wiki

Since I knew next to nothing about my new home a few weeks ago, I thought I would share some of the tidbits I've garnered.  I still have a tremendous amount to learn, so be patient as I try to fill in the gaps in information.


Cyprus is a small island in the Mediterranean.  So small and so remote that google maps does not recognize it and the Weather Channel has no comprehension of the capital city.

It's Nicosia, by the way.  (Nih-COH-see-yuh)

The island is small.  I think we saw a reference once that put it as about the same size as Massachusetts.  In all honesty, I think Massachusetts is bigger.

To make it even smaller, the island is divided in half, the south being the Republic of Cyprus, the predominantly Greek region.  The north is occupied by Turkey, calling itself the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus.  Only Turkey recognizes this as a country.  I find it odd.  Apparently the Turks invaded in the 1970s, leaving a battered capital and a whole lot of barbed wire fencing behind.  Oh, and a giant Turkish flag that lights up at night on the side of the mountain.  The mountain overlooks Nicosia and the flag is ginormous and imposing.

Greek is the de facto language, though nearly everyone we've encountered speaks English.  I like to say this is because the island used to be a member of the British Commonwealth but I believe it has far more to do with tourism and the high presence of international business.  Brits flock to the island to get some sun.

Citizens are called Cypriots.

They drive on the lefthand side of the road and use the same sort of outlets as in the UK.  Again, I place this on the Commonwealth.  (Mr. F, I am pleased to report, has been rockin' the backwards driving and has managed to get to and from work everyday thus far in a fairly timely manner without much incident!)

Member of the European Union.  Non-Schengen.  Use the Euro.

Roads go in whatever direction they like.  Someone told us that if we get lost, turn around at the sea.  My standard has been that the mountains indicate north, but when I can't see the mountains because of the buildings, I'm utterly confused.

Our church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was only recently recognized officially by the Cypriot government.  This means we can now put up signs and buy property.  Should be a fun experience!

Cypriots don't eat dinner until eight o'clock at the earliest.  I like to be in bed by the time they're getting to the appetizer.

Concrete is the building material of choice.

There are four main cities, Nicosia, Larnaca, Limassol, and Paphos.   Apparently the good beaches are in Larnaca.  I'll report back on that later.

Birds SWARM at certain times of the day.  There won't be a critter around, then all of a sudden, birds starting singing together all at once.  It's beautiful and mildly creepy.

Public transportation is next to non-existent.  There are so many cars it's like being back in the D.

There's no H&M.  Personally, I didn't think you could be a member of the EU without having an H&M.  Shows how much I know...

where at least i know i'm free

"LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!" we hollered out as we reached the chorus of the tune John Jacob Jingleheimerschmidt. It was about a fifteen minute walk from the bus stop to the cemetery and we were filling the moments with silliness. With every step along what appeared to be a not oft used footpath, the air grew more muggy. We had arrived in Luxembourg that morning and by eleven were walking from the bus on the southeast side of the city.
We came to the top of the hill and saw the golden eagles before anything else, forming the sides of a beautiful blue iron gate. They were high in the air, forcing the head to tilt upwards toward the heavens. We crossed through the entrance, flanked by the gilded sentinels. Without realizing, our giggles came to an abrupt halt and were replaced with a hallowed reverence. We had made our way to the U.S. Military Cemetery.

The Czech took his time at the visitor's center by the gate, trying to read as much as he could. I pressed on, knowing tears would fast be approaching and needing a few moments to let them fall. Directly before me stood what I thought to be a monument of grand size, with words on the side offering gratitude for the men and woman buried there, the brave souls who perished after the Allied invasion of Europe in 1944. I have always been interested in World War II, but since being with the Czech I have learned a vast deal more than ever before. I sat on a bench and thought about these men before going to walk amongst them. Many of them had died at Bastogne, months of mortar fire in the woods of eastern Belgium during the winter of 1944-1945. They could not warm themselves with campfires, supplies were limited, and the fighting endless. It was cold and they were freezing. But they stayed in their foxholes and saw it all through.

The Czech met up with me and we kept walking, past the monument that was actually a chapel and into the fields of crosses. We stepped onto the perfectly manicured grass and my tears flowed freely. We read the names somberly, curious about who these boys were and where they were form. California, New Jersey, Wisconsin. Two boys from Ohio and Michigan were buried next to each other. On and on it went. The Czech pensively examined his surroundings, soaking everything in, gratitude emanating from his stance.
The leaflet told us that twenty-two sets of brothers were buried side by side through the cemetery as well as several sets of friends. The crosses were so simple, as were the stars of David. I've walked through many cemeteries and have seen the most beautiful tombstones, eloquently carved with figures and images to depict the soul whose body lay below. These boys deserved such monuments, I thought. Each of them. But there they were in Luxembourg, on the other side of the world. Some of them were not even named.
I have been to several memorials honoring American soldiers and have even been to Arlington National Cemetery, but have never been so humbled. Nor so proud to be an American. There were a handful of other visitors meandering on their own course throughout the grounds. One set was a middle-aged daughter touring with her veteran father. He seemed so proud to be back around his comrades and she delighted beyond measure with all that her father represented.
My tears ebbed with the cessation of the rain, leaving an indelible mark of humility and the utmost thanks. I thought a great deal about my loved ones who have very recently passed away. Mental wishes for my two grandmothers to hug these boys were sent to the heavens. My time to hug them will come, too, but I wanted them hugged then and there.
We packed away the umbrella and made our way to the veranda surrounding the chapel. On our way we saluted the bloody bastards of Bastogne in the only way we knew how; we had a drink of Coke in their honor. As we left, we noticed the soft chime of church bells coming from the tiny on-site chapel. It took us a few verses before we realized what we were listening to. It was The Star Spangled Banner.
The walk back to the bus and the trip into the city center went far more quickly than our initial journey. Our hearts were full, but our spirits light. We walked and kept singing, enjoying the sunlight and warmth of a summer day in Europe, such a day the men buried two miles away would never know.

