KleptoGarden

Oh, the saga of gardening... I've never before lived in an apartment that involved much in the way a outdoor upkeep - or if I did, I always had a nameless, faceless landlord who didn't much care if the garden looked like little house on the prairie.

These days though, I have a full-on proper back yard (which was pretty overgrown when we moved in 3 years ago.) While, it was pretty to look out the back and see ivy and honeysuckle and various bits of flora, it was becoming increasingly unusable - more Jungle Book than The Secret Garden. Every time Tommyboy and I looked out the back - we felt more and more guilty about the state of it... So, one fine non-rainy Saturday, we attacked it with all the tools we could pilfer from Tom's parents. We cut back everything we could get our hands on in the front and back of the house. Strangely, it would appear that our Garden has arms as how else to explain all the unlikely things we found when we gave it a haircut...

I was in the midst, of cutting back the enormous and half-dead bush in the front of the house when I noticed a black clump hidden in its middle. After more chopping and closer inspection, I pulled out a small black ipod nano in a leather case - previously owned by Tommy boy and mysteriously disappeared 6 months earlier.

A few hours later, when Tom emerged from the tangle of vines that was our back garden, he came out clutching the long-gone and long forgotten remote control for the living room stereo.

Apparently, our garden likes electronics. How it managed to snare them for itself is a mystery... that the ipod, after a little scrubbing and a recharge, still works, is a miracle.

Budapest

London A to Zed

Click the pic for a few photos from my recent trip to London.

The New Year cannot be denied

So, okay, like everyone else, I've been procrastinating... After spending ten days, socialising, stuffing my face, drinking wine, walking the city and generally trying to squeeze all my favorite things about life in Boston into a week and half, I was pretty wrecked. Jet-lag was wicked - lots of late nights and painfully early mornings getting back into the routine of work. Only now that we're easily halfway through January, am I fully back into the swing.

I joined the gym this winter to try and stave off the lethargy of life in the far northern hemisphere - The sun has only really fully woken up around 9am these days and it's back in hiding by 4:30pm at it's lowest point... I think there is definitely a tendency for hibernation written into my genes - I just want to sleep and eat biscuits (that's cookies for all u yanks ;) ) and lie on the couch with the remote. While I have been hitting the treadmill (and the climbing wall and the pool), I've still managed to get entirely sucked into the void of the couch and the telly on a few occasions. In keeping with the Irish tendencies toward overindulgence followed by repentance - January TV has made the shift from Dessert Porn (soft focus and close-up on the chocolate fudge cake) to documentaries about tummy tucks and industrial food production. Those of you who know how riveted I was reading 'Fast Food Nation' (and how I tortured you all with "fun" facts about meat production for months after) will know that I am powerless to resist a show about battery chickens or chemicals in the food supply. It's like a car crash. I just can't look away. And it wasn't just one documentary - it must have been industrial food week on Channel 4 because I watched a three-part series on free range chicken, a 'Dispatches' expose on ready meals and a screening of the film 'Super Size Me' all in the course of 4 days. Unfortunately (or fortunately) for me - I missed Jamie Oliver's exploration into chicken parts and their many uses... To add insult to injury, I was also reading 'The Omnivore's Dilmena' a book about the evolution of food chains and the environmental consequences of industrial agriculture... Bring it on! The fact that I'm not a raw-food vegan (or even a proper vegetarian) at this point, is a minor miracle. Just don't ask me to eat any chicken nuggets okay?!

Well, viva la new year... 'onwards and upwards' I guess. 'Start as you mean to go on' and all the rest of it. Only 11 months until everyone's pouring booze down their necks and sucking down battery chickens and sticky-toffee-pudding by the bucket-load. Untill then, maybe it's time for an organic, sustainably-farmed, locally grown fair-trade salad with your guilt?!

And to all a Good Night

Hello all,
I'm departing from Mickeyland tomorrow a.m. for the Christmas holiday (but not before going out on the lash with the coworkers for our annual Christmas do. I'm going to be sensible though, really. ;))

No matter which side of the pond you happen to reside on, have a lovely Christmas (or Chanukah / Solstice / Kwanza etc...). Here's to lots of relaxation, reading, eating, and other coziness for the next two weeks. I am defo set to turn my brain to off. Can't wait.

