Baking Gluten-Free in a new country

Okay, I've been gluten-free for about 11 months now. And baking is a scary, scary, scary, awful, horrible thing if you're not familiar with what you're doing. Which I'm generally not. I'd tried it a few times (unsuccessful mixes aside) and kinda had an idea in the states.

But Thanksgiving is around the corner. And as the main representative for America in my bible study, I feel a need to share my culture with them. Since Bible Study is on Thursday's, this works well. If I could just figure out how to bake over here...

I e-mailed family to request a pumpkin cookie recipe (thinking that would be nice and easy) and lo, and behold: it requires a yellow moist cake mix.
So after internet research, maybe I have a substitute:

1 1/2 cups white rice flour
3/4 cup tapioca flour
1 tsp salt
3 tsp baking powder
1 tsp xantham gum
1 1/4 cups sugar

Does this sound right? Anyone? Anyone at all?

Sundays

I happen to love Sundays. They're always full of time to pray and read and I never feel tons of stress to work on my papers. One of the few times I don't have that stress. Today has turned out to be another wonderful amazing Sunday.

When I woke up I could hear birds singing. "Well that's not so odd and noteworthy" you think... but it is. I live in Oxford, which rains. Constantly. All the time. 24/7. Non-stop. So very few birds just hanging around chirping. I immediately felt inspired to actually climb out bed (something that's hard to do on the tenth gray/rainy day in a row) and peeked outside. I saw sunrays hitting the row of houses across from us! What?! It's a miracle! The happiness for the day just bubbled up inside. Not only was it sunny, but I had timed getting ready perfectly. I hate mornings with either too much time or too little time to get ready. Really throws me off my game.

But the day only continued to improve. I actually caught the correct bus into city centre so I could go to church, and St. Ebbe's family service, was as always, really lovely. I had three new people come up and introduce themselves (always a nerve-wracking experience for me, but I'm getting better at it) and someone Megan and I had met last week came over to check on us and make sure we were well. When you're surrounded by that much Christian Love, how can you help smiling?

After a quick run to Sainsbury's I decided to actually cook for once in my paper-filled life, and made a full-fledged pasta lunch with cheese sauce. I may finally have corn pasta down to a fine art, but it's definitely taken some serious practice. I've also learned that corn penne is better than corn spaghetti. Good lesson to learn. The last two months of non-stop papers have finally taught me how to balance a little better, but I had almost forgotten I actually LIKE cooking. I just never have time.

The sun was still miraculously shining bright after lunch, so I decided to take a little walk. Being out in the sunshine after so many days of pouring rain really lifted my spirits, and I actually feel ready to tackle this week.
I totally discovered a teensy cute little village too. South Hinsky. It was wonderful and precious, and the village hall in the center of the village was so stereotypically "Small English Village" that I almost laughed.

I'm currently trying to work up motivation to actually write my two papers that are due on Wednesday, and fighting the urge to go back outside. Fortunately it's 4:15, and the sun will go down soon and squash that urge for me.

:-P

*Whew*

What a long week. They happen, far more often than I would like, but fortunately my weekend should be nice and clear. Except for the homework, of course.

But I thought I would take a little time for an update on day-to-day life.

First of all, the tutorials. Love them. Both tutors are so incredibly smart, that I hope I'm going to come away understanding 1/10th of what happened in our sessions. My music tutor, is pretty incredible. He teaches at a boarding school, gives OOSC students tutorials, conducts independent research and is a professional choral singer. Crazy stuff. But he's great, and has given me tons of advice on how to improve my writing which I have tried to take (culminating in the comment today that I have "come a long way". High praise indeed).
And then there's Susan Halstead, my Celtic Studies tutor. She's crazy. Insane. Manic. Lovely, wonderful, and incredible. She works for the British Library, teaches OOSC students, and wait for it...: speaks/reads/writes 27 languages. Yep, I said 27. I'm not even sure how that's possible, and most people react by saying "I didn't even know there WERE 27 languages". The craziest part, I don't think she speaks any Asiatic languages. Which means she knows some insane stuff. And I happen to know she's learning Swahili right now.

