Christmas 2012

Christmas this year was great. It was the second Christmas in five years that I've been in the US (and actually, the other three years were in countries that don't celebrate Christmas) and it was GREAT to see my family, especially some of my nieces and nephews, and get the day off to celebrate. I actually got a month off this year (perhaps to make up for three of the past four years?) and so I booked a flight back to Utah to celebrate.

Christmas is SO much more exciting with little kids around, even if they aren't my own. This year we had a few surprises.

First of all, little children get unreasonably excited about cheap dollar store toys (like the squish ball in the first picture) but are often underwhelmed by more impressive toys.

Kayla gave Emily a ball. When she opened it Christmas Eve, she ran over to Kayla and said, "Thanks, Kayla. I like balls." It was so adorable (as can be evidenced by the happy, smiling, laughing faces surrounding the two of them).

Aren't they cute?

Another surprise was this strange contraption that Corban and Laura gave Jocilyn and Ryan. Homemade adjustable bookends!!

The biggest and best surprise, in my opinion, was the vintage (meaning made of metal, not plastic) TONKA TRUCKS that Santa brought for my brother's 3-year-old son. Oh yeah, and 30 pounds of beans (and even sicko chicken pellets!) for him to play with them in.

The night before his two cousins got to open their presents at the family party because they wouldn't be there in the morning to open them. Maxton had to sit quietly the whole time and not get upset that he didn't get to open presents. The scene changed the next morning when he saw the trucks and the BEANS!

And Kayla was happy with sitting on her zebra trike thing and watching her brother play.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

O! Christmas Tree.

Last year at Christmas time, I posted about my Christmas trees from three of the previous four years. Two mini Christmas trees and a coat rack tree are pretty hard to beat, but I thought you'd all like to see my tree this year.

A REAL fake tree! Not just a coat rack tree, and it's even bigger than 12 inches!

Also, please notice the decorated banister. Doesn't it look festive? I decided that since I'm actually in a country that celebrates Christmas this year, I should go all out on the decorating. (To me, this constitutes going all out!) If I keep improving my decorations at this rate, in a few years my Christmas tree will be 10 feet tall.

Special thanks to my piano students' mother, who donated the tree to me after she saw my initial sorry attempt at decorating (a strand of poinsettia garland that only went halfway down my banister).

Pants, Feminism, and Mormonism (or When Charity Faileth)

I'm going to apologize right up front that my first blog entry after a decades-long hiatus (ok, just a few months) is one about such an emotionally charged issue, especially as it follows on the heels of the recent tragedy in Connecticut. With the rest of the nation, I am weeping for the tragic loss of life and the children and families affected by the tragedy. I hope and pray that they can find comfort this Christmas season as they, and others, seek for signs of God and His abundant love in the midst of this adversity.

However, I am sure that many women will still be wearing pants to church this Sunday, and I think that a response is in order.

Like many of you, I have been watching the "Great Pants Debate 2012" on Facebook with interest. I don't think that it's a surprise to anyone to know that I proudly identify myself as a Mormon, and I also proudly identify myself as a feminist. Am I a Mormon feminist? Yes I am. Do all Mormon feminists look the same? No, they most certainly do not. In fact, this article (which I highly recommend) sums it up nicely by saying that there are as many different kinds of feminism as there are feminists. Not every Mormon feminist will be wearing pants to church on Sunday.

However, as I have watched the Facebook debate, I've been struck by a few things.

First of all, I'm sure that many people are thinking, what's the big deal?

I think that many of my other Christian friends would think, what's the big deal? We wear pants to church all the time. Sometimes, if we want to get really fancy, we wear a skirt or a dress. But most of the time we wear jeans.

I think that some of my friends in my own congregation who are new members might think, what's the big deal? I wear pants all the time. I hate skirts and don't own any.

I think that many of the members of the small congregations I attended in the Middle East would think, what's the big deal? I wear pants and jeans to church all the time. I don't even own skirts. If wearing pants is the biggest problem you have to deal with, maybe you'd like to change lives with me for a week and then I can worry about wearing pants to church and you can worry about even getting to church.

