I feel like I ought to do some sort of pre-writing: As in, I plan to write out my impressions of Oxford, so what am I expecting? When I sit down and rake my ideas together, it’s a pretty small pile. There are, of course, the things everyone seems to know. There is rain and socialized medical care and pubs. The people are reserved, drink tea, and have dry humor. For most Americans, that pretty much sums it up. For me, it is difficult to see much of a picture in these scattered brush strokes.
Written by . . .
My name is Betsy. I am a child of God, a professor's wife, and a mother of four. We live on the island of Java.
The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup;
you hold my lot.
The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.