So tutorials take up a lot of time, but not all, so I try to fill my time with random other things. Like traveling (Hastings, Bath, and Canterbury are the big destinations from this term). Plus church. Any weekend I'm not traveling I'm attending St. Ebbe's, which is just a great church, where the Lord is clearly doing great things. The people who inhabit this church are incredible people, so filled with humility and a wish to know God and God's people. I have never been so incredibly welcomed on a first, second, or third visit (outside of Kansas City's own VBC) than I have been at St. Ebbe's. That church has helped to instantly feel like I have roots here in Oxford. They also host a student's Bible Study, which is incredibly well attended. There are easily 100-150 students who come to learn about God and God's Word and to pray together in small groups every Thursday night. My Bible Study group is lovely, just a wonderful sweet group of girls who pray so earnestly and want to strive to be holier in their everyday lives, they are such an inspiration, and definitely the people I want to surrounding me. Each small group is headed by a student apprentice, and an older leader of the same gender as the group. In my group, that lovely lady is Georgiana. Now, the name is cool to begin with, but when she told me her father named her for "Georgiana Darcy" from Pride and Prejudice, I realized this was clearly someone I wanted to know better. :) She's wonderful, and leads our group in such a humble way, and it's clear she spends a lot of time studying the passages before she comes to us with them, and she's always asking us to dig deeper into what we're reading, it's great.

On any given morning, between 10:30-12:30, I can be found at Penelope Warner's house. She's incredible. In every sense of the word. She and Francis sort of take the place of everyone's parents, because they're just great like that. This couple are two of the most brilliant people I know, and yet they are also some of the most humble, generous, and patient people as well. They're also incredibly quirky. Like Francis owning a T-Rex egg. Yes, I did just say that. Or Penelope loving gift shops at all museums. I've really enjoyed getting to know both of them better. I try to drop in at least once or twice a week to chat and eat a cookie in their basement.

Other goals for the future: visit the Oxford Bridge Society. I know, ambitious, but I think I could have fun with that.
Which leads me to my last observation: I'm old. Really, really old. I crochet, enjoy face-to-face conversations, play bridge, and guzzle tea like it's going out of fashion. Really, I'm just a little old lady. Not that I think there is anything wrong with this, but I felt we ought to clarify the point. England is making me older than I was before I arrived. :-)

Epic?

So I had my life flash before my eyes today. Now before you think I'm just being dramatic, let me assure you that I'm not. I really saw my life, in a millisecond clip.

Okay, so now that I really am done being overdramatic...

Lora and I decided to walk down Cornmarket to get to Boots after lecture today. Along the way, just before the Boots, there were a couple of jugglers performing in the street. Now I happen to love watching the jugglers anyway, plus the one guy was getting ready to play with fire (pyromania anyone?) so we decided to stay and watch. Well, actually this it the conversation that happened:

Me: Ooh! Fire! Can we stay for a couple of minutes and watch?
Lora: Sounds good. I like fire too.
Guy who's getting ready to perform overhears us and comments: There's a better view if you walk over there *gestures to the other side of the street* I promise I won't involve you in the show or anything.

And then he winked.

Oh that wink. I should have known.

So we watched him twirl a big fiery stick, and then his partner juggled for awhile. The entire time they've had beat-heavy music on. Then the 2nd guy switches off the music, and the 1st guy looks like he's going to talk for a minute.

1st guy: Okay. I need a volunteer.

Innocent enough, right? Wrong.

1st guy: I need a volunteer, someone I promised I wouldn't involve in the show... *grinning* but she looks so keen and eager, and she's been a great audience member, so I can't resist. -All the while walking towards me, holding out his hand-

Me: Uhhhhhh

Lora: *laughing hysterically*

What proceeds from here, is probably one of my better moments. I uncharacteristically decided to be a participant. So he took my hand and led me into the middle of the street.

1st guy: *lays down coat on the ground* "Can't have you getting your nice coat messy now can we?

2nd guy: "Can we have a round of applause for our *cough cough* 'volunteer'?"

*crowd gathered applauds fairly enthusiastically*

The 1st guy looks at me "Comfy?" he asks. "Plenty, but I need you to not kill me, my mom wouldn't like it" I reply.