I think that my religious Jewish friends would think, what's the big deal? We never wear pants...and you only have to wear skirts on Sunday. One day a week isn't that bad.

I think that many people in the world might think, what's the big deal? National tragedies are occurring and you are worrying about wearing pants to church.

And let's be honest, I think that some of my pioneer ancestors might just be thinking, what's the big deal? We had to wear BONNETS and PETTICOATS to church. Skirts are nothing compared to that!

However, as has been evidenced by my facebook feed these past few days, it IS a big deal to some people. And not just those who want to wear pants to church this Sunday.

I have been shocked and surprised at the vehemence with which some people branded those "filthy women who want to wear pants" as lacking an understanding their role as daughters of God; because clearly, skirts help to define us as daughters of God. "Those women who want to wear pants to church don't understand the priesthood, they don't understand what it means to be a daughter of God, and they don't understand how to access power in the church." Funny that a skirt can teach us all of that!

Others on my facebook feed felt certain that you can wear whatever you want to church..."but as for me and my house," they were going to wear a skirt because they felt that one should wear their "Sunday best"--which, after prayer and fasting, they have realized means skirts or dresses.

And of course, there were many advocates on my facebook feed for people to stop the hate: "It doesn't matter what people wear to church. If your personal worship of the Savior is challenged by women wearing pants, maybe the problem is with you and not with them."

Now, I don't want to offend anyone who has offered an opinion. Clearly this issue is highly emotionally charged for everyone involved. But I think it would be helpful to consider a few things.

First of all, I'm going to be honest. I don't always wear my "Sunday best" to church...or even to the temple. Sometimes my skirts are wrinkled, and most weeks I wear the same black skirt that I found at the DI for four dollars with a nice top that I found at Goodwill (also for four dollars!). Black is classy, you can rarely tell when it's wrinkled, and it makes it so I rarely have to make a decision about what to wear to church.

I've also been guilty about wearing distracting clothing to church, although it's usually my shoes. Red shoes, yellow shoes, platforms, 5-inch heels...I don't wear them to distract people, but they might be distracted.

It really doesn't matter what we wear to church on Sunday, as long as it is modest and we are there to worship God. When I was on a mission and investigators asked me if they should wear a short skirt or pants, of course my answer was pants. When they wondered if they could come to church without a skirt because they only owned pants, of course my answer was yes, the most important thing was that they were there, not what they were wearing.

However, I do think that it would be helpful if everyone could take a step back and look at the perspective of the "Other": in this case, our fellow sisters in the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

First of all, this is not the first time that pants have been an issue (remember when women couldn't wear pants to the Testing Center at BYU? So glad that rule was changed. I hate taking tests in skirts!). I'm sure that many people responded to that women's letter to the editor with their own version of "women should wear skirts to the Lord's university. If you don't like it get out. You probably don't understand your place as a woman." But that rule was changed, and now no one, male or female, thinks twice about women wearing pants at BYU. It's not even an issue anymore.

Secondly, I think it would help everyone to actually read the reasons behind the "protest." It's not a protest, according to the organizers; rather, it's an effort to raise awareness about some of the issues of gender inequality issues they feel in the church. If you'd like to read an interview with them, you can do so here.

Third, when you know what some of their concerns are, ask yourself, are these concerns valid? Even if I don't have the same concerns, can I see how that would be upsetting to other women? Have I ever downplayed the role that women play in the church? 

If you can't understand any of these concerns, or how any woman could feel this way, perhaps it would be appropriate to ask a woman who does feel this way why she does. And not in a "I'm only asking because I want to show you that you are wrong" sort of way; rather, in a way that helps you to understand someone else's point of view.

And if you are a woman that is wearing pants to church on Sunday and you can't understand why a woman in your ward or branch would wear a skirt to church and never feels marginalized in the church, perhaps you could also ask her why.