Check out the link for angelic goodness:
www.dcoy.ie

Glamo(u)rama

Had our work Christmas Do (for the clients - our own staff do is still to come. ;) ). My boss invited his sister, who's a make-up artist to come in and do all of our faces for the party. (Well, all the women, we couldn't convince the guys to get into the eyeliner...). It was great fun. Most of us don't bother with make-up on a daily basis - no point in putting it on to sit in front of a computer all day - so it was fun to see everyone all dolled up.

As I always do, I went out with the best of intentions, it was a Wednesday night afterall and I was wearing heels... Alas, at 3:30am, after dancing my face off and drinking free G&Ts all night, I was still sitting in the pub. So much for sensible. It is the Christmas season after all.

As usual, I am making really stupid faces in all the photos - some things never change!

Tis the Season...

Party season has begun. I look forward to the elongated Christmas celebrations in Ireland with a mixture of anticipation and horror. On one hand, it's all great fun: mulled wine and Christmas decorations, and a bit of banter and general good-will. There's a real 'kids on Christmas Eve' vibe to everything. People are a bit giddy and well up for anything and there's always some event to look forward to.

On the other hand, it's absolute drunken-ness on the streets of Dublin, playing dodge the puke during your Sunday Christmas shopping "adventures", pants that have suddenly become two sizes too small and best of all: waking up in the middle of the night with a mouth that tastes like an ashtray, a pounding headache and the vague feeling that you've said or done something wholly innappropriate which can then be replayed in yer head through the wee hours of the morning until it becomes an elephant sized disaster and you think that perhaps it would be best to pack yer bags and jump on the next plane to a new life. (but maybe that's just me. ;) )

In the States in general and New England in particular, we have two things that moderate all of this good fun/complete excess: Thanksgiving and Puritans. Without Thanksgiving to mediate, Ireland moves from fairly muted Halloween fesitivities into two months of full-on, hard-core Christmas debauchery on Nov. 1st. The Christmas decorations go up, Marks and Spencer start showing dessert porn on TV (super-close up shots of sticky-toffee pudding, dripping with creme anglais and some husky voiced female in the background: "Not just Sticky-toffee-pudding, M&S Stiiiiccccckkkkyyyy-toffffeeeee-puddddding"), and best/worst of all, the partys begin. In addition to the easing into the Christmas season that Thanksgiving provides, we New Englanders have a history of Puritanical self-denial. Sure we try to fight it, we're cosmopolitan, modern folk after all... ;) but there's a little man in a pilgrim hat somewhere inside of us that says, "perhaps you shouldn't have that fifth pink cocktail with a strawberry on top, you disgraceful, excessive slob, you should in fact, go off and whip yerself with tree branches instead while running on a treadmill and eating brocolli..." (well, maybe that's just me again... ;) ) Generally though, I think we New Englanders are a bit more reserved than yer average Dub and all this messy whiskey-induced emotion, absolute indulgence and carry-on of the holiday season is both absolutely compelling and a little bit overwhelming at the same time. Either way, there's no denying it's here.

More than enough food for thought

I've been thinking alot lately about how people fnd meaning and purpose in their lives. Maybe because I've been reading alot - about a lot of horrible things really, honour killings, alcoholism, and global warming to name just a few. And whenever I read another article about poverty in Africa or sex trafficking or, insert social ill here, I'm upset/worried/pissed-off. And then I put down the article and go to bed and wake up in the morning and go to work and forget. I spend my days drawing little pictures and laying out type and giving careful consideration to kerning and clean lines and the relative merits of helvetica. ;) And for the most part, I enjoy this but it all seems rather insignificant when faced with all the broken things in the world that desperately need attention. Sure, I ride my bicycle and recycle and vote and try to work on projects that contribute to the greater good, like public gardens and literacy schemes but it seems like small potatoes in relation the worlds big woes... I was reading a collection of quotes today (for use in a book we are putting together at work) and I came across a couple that seemed really appropriate to my frame of mind these days... Maybe they just make me feel better about working at the "frivolous" job of art instead of working to end world hunger but they moved me and it's nice to find a little piece of inspiration now and again...

"Optimism is a strategy for making a better future. Because unless you believe that the future can be better, it’s unlikely you will step up and take responsibility for making it so. If you assume that there’s no hope, you guarantee that there will be no hope. If you assume that there is an instinct for freedom, there are opportunities to change things, there’s a chance you may contribute to making a better world. The choice is yours."
Noam Chomsky

"What is success? To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived; that is to have succeeded."
Ralph Waldo Emerson

html-mnop

I've recently rediscovered the joys of html... After my horrendous first job in Ireland, I had serious web PTSD. ;) But I'm coming back to it... slowly. I'm building myself a personal website and having a bit of fun customizing the blog... Don't worry. I won't leave it all neon pink forever... but I'm craving a bit of colour after spending my day designing a corporate identity for a Human Resources Company.

