I have never been a late night kinda gal...

There are no actual classes at Cambridge.

There are lectures, which anyone can attend, at any point, anywhere. As one grad student noted yesterday, "They say you can even go to the medical one where they cut up bodies if you want." Of course, I responded. Of course I want to go.

This is Cambridge. Wow. (All the pics included in this post are leeched from google. I didn't take my camera with me running. I have been a touristy failure. FAIL.)

School hasn't even officially started and already I know it will challenge me in entirely new ways. The course structure is unlike anything in America. Instead of sitting in classrooms with 20 other students, I will be sitting in "supervisions" with a peer, a professor and my paper. Wow.

Wow.

My room is slowly but surely coming to. I found bed sheets and towels between meetings yesterday. Brian took me to buy a phone and showed me the nearby Cambridge Market. "It's not quite a farmer's market," he explained as we walked by fruits, cheeses, vegetables, food stands and soap vendors. "But it is here every day."

Last night I attended the graduate student movie-and-popcorn affair instead of the Cambridge Fresher's Fancy Dress (costume) J for St. John's party and pub crawl. This will undoubtedly surprise those back home, who know I love my ale as much as I love my mathematics. ... and my late nights... and spiders.

Meeting other graduate students instantly humbled me. One was studying Babylonian languages. Another was working on his post-doctorate examination physics. Me? "I'm from Omaha, Nebraska. We have corn."

"Try this. It's kettle corn. It's sweet. Not salty." Yes, I did bring kettle corn to the graduate mixer. And yes, I did force that darn corn on unsuspecting graduate students from all over the world. They ate every last kernel.

After a somewhat rough night of sleep, I forced my cold bones out from under my now-sheeted blanket and pulled on my running shoes, preparing for my very first Cambridge jog. Although the cold temperatures made moving difficult, once I was out running along the river, nothing could stop me.

Rowers out for early morning practice

Cambridge is a beautiful place to run. I gave up on my map immediately, as few of the streets are actually marked and my sense of direction has always been terrible. Instead, I just headed in one constant direction. I passed rowers slipping along the river, their breath rising in the cold morning air. Weeping willows nodded sleepily into the water.

Bridge of Sighs, which is in the middle of St. John's campus

The sun was just rising (because yes, thank god, there is sun) and occasionally I would move through little bubbles of orange-lit warmth. For a while I trailed a couple who had an unleashed scottish terrier trot-trotting perkily alongside.

Scottish Terrier, a la Lady and the Tramp

My run finished at the market, where I bought a bag of farm-fresh apples with the currency of the Queen. I found a cup of black coffee and sipped it as I walked back to St. John's. At 9 a.m., church bells began to till and chime loudly, echoing off buildings and crashing through alleyways until the music came from all around.

This is my home. For two years, this is my home. It may be cold, rainy and heavily-accented, but it is my home.

I am so lucky.

Side notes: I ran by Abbey Road. I think I may pick up rowing. The activities fair is on Tuesday, so I'll know more then. Brrrrr.

A love song for Omaha

Nebraska.

Getting excited about all the Halloween displays already out

Welcome to Nebraska. Home of Arbor day. Home of GO BIG RED Husker football. Home of... Well, shoot. Let's just call it home.

After flying for roughly 32 hours, I was grateful to see Lisa's ever-chipper smiling face at the airport. She kindly ignored my unshowered-girl stink and herded me outside, baggage in tow.

"The air." I gasped. "You can smell the air. It has smells."

Lisa smiled politely, laughed a bit, and popped me into the car. We were off. I was in Omaha.

For those of you who don't know, Omaha is the nation's 40th largest city (oh thank you, wiki, for completely irrelevant facts). Founded along the Missouri River, it's tucked into the quaint 'n charming great ol' American midwest. There's lots of grass, cows, corn, cows, corn and huskers. That's Omaha.

Now imagine this. Times a million. That's Nebraska on game day. Thanks internet!

What wiki and Omaha's visitors website fail to capture is the true charm of this little place. Before leaving for Doha, I was spoiled. I expected that there would be fat squirrels chasing after my Clif Bars (a la Creighton University) and women chasing after my newly-purchased shoes.

Beautiful mural located down in the Old Market

Having lived in the Middle East, I know such assumptions are ill-founded. What is here in Omaha really is unique. My first morning back, I went on a 2.5 mile walk to the much beloved Super Target. I couldn't stop grinning. The grass was green, bright and dark and smelling freshly of earth. There was a sky, one blue with almost stupidly fluffy clouds, not bleached by a harsh desert sun. Birds chirped. Crickets and cicadas whispered from the corners, all creating the swooping sound of nature. An occasional breeze brought the slightest hint of autumn's chill right up against my face.

Enjoying Jason's Deli with one of my favs :)

Omaha.

Since then, I've gone on many of these long walks. My initial intense wonder (what I imagine using acid might be like?) has faded into something more constant and quiet: absolute adoration. Omaha truly is a beautiful place. With its rolling green hills and its four seasons, with the leaves of trees already tinged with reds and berries, with its farms crouching close at the city's limits, it drips its own unique splendor.

Part of the Labor Day parade: Tractors

Another charm of the big ol' Nebraska, and Omaha in particular? There are women. Women in the stores. Women in the streets. Women with their lil babies screaming at the grocery store. ...nix that last one. But there are women. After spending three months in a region where ladies are few and far between, I am constantly struck by the wonder of seeing gals out and about. Suddenly, I'm not a rarity, an oddity. I am just one of many others, and I am perfectly a-ok with that.

Part of the Labor Day Parade round II: Cars with singing fish

I love being back. Bet you couldn't tell.

Having only three weeks in Omaha before shipping out to Cali has made my time here both extra precious and a bit sad. Everything I so adore (read: Jason's Deli, Whole Foods, good people) will soon be gone. For the first time in a very long time, I feel like I finally have found a home. Thanks to Creighton, my close friends, my professors, and all those other amazing individuals (you know who you are), I have a little niche that is mine, a place where I feel not only comfortable but also loved.

Marco loves a lil lovin'

Rather than dwell on the sad aspect of my imminent departure, I've been spending these last couple weeks enjoying my favorites. I've visited several farmers' markets (both here and in Lincoln). I've seen friends out the wazoo (which gives me a great excuse to eat at all my favorite places, especially because they've usually been willing to drive my car-less tush around). I've even popped up to Creighton a couple times, riding in with Lisa. I still love Creighton. Go there.

Downtown. Pic from internet.

So that's Nebraska. I'm heading out to Cali in just two days, and from there I'll be wandering across the pond. It's crazy to think that in less than two weeks, I will be in England (if things with the visa work out, knock on wood, cross your fingers, kill a leprechaun).

I'm glad that I have a home, and that it's here in Omaha.