Do I think that church should be a forum for advancing one's personal agenda? No. Do I think that church should be a forum for conversation, for learning to understand others' viewpoints, for learning about charity and compassion and love? Yes. And if wearing pants to church helps promote this kind of conversation and gives women the courage to reach out to each other in love and fellowship, in spite of their differing viewpoints, I think it is a good thing. However, if people respond in the radical ways that I have seen evidenced on Facebook, I think that it is obvious that there are problems that won't be fixed by wearing either skirts or pants on Sunday.

And finally, I'm just going to say that when men say things like "It's not about the pants and it's not about the priesthood," you're not helping. Even if you don't think it is about those things, would you feel validated if someone who is granted privileges that you don't think you have told you that those things don't really matter? I certainly would not.

I don't think that anyone new will be wearing pants in my congregation this Sunday, mostly because this seems to be a highly localized Utah thing. But for those of you who live in areas where this is an issue, I hope it can be a chance to reach out to others and understand the viewpoint of others which are different than your own.

I'm sure that in a few weeks, no one will even be talking about this anymore. The newspapers will have moved on to other things. My facebook feed will be full of other issues. But I think that if not handled with love and compassion, some women in the church (and perhaps even some men) will feel marginalized, offended, and undervalued. And for reasons that we might not understand, they might turn away and never come back. For this reason, I think that this issue is deserving of our attention, our prayers, and our charity. I hope this is a chance for members of the church to reach out to the wounded, the weary, and the lost...and help others in their congregation know what the phrase "Charity Never Faileth" really means.

Paul Ryan and the Secret Service

One of the annoying awesome things about living in Ohio is the absolute plethora of opportunities to get involved in the presidential race. Or hear about the presidential race. Or have your youtube videos interrupted by campaign commercials. Or, in my case, to receive no less than 5 campaign emails a day (some days up to 10). Maybe one day I'll write a blog post about the emails I get, because they're pretty entertaining.

But I digress. The fact is, as a voter in Ohio during a presidential election year, I have some unique opportunities--opportunities that I simply would not have had were I still in Utah.

One of these opportunities came a few weeks ago. Keshia, my good friend and fellow graduate student, has a friend who works for the Romney campaign. Apparently he's pretty important in the campaign scheme, and he goes with Romney and the crew on most (?) of the campaign stops. I'm not really sure of the details. All I know is that Keshia found out he was going to be in Columbus a few weeks ago and so called him to see if he wanted to meet up.And since I casually know said friend because he worked at the same internship as me in Washington DC the semester before I was there, Keshia asked me if I would like to go along. And naturally, being interested in all things politics, I said yes.

Well, the short of the story is that we got to meet some members of the Secret Service, drove around downtown Columbus for a while (and with me driving, you can probably guess that we showed John the, um, nicer side of Columbus's railroad tracks and run-down areas of town. But only because I was trying to avoid the drunken traffic of downtown's Short North area, which we also got caught in), and then actually saw Mitt Romney's hotel room door. I say this not to be creepy, but just to demonstrate how big-shot John is...because his hotel room was just across the hall from Mitt Romney's. I know. Big shot.

Anyway, somewhere in the midst of us arguing about discussing feminism and politics and Romney's campaign tactics, John told us there was a rally the next morning and if we went he could get us special VIP seating.

So early the next morning Keshia and I found ourselves standing in line at the Romney rally, trying not to look out of place among all the white middle-aged middle-class people waiting to get in. (I told Keshia, who is from Singapore, that I'm pretty sure she was the only Asian there. But then we found another Asian, so I guess there were two there.) And who happened to be standing right behind us in line but another Mormon! We were chatting with the people around us (mostly griping about the people who were trying to cut in front of us in line) and happened to mention Utah. And that was that. Insta-friends.

Anyway, the rally was fine. We mentioned John's name and one of the workers did get us a little closer to the front (although it was a standing room only rally). But. BUT. The best part came after the rally. We were walking back with Jen (the Mormon from the line) to her house so she could give us a ride to my car (I told you, insta-friends), when John called Keshia. "Hey Keshia, do you guys want to be in a picture with Romney?" He didn't have to ask twice. And though Mitt was caught up in interviews and couldn't make it out to the picture, we did get a picture with Paul Ryan. SO. Basically, if Romney and Ryan win the election, I'll practically be famous. Because I did meet Mitt back in 2007 in Jerusalem, and his niece happened to be my roommate. And now I have a picture with Paul Ryan. Like I said. Practically famous.

