Things are old in Cambridge

Wow, what an insightful statement, I know.  But just when you start to get used to so much of Cambridge having medieval roots, something will make you realize yet again how staggeringly long a tradition this place has.  For me, Trinity Hall's age was brought home again at a recent dinner that the MCR (grad student) committee had in the Master's Lodge.

At this dinner, the water cups were silver tumblers that looked vaguely like buckets.  I made a comment to the Master's wife, who was sitting next to me, and she explained that they were replicas of one of the college's most prized possessions.  The Founder's Cup (see picture) was given to Bishop Bateman by the Pope in the 1340s, before the bishop founded Trinity Hall in 1350.  And we still have this cup!  It comes out once a year for the Bateman Feast, which is when the Fellows invite eminent people in their field to come to the college.

That such a thing physically exists from that long ago and is in any way connected to me blows my mind.  I admit, I've been to the Cluny museum in Paris and looked at lots of medieval art, but it helps to have a personal tie.  Here's a picture of the inside bottom of the cup.  See the coat of arms?  It's still the college symbol.  It's on the scarf I wear when it's chilly out, and the crescent is on the uniform for the rowers of the first boats.  And some medieval silversmith worked it into this cup while living in a world that (as far as he knew) was populated by invisible beings, a world that sat in the center of singing spheres of heavenly bodies.  Amazing.

Behind the clouds is the sun still shining

The title is a line from one of my favorite Longfellow poems, "The Rainy Day."  The poem is actually fairly dour, but with a touch of comfort in the end:

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
  Some days must be dark and dreary.

I've been thinking about this poem not because I'm having a terrible week but because it has actually rained a bit the past couple days, including during our rowing outing this morning.  I've never been on the water while there was so little light that it was hard to see exactly what everyone was doing in the weird blue dusky luminescence of a cloudy pre-dawn.

"But Sarah," you ask, "why on earth would you be out that early?"  Because, dear readers, I'm now rowing in the first boat.  Think of this as making the varsity team within the college.  Of course, it would be more of an accomplishment if it weren't for the fact that it's largely due to most of last year's first boat graduating.  Still, you have to take the opportunities that come along.  The schedule currently involves four early mornings in a row for training.  I enjoy getting my day going, and I'm more invigorated during most of it than I used to be, but by 9:30pm I'm ready for bed, which makes it hard to socialize...  I'm hoping my body will adjust so that I can do both.

Meanwhile, I haven't yet met with my supervisor, but every time we exchange emails she enquires whether I have more for her to read.  So I guess I'll try to put something else together, in addition to the items already sent.  I'm becoming a bit paranoid about what this means.  But worries will always be nipping at your heels, so I'm just plunging ahead.  Besides, the sun has now come out.  I shall celebrate by going to the library and writing about Julius Charles Hare's discussion of pronouns in Guesses at Truth.  That's a story for another time.  :)

Cambridge, 2012

Cambridge in the newly-arrived 2012 looks much as it did in 2011, and largely as it has for hundreds of years.  It's a wonderful thing about this place.

Christmas lights at the Boise botanical garden

I got back a few days ago.  I spent December mostly at home, with short trips to Boise for Christmas with my brother's family + our parents, and to Phoenix to see Stanford football break my heart yet again, this time at the Fiesta Bowl.  The time went far too quickly, but I managed to see some people, go to the SF Symphony's 100th anniversary gala, do some sewing, and bake the traditional Weaver (via Arnold) Christmas cookies with mom.

Since I got back, the weather has been unseasonably warm -- which helped ease the pain of rowing TWICE a day, EVERY day.  I could do without the second one to interrupt my afternoon, but the first part of the day has a nice rhythm to it: get up, go rowing, meet a couple friends for lunch, work together in the college library's toasty-warm reading room.  Then go row again.  Get dinner somewhere and try to stay awake long enough to do more work.  Give up and go to bed.

It's the kind of reasonable pace I wish could sustain itself during the term.  As it is, I'm trying to get all my ducks in a row so that I can start Lent term efficiently -- before it deteriorates, as it must and will.  Projects for this week have been:

1) Write up thoughts on the book I read over Christmas, William Empson's Seven Types of Ambiguity.
2) Prepare syllabus for my Old English student (I get her again this term and next -- fun times!)

View from the boathouse

Next week, I will have to meet with the supervisor and make plans for the rest of the year.  My current plan is to spend this term reading all of a guy named Richard Chenevix Trench.  He was a friend of Kemble's and Tennyson's, and he wrote stuff that's exactly what I need in order to draw the connection between Tennyson and philology.  But I suspect he will be less colorful than Kemble.  :)  Meanwhile, here is yesterday's glorious sunset, which followed a rather bleak morning.