Kingdom Come

Took a trip to Co. Kerry last weekend aka "The Kingdom." It's a haul from Dublin (just getting out of Dublin during rush hour on the main roads would make ya cry.) When you get to Limerick, yer still only half way there... but finally, 6.5 hours later, Tommy-boy and I rolled into Dingle. We rented a house for the weekend with some friends and the place was completely sweet - with gorgeous views out the windows of mountain peaks and pastureland. Our first night in Dingle, we ended up in a pub which was also a hardware store called Foxxy Johns (I'm sure there's a story there...) It seems a lot of the pubs in Dingle lead a double life... not surprising considering there are 50 pubs in a village of a few thousand at most... Viva la tourism. Anyway, the pub-slash-hardware-store had a bar on one side and a counter on the other with a haphazard array of nails, screws and tools... The next night, after a day of sightseeing on the rugged coast and a big seafood feed, we again found ourselves in another local pub - but this time the pub doubled as a welly-shop. Boxes of wellys lined one of the walls along with pillows, raingear, mattress covers and a scale (for weighing the wellys?!). There was a big group of us as it was a birthday night out so we all plonked ourselves behind the welly counter on a long bench and got comfortable. :)

If any of you find yerselves on the remote southwestern shores of Irlanda, Defo stop in Dingle. I spent a few mornings wandering the village and in addition to the 50 pubs and the grocery store, the town is choc-a-bloc with galleries and craft shops and little cafes and bakeries and restaurants. (I certainly did my part to support the local economy. ;))

It was great to get out of Dublin for the weekend but the highpoint for me was surfing. It sounds a bit odd to be surfing in late October but if you have a good wetsuit, it's like wearing a seal, and probably just about as warm. ;) A fabulous friend (who organised the whole weekend and was a great tourguide) lent me her board and gave me my first surfing lesson. Despite the fact that I couldn't feel my feet after I left the water (it doesn't feel cold until you get out!), it was great times. I definitely want to give it another go...perhaps in the summertime though!

Local Colour

By my New England standards, Ireland is completely lacking in proper seasons... I'm used to sweltering in a bathing suit in July and freezing in a snowsuit in February... Ireland could have you wearing jeans in July and well, jeans in January. And February. And April. There are really only two discernable seasons in Ireland: light and dark. In the summer it's light out until nearly midnight and in the winter it only gets light at 9am and stays light for a few anemic hours before the sun disappears again for 15 hours.

And so, with the closing of the summer (that never really happened weather-wise), I am trying to suck every last little bit of juice out of the remaining light and sun of the year. Autumnal light is arguably the most beautiful light of the year in any part of the northern hemisphere and is particularly lovely here. I took a late afternoon stroll through the neighborhood where I work, (which is called Ringsend) enjoying the warmth and sun. Ringsend is quinessential, old skool, docklands, Dublin but it's also undergoing a bit of revitalization / gentrification (depending on who you ask) with lots of new construction mixing with the old. Click on the pic above to see my hood in all it's gritty, glory.

Oh, but it is...

It may not look like a wedding photo but click the pic above for photos of my lovely friends' wedding. The wedding was on Cape Cod on probably the most beautiful day of the summer. Go Jess and Shawn. :)

Wedding Season

I went to two fabulous weddings this month, for a total of five this year and two more to go before Christmas. Is there somethin' in the water?! Click the pic above for my fabulous cousin's wedding. Unfortunately, there are fewer photos than I would have liked but perhaps I shouldn't have trusted the kodaking of the moment to a 9 year old... Oh well. ;)

Where am I?

(Click the pic above for some pics of the Boston peeps.)

I'm back. My holidays are over and I'm sitting at my desk at my job in Dublin. There's a wee bit of sun peeking out but it's nothing compared to the glorious New England summer that I left behind in Boston.