But this story gets better, my friends. Because last week John was in town again. And this time he called Keshia and said he was in town and had two free hours. So naturally I tagged along (actually we met up at my house, since it was close to where John needed to be that night). But before we got to my house, we stopped at a fast-food restaurant so John could get some dinner. Ever the efficient type, I suggested that John drive through first (we were in two different cars) so he could order his meal and then Keshia and I would go second, since Keshia just wanted fries and it would be much faster that way.

Well, when we got to the window to pay, the woman opened the window and handed us a card. "The man in front of you paid for your meal and asked me to give you this," she said, giggling slightly with an I'm-dying-to-know-what's-going-on-here look on her face. I looked down at the card and saw that John had given the cashier a business card for a guy from the SECRET SERVICE with a number written on it in pen. Immediately I saw the brilliance of John's plan. He was in a dark vehicle and had pulled over after getting his food, waiting for us. And we were two girls in a car just getting fries and the guy in front of us (he was wearing a suit, too) had just handed a Secret Service business card to the cashier with instructions to pay for our food and give us the card.

So the cashier was either thinking "This guy saw these girls and thinks one of them is cute and so gave them his number and paid for their food" OR "This agent is sending a signal to these girls--that he's on to them and is just waiting for them to get their food before he follows them home" or something like that.

Anyway, Keshia and I were laughing about it for days. It was BRILLIANT. And the best part was when we got to my house, still laughing, and John walked over to the car before we even got out and asked for the card because "it has a really important number on it--Paul Ryan's personal Secret Service agent."

Good thing the light had turned green before I could call the number--because I was totally going to call it and see who answered!!!

It's always a good time when you're in Ohio in an election year!

Super-Wide Lanes

So I've been at OSU for about a month now, and I've learned a few things about graduate school in the process. So far, the biggest thing I've realized is that my undergraduate experience, at least, was like I'msobusythatIhavenotimetobreatheoreatoreventakebathroombreaks and IonlyhavetimetosleepwhileIwalkbetweenclasses and I'mworkingtwojobsandtakingsevenclassesandvolunteeringandohshootmycarjustbrokedownagain and youwantmetowritehowmanypapersinoneweek? I was really busy. My final year at BYU, I was working 2-3 jobs, volunteering 8 hours a week, taking 20 credits, applying to graduate school and other fellowships, etc...and I was proud of myself because I worked really hard that year to take bathroom breaks at least twice a day and eat two meals a day.

Naturally, I was expecting much the same of grad school. Actually, I was expecting (and hoping) that it would be a little easier (or at least less frantic). Because why would any sane person go to graduate school if it was as crazy as my undergrad was?

But I ran into a slight problem. My first year of graduate school was in Jerusalem. And while I was much, much less busy last year than I ever was during my undergrad years, I was taking classes in two different languages, teaching a third language, working in the Primary (an organization for children in my church) and attending church twice a week in two different languages, attending classes at four different institutions in two different cities, and spending 3-4 hours a day in transportation and checkpoint crossing, in additional to my personal graduate research.

I was expecting this year, my second year of graduate school, to also be very busy. After all, I am trying to complete a two-year graduate degree in one year, looking for a job/career after grad school, trying to find a job for this year, and doing two languages instead of the usual one.

Now, I know that it's only been a month and I'm sure that things will pick up, but this past month has seemed a bit like this Seinfeld episode:

(Full disclosure: I've never seen Seinfeld. I saw this clip on my friend's blog a while ago and I thought it was particularly relevant to my situation.)

It kind of seems like my "narrow lanes" have suddenly been changed into "super-wide lanes" for a real comfort ride! It's rather bizarre, and while everyone tells me to "enjoy it while I can," I'm just not really into that whole relax and recreation kind of thing. Because when I have super-wide lanes, I tend to waste my time during the day because I don't have anything to do, and then get to class and realize that I didn't even do half of the homework or forgot to read one of the articles!

