to one person!"
"alright, i will"
"whereabouts are you from?"
"north carolina . . ."
"yeah?"
"mmhm"

so my personal tour of lancaster castle was spattered with comments like "do you have civil courts like that in the states?" and "you know about king george the third, don't you," with a knowing grin. it wasn't malicious, he was a wonderful tour guide, and we ended up having a lovely conversation about appalachain culture and bluegrass music in the barrister's library half-way through the tour.

then, i walked around town for a bit, exploring what's become my third home-place and realizing that i've learned my way around fairly well. i bought my secret santa present in woolworth's and the conditioner i needed in somerfield's, and then i set my sights on finding a place to study. all of the coffeeshops in town are closed on sundays, so i ended up in bella italia. the host tried to put me in the middle of the restaurant, but i asked for a seat by the window. i always hated it when customers did that at the boathouse, but i figured i was justified. it was 3 pm, the place was not crowded, and there were two other window tables open yet. anyway, for the next hour, the host, who was also my waiter, played like i was invisible. i didn't mind much while i was eating my pastry and looking over my psych notes, but once i was ready to go it started to ruffle my feathers just a bit. i finally had to flag down one of his fellow waitresses and get her to tell him to give me my check.

after that, which prompted a study on whether being a single woman makes a difference in situations like that, i searched for another place to settle in. i got a hot mint chocolate at costa, only to find out they were closing in ten minutes. what kind of coffeeshop closes at 5 in the evening? well, nevermind. i journaled there until they started locking the doors and then went to my only other option - mcdonalds.

now, the mcdonalds in lancaster is actually relatively nice, as far as furniture goes, so i bought an orange juice and sat down in one of the mod wingbacks in the window by the door, under the staircase. quiet, out of the way, nestled in a corner enough to satisfy my ocd-ness about sitting in the middle of a room. i like to have my back up against something when i'm working or in a restaurant, i don't know.

just then, a young girl and boy come exploding into my space - the girl runs smack into the high chair stacked under the stairs and proceeds to climb into it, after it's stopped bobbling from the impact. she's too old to be in a high chair though her hair, most of which is pulled back into a ponytail, still pokes out in ringlets around her face. it's the pale straw color that mine was when i was younger. the boy makes a verbal jab at her, and she fires back without hesitation. she's a pistol, my goodness.

finally, a skinny older man with straight, thick, scraggly gray hair comes around the corner with the first young boy and another. the three kids - two boys and the girl, must be his grandchildren, although he does look like a younger grandpa. maybe 60s.

"do yeh mind?"
"no, no, go for it"

he pulls one of the wingbacks at my table around to face the two boys, who've pulled up to a table a few feet away from the girl, who's still in the highchair. they all chatter away as i type on my laptop and then grandpa instructs the boys, "you stay hehre now, i'm gonna go feh a smoke" and heads outside, where he stakes out a bench facing the window, so he can keep tabs on them.

the girl is now scooting the highchair around the floor in her attempt to get out of it. i smile at her, amused. i don't help her - i wouldn't want her to go running off for her grandpa to go find. he comes back in, helps her out and comments "yeh too big feh these things, love."

the siblings tear around a bit more, catching my eye every once and awhile. i smile when they do - it's nice to be around kids again. i find a new sentence in my book that i can use and as i'm typing it out, i notice that the girl has saddled up to the side of the table and is peering around at my screen.

"it's an essay, for school"

she looks at me calmly, her eyes simply observing me.

"what's your name?"
"couhtney"
"i'm jessie, it's nice to meet you"
"hiya"
"how old are you?"
"fouhty fouh"
"oh yeah?"

her grandpa holds up five fingers: "what's this, couhtney?"
"six."
"when's that been six?"
"eh," she looks back at me, "don't listen teh him, he's an old geezeh."
"well, i believe you. you look forty four."

she stares at me for a moment, puzzled. i think she's not sure what to do with an adult who agrees with her ridiculous-ness.

her brother, the oldest of the three, i figure out later, comes around and comments on my laptop: "my teacheh's got a laptop like thot'n"
"it's really nice for working on."
"you've got pinball on't, y'know - go teh program, 'gehmes' and then 'pinball'"
"you want to play?"
"yea, alright"

meanwhile, sam (their grandfather) and i start up a conversation.

"zac's the brawn," and also the pinball champ, at this point, "but tj hehre is the brains. and couhtney's the muscle"

he smiles at her as she runs around to put something in the bin, and asks me if i'm going to lancaster uni. he got expelled at 15, and wanted to be a jockey, but got married instead.

"to three women, actually. lived with seven othehs, and now i've got thuhteen grandchilren! so much for being a jockey, yeah?"
"no kidding"
"they all thuhteen tuhned out alright, too - except feh one. he'll be a jailbihd yet! already institutionalized, i think he's developed a taste feh it."
"well, i guess if you get used to it . . ."

we both chuckle. courtney jumps into the chair next to me; "thot bin oveh theh smells!"
"that usually what happens when you put a lot of trash in one place," i reply.

tj smiles at me, and i get sucked into watching zac play pinball as tj tells me about how he's waiting to get his results; he might be going to grammar school. he's so proud of it, but trying desperately to be nonchalant; "eh, we'll see."

sam announces, "alright, you lot - i'm going feh anotheh smoke, and when i come back it's time teh go. you've pestehed the miss enough"

he comes back in, shakes my hand and wishes me good luck with my results as zac finishes his last game. the kids bounce out in front of their grandpa's guiding hands, and i wave to all of them as they pass by the window. i go back to my highlighting but hear a determined fist on the window right beside me; i look out to see courtney, staring at me intently with her hand over her mouth. she blows me a kiss, i blow her one back. she grins, satisfied, and skips off to join the boys.