studying for the GRE? hah!

Question: What is the distance formula?

Answer: d=engquist(coke+number of McDonald's within five miles)-need of caffeine


Question: What are the properties of a 30-60-90 triangle?

Answer: Oooo! Fun shapes! My notes would make a really great art piece!


Question: Use "metamorphosis" in a sentence.

Answer: In Star Wars, Anakin Skywalker undergoes a metamorphosis into Darth Vader.*


Question: How do you calculate percent increases and percent decreases?

Answer: Wait, does this involve fractions? Crap! I'm screwed...


Pray for me. The GRE is on Tuesday morning.

*This answer was actually not of my doing. It is to the merit of my study flashcards. If only they could have been so funny and useful with all the words, not just the ones I actually know..

people watching

I frequent a local coffee shop here, coming almost daily to mooch off the free wi-fi and partake of delicious teas and cocoas. The floor show, however, is fantastic.

Two to three ministers, or theologians in training, come in every afternoon. A knitting group comes at least once a week. At three-thirty the place is overtaken with local high schoolers and their pent-up hormones. University students cramming for finals. Little old ladies catching up over a cup of coffee. And the doctor-in-training proudly displaying his obstetrics textbook.

intro to world cultures 102: religion and music

When I moved into my ward here in Columbus one thing was made abundantly clear to me: I was a misfit in a sea of medical and dental students. I would be asked if I painted or something of the like, as that obviously had to be what I meant when I said I came here to study Arts Policy and Administration.

It was then that I decided to become a cultural liaison for these poor, overworked, scientific leaders of the future.

With that in mind, three of my new friends joined me last night at Trinity Lutheran Seminary on the southeast side of Columbus. One these friends had never heard of a seminary outside of an LDS context (early morning religious study for high school aged members). Attending a school where people were taught to be clergy was an experience in and of itself.

The Seminary Choir and Chamber Orchestra lured us there with Haydn's Mass in D Minor. It has been ages since I've attended a concert of such a classical repertoire and I was more than anxious for it. What I did not realize was that there was also a worship service bookending the Mass. Stand up, sit down, call and answering. It was all there. We even got to sing several hymns of praise with the choir and orchestra, making this wayward musician feel like she was a part of grand ensemble for a change.

The Mass was absolutely beautiful. The soprano handled the melismas exquisitely and the bass painfully reminded me that my lifelong ambition of sharing his vocal timbre will never come to fruition. The acoustics were sublime, resonating the well-honed abilities of the amateur musicians through the intimate space.

For my friends, it was the first time they had been to a Lutheran worship service of any kind. I was extremely proud of the way they participated in the impromptu service with great respect and reverence. Not everyone can do that when being exposed to a new kind of worship.

The whole event reminded me of how fortunate I was in my upbringing. Due to the nature of my family and my childhood in Detroit, it was never really an option to not know of multiple faiths and to worship with them on occasion. Though we may not all believe the same things, we show one another love and respect by worshiping together, learning of what one another holds dear. As much as I enjoyed Haydn's music last night, I think I enjoyed the overall experience even more.

meanwhile, back in the mitten

So, there was this one time when I came home for the weekend. The weekend turned into nearly a week. And I'm so okay with that. The initial reasoning behind my hiatus from the Scarlet and Grey was, and is, incredibly sad. A dear family friend died tragically a few weeks ago in a car accident while home in Lebanon. The stateside memorial service was this past Sunday, and my excuse to head north.

The memorial service was bittersweet. A full Catholic mass, little was said of the great woman I knew until the very end. At least, I don't think anything was said. Really, I have no idea. That's because ninety percent of what was said was in Arabic. You read right, Arabic. This was an entirely new experience for me. I've been to my fair share of religious services of varying faiths, but not once have I sat through something in Arabic. It was beautiful to listen to, there was a lot of holy smoke, and I was totally lost. My gratitude for the ability to be home for the service, however, cannot be measured.

In the interim of my visit, I have frequented several cider mills, a seasonal pastime and favorite activity of mine. It is my sincere belief that everyone should experience the fall east of the Mississippi at least once in their lifetime. It's fantastic! Apple orchards, changing leaves, rain, sweaters, pumpkin patches...what's there not to like?