This, my friends, is clearly almost as dangerous of a situation as a metal sewing machine, paint thinner, and a large semi. But don't worry. I've taken up a few hobbies (like kickboxing) and I make dinner at least once a week. AND, I just got some new piano students. So hopefully I will be able to make those lanes a little more manageable for myself...and still have time to take bathroom breaks this year!

Conversations in the Laundry Room

Some of you know that my neighbors are a little, well, interesting. I live in southwest Columbus, and as a white educated female, I am very much a minority.

Anyway, my neighbors, at least the ones I've seen, are a little odd. I'm never quite sure what to expect. So last night when I went to pick up my laundry from the laundry room, I wasn't too surprised when, as I approached the door, I heard someone talking loudly to himself inside. Hoping that I could quickly grab my clothes and go, my heart sank as I opened the door and saw that this man happened to be standing at the dryers right next to the washer my clothes were in. Grabbing my clothes and sneaking out was no longer an option.

I walked over to the washer and started putting my clothes in my laundry bag. (No, I don't dry my clothes. I'm not going to pay $1.25 when they can hang dry for free.) And yep, the guy started talking to me.

"Last week was me and my girlfriend's 4th anniversary," he told me. "And I'm going to take her out tomorrow to a restaurant, once she gets back in town."

"Where ya'll goin to dinner?" I asked, trying out my southern accent so that I would sound more legit.

He named some burger joint in town and I tried to look impressed. "Wow, sounds awesome." I kept putting my clothes in my bag. "Yeah, when I first started dating her my friends said I needed to hold on to her."

"That's great that ya'll are still together," I replied.

"Well, we're back together now. We broke up for a little while, but then the guy that she was going with wanted to take a loan from her for $266."

"$266?" I asked, feigning shock. "Oh yeah. That's a lot!"

"Yeah," he said, looking impressed that his girlfriend even had $266 to lend to anyone. "Yeah, that's why she broke up with him."

At this point I had finished putting my clothes in my bag. "Well, ya'll have fun tomorrow," I said, and headed out the door, tripping on his clothes hamper on the way. "It wasn't me!" he shouted after me as I walked out the door.

But as I got into my car, still chuckling about the $266, I realized that I don't even have $266 to lend. So now who's the pathetic one, eh?

Flashback Friday: A Poem

I realize that this might not be the best post to begin my Flashback Friday series, but you take what you get, right? It's not actually a story, but rather a poem that I wrote while I was living in the West Bank. It expressed some of the frustrations that I felt at the time. And I think it's, well, good enough to publish on my blog, at least.

The right to dream; a basic right

A thing for which we all will fight

But what of those who are not free

Who wait for hope indefinitely

When daily life has lost its light?

I look away; it seems their plight

Has brought me to the blackest night

Will their oppressors never see

Their right to dream?

In darkness, they live without light

A bird, alone, lost in flight

A life less precious than a tree

We cannot hear their simple plea:

"Our right to dream."

Musings of a Grad Student in...Ohio

So I recently moved to Ohio. Some of you might not be aware of that fact, especially since my blog's title is still "Musings of a Grad Student in Jerusalem." But "Musings of a Grad Student in Ohio" just doesn't have the same ring, you know? Any suggestions for a better blog title?

Anyway, before I get in the full swing of blogging about my life in Ohio, I thought ya'll would be interested in hearing about the journey out here.

I left Salt Lake early Monday morning and got to Columbus late Tuesday night. Apparently I'm better at driving than at doing math, though, because I emailed my friend to let her know when I would get to her house in Columbus and said, "Well, I'm leaving Monday morning and it will take me two days, so that means I'll get there late Wednesday night." Because Monday + 2 days = Wednesday, right? Good thing I called her before I got there on Tuesday to let her know that I was a couple of hours away!