The 2nd guy starts talking about what they're about to do.
"Now while we're attempting this..."
"Attempt?! You're not going to succeed?!" is my automatic question
*sheepish grin* "Yes, attempt. I need you, the crowd to remember three things. Can you do that? The 1st is NINE! The second is Nine... and the 3rd is NINE... 999, can you do that if anything goes wrong? I think she'd appreciate it." (999 being the emergency number here).
Because I wasn't quaking in my boots before, this certainly didn't help. Although I did giggle uncontrollably. Probably nerves.

Now, I have no idea what's really about to happen. I start to look behind me where the guys are standing, but Lora shouts from the sidewalk that it's a bad plan. I decide to listen.

Next thing I know, there's a feeling of warmth hitting the top of my head. Yeah, that's right, the guy walked on his hands, with a fiery stick in his teeth, over me.

I was a little terrified.

But honestly, it was a lot of fun. And a fairly epic experience. Lora kindly took photos, which are below.

You might be wondering at this point: is that REALLY Karen in those photos. No, believe me, that's me. I think my heart-rate has finally slowed to a semi-normal pace. But I was definitely shaky when I got up off the ground.

Just another day in Oxford? Right?

Right.

Poppies

Today is Remembrance Sunday in the UK. For the last two weeks, every time I turned around there have been soldiers and veterans everywhere selling the traditional paper poppy flower to pin on your lapel. Already understanding the cultural significance, my sister encouraged me to donate and take one and wear the poppy. I’ve noticed everyone, even the people  It’s been an emotionally charged experience wearing the poppy, especially once I open my mouth and people realize I’m not British. I’m going to take this space to share a few of my favorite stories from this last week as I’ve worn the poppy. 

The first happened as I was donating to obtain a poppy in the Westgate shopping center. There were three older gentlemen standing together. When they figured out I was an American, I had to explain why I wanted one. I told them that yes, we do it at home, it’s not as big of a thing, but we do observe a Veteran’s Day. And then I talked about all three of my grandfathers, who all fought in World War II, especially my mom’s dad, who was a career Army man. The men then shared their stories with me, and it was very touching to see the pride they had in fighting for their country during their various service times. 

Another wonderful moments was the elderly woman (is that PC?) I sat next to on the bus on the way home from city centre the other day. She told me her first love had died fighting in WWII, but she had ended up happy with her husband, so she supposed it was alright. She was wonderful and sweet, and again, wanted to know why an American would wear a poppy. 

My last favorite story is from this afternoon. After the 9:45 service at my church (in which we had a special Remembrance Day Act) I ran into the Sainsbury’s. On my way out, a cheerful young man asked me if I wanted a copy of The Big Issue. Now normally, I don’t buy it, but this man was cheerful despite the cold and rainy day, and the lack of luck he was having selling, even though the spot outside of Sainsbury’s is regarded as prime real estate. I stopped to talk for a moment, and bought one. While I was digging my change out of my pocket, he remarked on my accent, and then like every other person so far, my poppy. We had a good discussion, as I noticed he was wearing one as well. He explained some of the local Oxford-style traditions surrounding today and then November 11th as well. So today was special for two reasons, this young homeless man touched me in a slightly odd way, he was much less grumpy about the weather than I had been, and I had a warm and cozy house to go home to, and he was interested in more than just making a quid, he was interested in talking and human contact. I also gained some insight into the traditions that are local to Oxford. 

But here’s my complaint: why do the British think America doesn’t care? We have the largest number of armed forces, shouldn’t we care the most about them? I’ve been astonished to see people who would normally be considered the fringes of society openly wearing their poppies on their jackets and coats. Even the homeless wear them. America’s biggest display of Remembrance for the people who have fought for us includes taking a federal holiday. Somehow, I think the British have it figured out. That little mental reminder that rides on your coat somehow means more than a federal holiday where the meaning gets lost half of the time. I had many American people ask me why I wore one, “I mean, you’re not British”. So what? I care about anyone who has had the courage to stand up and fight for their country, to give their life fighting for a greater good. And I think it's fairly odd that I should be considered an oddity, just because I wore a poppy this week. 

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

— Lt.-Col. John McCrae (1872 - 1918)