My stay was extended because of today's events. I met with a gentleman from the Detroit Institute of Arts about the workings of the museum, gathering information as I try to make plans for my future. It rocked! He offered so much insight that is utterly invaluable! Then I was let loose in the DIA. Free to wander. Free. As in, without restraints and also devoid of the admission fee.

You know how most people love amusement parks? Their inner child comes out and they turn giddy? That was me for the glorius hour I had inside the walls of the DIA. I walked through the rooms, rather more quickly than I would have liked, and relished the masters who adorned their walls. There is no drug that could have brought me more delight. No candy more satisfying. I'm not even sure a good Coke would match up to the joy I felt this afternoon. It was pure, unequivicable bliss.

I'm currently supposed to be driving back down to Columbus. That's obviously not happening. The museum called, I listened, and Detroit is claiming me for one more night.

grammatically challenged

Does anyone know the proper usage for the verb lay? I am positive I misuse it all the time but have no idea what the correct forms may be. Please, if you know, help!

happy hour

This is the cover of a notebook one of my really good friends bought about a month ago. She was in town (Detroit) with me for when I went through the temple the first time. She is 23. A nurse. And taking this notebook with her to Georgetown where she's beginning her Masters work to become a Nurse Practioner.

"Do you think my classmates will take me seriously with this notebook?" We both giggled at the irony of the question. "I don't care. It makes me happy."

To top it off, she and I teamed up to name this book. More the goofy looking pseudo-dinosaur on the front, but still. Something this awesome deserves a name.

Albert? Nope. Jedediah? Nope. Bob? Nope. How about Great Googly Moogly? Perfect! Goo Moo for short. Even better!! Perfect. Goo Moo. It says, "I'm happy! Life's okay!"

Great googly moogly, it does!

"we ain't got it!"

I'm broke. No denero for me. None. Nowhere, zip, zilch, nada. But I like stuff. It's a weakness, I know. So I thought I would share some of the results of items that have been tempting me to dig deep into my nonexistent coffers.

Craft in America. Best freaking documentary EVER..so long as you are a complete and utter art geek. Fortunately for me, I am!

Oh yes, there's a book, too. A gorgeous book! Dang PBS and all of the wonders it reveals to me...

100 Flowers and How They Got Their Names is a darling little book I found at the library and fell in love with (go figure!). It gives the etymology of each flower and a little about where the flower can be found with a sweet black and white sketched image of each blossom. The drawings are fantastic and the history is just genius. Plus, I like the flower names. Some of them are rather cute.

Breast cancer awareness at its best. Is there really a need for more explanation to this? I think not. There's also a shirt that says "Thanks for noticing, Save the Tatas" but I opted out of the image for it. Still on the list though.

This list is not including the blouses from J.Crew, the beautiful navy blue sweater with leather buttons, or the soundtrack for (500) Days of Summer. Or cake from Pronto. Or cocoa from Caribou. Or the cool Michigan book I saw at Borders last week. Or the random tree book I haven't found yet.

Moral of the story: I am not cut out for poverty; I like helping the economy too much.

the lion's tale

I'm a coward. There! I said it! I'm a coward. A chicken. A ninny. Big one!

Why am I a coward? I'm too big of a chicken to get this application done. The idea of not getting into school terrifies me and I'd rather not even finish the application process. Ridiculous, right? I know! I just moved 2,000 miles on a whim and can't even take a test and write a paper!

To all of you who have successfully applied to graduate school, taken the GRE, LSAT, MCAT, GMAT, or whatever, you have my utmost respect. That requires a level of courage that is sending me on a quest to the Emerald City to meet the Wizard. My hat's off to you, and thank you for inspiring me to keep trying.

dedication

Yesterday evening I had the opportunity to go to the dedication of the Stewart Sculpture Garden at the Springville Museum of Art. It was a tribute to the local benefactors, creative masterminds, and artistic geniuses whose collaborative efforts created an homage to beauty. I sat there in between two of my favorite people soaking in the feel of the evening. Art, nature, and good company. All was well with the world.

The dedicatory prayer and remarks were offered by Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Elder Oaks related his personal experiences with the museum and the prominent artist in the new garden, Springville native Cyrus E. Dallin. Elder Oaks referred to the definition of dedication, indicating that to dedicate means to set something apart for a specific purpose or function and often to make sacred.

During the dedicatory prayer, I heard few of the words as I was overcome with feeling. This garden was being set apart as a place of refuge for the arts and nature to coexist. I felt this change as it happened to the leaves and blades of grass, but then it turned on me. My skin tingled and eyes watered as I realized that prayer was setting me apart as well. My future with the professional world of the arts began last night with that prayer.

It is something of a delight to me to know that the Stewart Sculpture Garden and I are beginning anew together. Old books are at an end making way for new installments. So it is that I embark on my maiden voyage with a bound edition of fresh, crisp paper and a comfortable pen, ready to document the future with a newly found dedication.