Everyone wants to know how I made the 29 hour drive alone in just two days. Well, I had two secrets: fruit snacks and a book on tape. I ate about 15 packages of fruit snacks (and went WAY over the Vitamin C limit each day) and listened to Fire of the Covenant for most of those hours. It was a little surreal to hear about the Martin and Willie handcart companies' journey to Utah as I was driving the opposite way. I think we met in Nebraska, as I was driving east and they were walking west. Also, as I drove into Missouri I felt like I was entering enemy territory! It wasn't the best book on tape I've ever heard, but it did keep me entertained for two days filled with empty wheat and corn fields.

Several things have surprised me about Columbus, not least of all the demographics. I have since realized that I live in the "lower west side," and as a white educated female I am very much a minority. I'm not the only caucasian, but the others are mostly, to be politically correct, lower-class lesser-educated Kentucky transplants. They've all got southern accents and Kentucky grammar. The day I moved into my apartment, the neighbor girl was outside and asked me, "How come you don't got no furnurture or nothin in there?" It definitely changed my "Ohio and the midwest are filled with middle-class caucasians and cornfields" mindset. The first few days, when I'd walk into stores, everyone would look up and stare. And I KNOW they were thinking, "Who's that whyt gurl from da suburbs? And what she doin in the hood?" I definitely change my accent (usually I just throw in the word "ya'll" at the end of every sentence, like "I have no idea where that is, ya'll"), mess up my hair a little, and put on my "don't mess with me" face when I walk into stores in my neighborhood so I don't look so out of place! (Hopefully the southern accent won't stick...)

When I tell people where I live, most of them cock their heads and ask, "Now just why did you choose to live there?" First of all, I want to say, I just spent the last year living in the West Bank, and I'm not quite ready to go back to normal yet (just kidding)! But the real reason is because it's cheap. I wanted to find housing pronto, and this apartment was the first place I looked at. But I decided that I didn't need a two-bedroom townhouse, even thought it was pretty cheap, because I thought I could get something a little smaller and cheaper. And then I looked at the rest of my options. By the end of the day I realized that I would rather pay less for a two-bedroom townhouse than more for a small, dirty, one-bedroom apartment. It was a hard decision.

Basically what this means is that I have an extra bedroom and lots of extra space, so if any of you are planning on coming out to Columbus, let me know and you can stay in my extra bedroom! Just bring your own air mattress, because I don't have a couch or even a bed for myself. I'm still sleeping on a mattress on the floor...

Europe

So I think I've realized that I will be playing catch-up forever if I try to finish all of my posts from living in the Middle East, and then Europe, and then all of my awesome new experiences in Ohio. But I can't let those experiences in the ME go to waste, dangit! So I think I've decided to steal an idea from my blogfriend Bridget and do a "Flashback Friday" for all of those awesome experiences. Which leaves me free to move on to The Days Of Europe.

This task is also overwhelming, as The Days Of Europe lasted two weeks and stretched over six countries. So for today, I think I'll just post one picture from each day of The Journey.

Day 1: Buyukada Turkey

After a horrible (read: normal) experience in the Tel Aviv airport at 3am, I wanted wide open spaces, lots of water, and smiling old women. I saw this woman at the top of a huge mountain on the island of Buyukada just outside of Istanbul. I took a ferry to the island and rode a bike to the monastery at the top. This cute woman was putting together this letter puzzle, and when I asked if I could take a picture of her, she flashed this great smile and smiled vigorously. It made my day (that and riding a bike all over a beautiful island in Turkey!).

Day 2: Turkey and the Black Sea

It almost sounds like the name of a band (or a bad sandwich), but day 2 my two friends and I took another ferry up to an island on the edge of the black sea. My favorite part just might have been the boat garages for these houses on the lake.

Day 3: Istanbul, Turkey

Ok, so this day gets two pictures. Of the several things we visited this day, the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia were my favorites. I took a nice nap in the Blue Mosque, sitting on the floor, and I'm pretty sure lots of people were taking pictures of me because I kept seeing these bright flashes, even with my eyes closed. But I bet their pictures didn't look as cool as the one I got without a flash (above).

