Chapter a dó -that's "two" in Gaelic!

Whew, it’s been a while.

As much as I’ve thought about sitting down and banging out another update, I’ve consistently been putting off doing so, almost completely out of fear that I’ll be unable to do my stories and experiences justice. Please let my absence speak to the full days and delirious adventures I’ve been entertaining over the last two months.

I feel I should probably touch on my remarkable, eye opening classes at some stage, but first, my newest vendetta: if and when I am Queen of the Universe, umbrellas will be outlawed. It may even be my first official act (either that establishing a rule as to which side of the sidewalk one is entitled to walk on—no one can agree here!)

Winter is settling into Dublin, and much unlike the warnings signs this dreary season emits in Michigan, here its entrance is marked by an unforgiving chill in the air and a dramatic increase in rain. I adore the rain, the humidity, the threat of downpour, and the chance (read: hope) of a thunder and lightning storm. And that’s all fine and well—really—but recently, I’ve come to be something of a walking threat to society as soon as the skies open. Call me a code orange or red if you like, but I have my reasons for lunacy: enough pokes in the eye with umbrellas, and the sacrifices my poor head of hair has suffered due to loads of seemingly oblivious umbrella holders, and I’ve become a sort of seasonal crazy person. Attempting to shake my madness, I crossed over to the dark side on Wednesday and bought an umbrella. It’s purple. Dublin is once again a safe place. And today, the scattered rain showers even afforded me the chance to spy the biggest rainbow I’ve ever seen! It looked like it was close enough to touch.

In other news, my being here is feeling more and more normal. That being said, I continue to shock myself back into reality with startled inner dialogues, often beginning with heated questions as absurd as “What is that 5-year-old doing driving? She’s not even paying attention!” Oh wait, she’s in passenger’s seat.

Fortunately, I’m quickly launched back into my surroundings, grounded by accents that bound me to time and place. My nesting qualities have made a big ol’ appearance in the last couple weeks as I’ve noticed the relationships that have blossomed between the baristas at the coffee shop, the building security guards, and myself—it isn’t home, but it’s a comfort.

But anyway, whether speaking either to my own lack of cultural consciousness, or to a simply bizarre event, I felt very much out of the loop last week my suite was checked in a routine quality assurance visit. Two sweet little old Irish women let themselves in and visited not only the kitchen and the bathrooms, but also our bedrooms, working their way down a checklist and looking more and more horrified with each door they opened. When our paths crossed in the kitchen, the ladies greeted me kindly and swiftly continued their work; one wiped her finger across a very disgusting stovetop and the other informed me that the floor was in desperate need of a mopping. I agreed. And with that they were on their way—I thought. Walking out the front door, the smaller of the two turned to me without a drop of meanness in her eyes and said, “Oh, and you should make your bed. You’ll feel better.” I couldn’t even argue with her logic, so I thanked her instead.

On Thursday, I’ll be thinking of all my far away turkey-gobbling amigos, but I will also be busy cooking up a storm with Claire. We’ve decided to have our own celebration at her house, and braced with the Turkey print paper plates so sweetly provided by Gram, we’ll be doing so in high style. I’ve invited hoards of cousins and Claire will be having some of her Irish friends over to join us. It was my plan to tell them all that according to tradition they’re required to dress up like pilgrims and Indians, but I fear the infiltration of American movies and television will not only betray my lie, but also find me guilty of extreme political incorrectness. I’ll keep you posted.

Anyhow, the last two weeks have been particularly lively, as I was lucky enough to have three visitors! Beginning with Colin’s pit stop and a weeklong exchange of stories from Copenhagen and Dublin, and ending with a long weekend visit from Gramma and Boo, I’m recharged socially, if not emotionally, and ready for the three weeks I have before heading home to New York for the holidays. Woot woot!

Having friends and family in town finally gave me the kick in the butt necessary to see many of the city’s gorgeous landmarks and historic sites. While Colin and I joined up with Claire to see the Jameson Distillery, Gramma and Boo and I went the more conventional route, visiting Christ Church, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the National History Museum, the National Gallery, Phoenix Park, and a cool Viking exhibit, among others. The highlight for me, if not wandering through St. Stephen’s Green on a sunshiny morning, was seeing the Edvard Munch exhibit at the National Gallery. And I can’t fail to mention that on our trip up to Phoenix Park, we spotted the wild deer! The park itself is said to be three times the size of Central Park, and way back in the day of lords and ladies, deer were installed in it for hunting purposes. Luckily, the poor babies haven’t been hunted for years and at this point they’re pretty accustomed to people strolling right up to them! They have wild horns but mellow characters and they’re truly gorgeous—can you imagine wild deer strolling around Bronson Park or Windmuller? I think not.

At this particular moment, I’m feeling particularly assimilated as I’m cozied up on the couch listening to the rain beat on the windows, sipping black tea, and preparing to sink into my reading for the week. I’m working my way through Gertrude Stein’s Three Lives for tomorrow’s Modernism class, and then after that it’s on to Maria Edgworth’s Belinda for Literary Childhoods. Three weeks and four papers to go: I’m in the game.

You’re in my thoughts!