Well, we've received half of our class schedules, one day late. You would think that since they told us precisely what date we were to receive our schedules, that they would stick to it. No. Nevertheless (love that word--three for the price of one) we got them the very next day. Our email included the handbooks (syllabi to us American folks) for the two required classes as well as instructions on how different classes and learning will be in the UK. You should see the reading list. Two or three books per week. A few days later I recalled that class takes place only once a week, which made me feel a lot better about it. There is hardly any homework (except these two required ones have more to make the Americans feel more at home). Personally, I would rather have less homework. The only unfortunate thing is that our grades will be based on one paper (or two). In the required classes there are more papers, but nothing like we have at home. We already have the paper topics. For an early bird like me, this is pretty cool.
We are both required to take Modern Britain (which, I suppose, is about Modern Britain) and British History, from the Romans to the Tudors (I am quite interested in their point of view on the Reformation). We could have taken Brit Lit, but I am already taking two other Lit classes, so I didn't want to overload too much. We find out the other half of our class schedule when we get there.
It's getting close. Only a couple more weeks until England! I can hardly wait. It's kind of scary actually, but exciting nonetheless (another cool word).
In preparation for our departure, Laura and I have been going shopping. About every other week. Every time we go, we forget something and have to go back the next week. It's amazing to think of all the things we use on a regular basis (during a three month period).
The day after we got our schedules, we pulled out our suitcases. We didn't start packing, we just pulled them out. (funny story: One of the suitcases that we are going to use was locked. we tried several keys in the house [you know, the ones that you never use so you don't know what lock they belong to] but to no avail. I resorted to picking the lock with a hairpin, the old-fashioned way. Let me just sat that I would make a terrible criminal. After that, my twin accomplice tried. She wasn't much of an accomplice. Somehow or other, we found a key that worked. Amazing.)
(Another funny aside: One of the workers in the cafe where I am typing this, just randomly started singing "Figaro!" from the Barber of Seville. Crazy Americans!)
We should be getting the last (hopefully!) of our papers in the mail next week. Then, the craziness of packing (actually) begins.
Cheers!
--Mary
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