 

Day 4: Dachau, Germany

We flew in to Munich and grabbed a rental car to traverse the Alps, but first we stopped by the concentration camp in Dachau. It was very sobering, as it should be, but somehow easier to handle than many Holocaust museums that I have been to in the States.

Day 6: The Alps

After living in big cities for the past several years, some days I still come back to my farm roots. As we drove through Germany, I rolled down the window and reveled in the smell of freshly cut hay. Strangely enough, it was like the balm of Gilead to my parched soul (after smelling dirt, sand, and olive trees for a year in the ME). Oh yeah, and I saw this delightful little village in the Alps and decided to move here instead of going to graduate school. I'm still considering it...

Day 5: Lausanne, Switzerland

I had to visit my sister's namesake, so I stopped by Lausanne. Best story from this place was probably that the night before, in a French town across Lake Geneva, I had eaten at a Chinese restaurant run by a Cantonese couple (I ordered in Chinese. It was great). And then the next day, in Lausanne, I walked through a street market and stopped for several minutes at one, pretending to look at jewelry as I eavesdropped on the two Chinese girls who ran the shop. It was so awesome to finally understand what people were saying.

Day 6: Strasbourg, France

We stayed at this teeny village about 30 minutes from Strasbourg. Teeny village in the countryside + huge church + huge lightning/thunderstorm + dancing in the rain. It was like a dream. I wish I could have stayed in this village for more than one night. It was beautiful.

The next day, Sunday, I attended the LDS Strasbourg ward, quite possibly the kindest, friendliest ward I have ever been to in my life. The city was gorgeous, too, but attending the ward was definitely the highlight.

Day 7-9: Paris, France

I was walking near the Eiffel Tower when a man came up to me, speaking rapidly in French. "I don't speak French," I told him in French (the only remnant from 3 years of study in junior high and high school). He kept gesturing to his camera and said, "Picture?" so I naturally assumed that he wanted me to take a picture of him and his friend. Only after I agreed did I realize that he wanted to take a picture of him and me with the Eiffel Tower in the background! "Sorry," he said in French. "You're just so beautiful!" And I did know enough French to understand that!!

The gargoyles at Notre Dame are always a classic.

Day 10-12: Rome, Italy

Rome was HOT!!! After walking around in the sun all day, I was wandering through the Roman Forum. I had yet to go in to the Colosseum. But all that I could think, as I walked through the hundreds-of-years-old ruins, was "Oh, look, another pile of old stones. Where's the ice cream?" I finally took a nap in the Colosseum, and that made things much better.

I also fulfilled a long-time dream to visit the Capachin crypt in Rome. You aren't allowed to take pictures inside the crypt, but this picture reminded me of all that bony goodness. It was seriously amazing.

 

Day 13: Oxford, England

I had to go to Oxford just to see what I had said no to. Just thinking that I could have studied here almost made me regret my decision to choose daily checkpoint crossings and a year of hardship over a quaint little town with a small river running through it. But regrets would get me nowhere, so instead I just went and found an awesome church graveyard. 

Day 14: Bath, England

I will admit that one of my main reasons for going here was Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey. And I wasn't disappointed. The train ride through the countryside was lovely, visiting the Roman Baths was excellent, and the cathedral there was one of my favorites that I've been to. The best part? The angels on the outside of the cathedral. The artists depicting Jacob's dream didn't know how to portray angels climbing down, only up, so they just made angels climbing up and turned them upside down to make them climb down.

 

Jaffa

I decided to take advantage of a university holiday in June and go to the beach. I really just wanted to leave the tension-center that is Jerusalem and go somewhere nice, relaxed, secular, and non-kosher. So Jaffa/Tel-Aviv was the destination of choice.

The thing that struck me most about Jaffa was the color. It was everywhere, in many very random places, and made the seaside metropolitan area seem like a small seaport town with old houses and wonky colors. With a bit of post-processing, the color really popped out. These pictures, to me, are exciting and tell lots of stories about the Arab-Israeli town of Jaffa.

And if you don't know their stories, you can imagine some of them...