I keep having dreams lately where people from my life in Dublin meet people from my life in Boston. The dreams dip in and out of time and place, with my college boyfriend (circa 1996) meeting up with my present-day self and my current boss in Ireland meeting my dad in the states. Sometimes the various people get on like a house-on-fire but mostly they can't relate and I start to stress when I realize they have nothing in common - I'm the only bridge that links them and I'm not enough. It's like a rugby fan trying to relate to a Roman history buff. They have no common ground on which to meet. It's all very disconcerting but really totally appropriate to my life right now - my head is in two places at once.

I struggle everytime I go "home," to Boston and then return to my "home" in Dublin adjusting to one place and then the other. I may be able to make it from my parents' house in Boston to my apartment in Dublin in the bones of a day but it takes much longer for my mind to catch up to my circumstance.

Right now, I'm almost there, trying to get back on the ride that is life in Dublin, but I am always aware of what I might be missing in the other place. No matter where I am, what country or continent, I am always thinking of someone who's not there.

Saunter On

I've been away on a lovely holiday to the U.S. and A. for weddings, beaches, lobstah', family time, BBQs with my ladies, Walden Pond (and an unfortunate case of poison ivy.) I've been back for nearly a week but between going back to work, tossing and turning all night (cuz of the jet lag) and trying not to scratch, I still haven't managed to post the latest photos... So while yer all waiting with baited breath for visions of blue skies and warm weather photos, here's a little youtube gem. It's a *homemade*, Derry City (in Northern Ireland) version of that "united states of whatever" song, (whatever it's called.) It's pretty rough and rugged so if yer easily offended by the use of illicit drugs, premarital sex, street fights or giant ballbags beware... ;) They've pretty much jammed every Norn Iron colloquialism they could find into this song but unless yer well versed in the complexities of Norn Iron speak and can understand a thick Northy accent, good luck trying to cop it all. ;) I'm well used to the northys and their crazy long vowel sounds and even I struggled the first time I heard this one.

In case yer totally lost, "Saunter," is a Derry phrase which basically means, "F*ck Off / Piss Off or another colourful Nornism, "Take yerself away to f*ck."

Misunderestimations...

Was in the office the other day and my work colleague was typing away, writing up something. He turned to the room and asked, "How do you spell Michael?" (The name Michael in Irish is pronounced: Mee-Hall.) Always wanting to be helpful, ;) I started spelling away: "Sure, it's M-E-A-T-B-A-L-L." After everyone in the room started laughing their asses off (except for one other colleague who also thought he was asking about how to spell meatball) I realized my mistake. Whoops. Mee-hall, meatball...same, same.

On the same mispronounciations and general word-mangling tip, I heard this story from a friend recently: She's a flight attendant on Aer Lingus and regularly works the Dublin to US destinations routes. She was standing in the airport in the states while the passengers filled out their flight boarding cards to board the plane to Ireland. An American woman approached her (Why are they always American?!) and pointed to a word on the boarding card. "I don't understand this," she said. "What don't you understand?" asked my friend. "This word," the passenger responded and pointed to the card, "Ser-nom-ie." After realizing that the woman was not talking about tidal waves in Southeast Asia, my friend realized that the word the passenger was pointing to was, "Surname." The correct pronounciation did nothing to help the clueless passenger who still didn't cop the fact that a surname is your last name.

In her travels, my flight attendant friend also ended up staying in the same hotel as a bunch of members of the SWAT team (who were at a SWAT team convention - who knew?). Apparently, their brawn is a whole lot bigger than their brains as a number of them thought that Belgium was in Ireland. Hello? Basic geography people. I told her that she should have asked them if Mexico was in the United States and see how they responded. ;)

Where do these people come from and why, why are they allowed to represent my homeland?!

Pushing up the Slieve

The Bank Holiday weekends always inspire me to do something beyond laundry and a walk round the city centre. That extra day off seems to motivate everyone to take advantage of it. And so, Tommy-boy myself and a few friends found ourselves up in the Mourne Mountains for a day-long hike. The Mourne Mountain range rises abrubtly out of the sea and to an elevation of about 2,700 feet. On the drive from Dublin to Belfast (a drive I know all too well) they come dramatically into view just across the border into Co. Down and I've always wanted to climb in them.

After sorting out all the major details, the group of us picked out a mountain in the range to climb called Slieve Binian. It looked like a reasonable hike of about 8 miles and isn't the highest peak in the range so we thought we could all do it no bother... But sometimes the best laid plans fail... We drove along the coast for miles looking for the beginning of the trail and finally found what we thought was the Slieve Binian carpark...

We jumped on to a half-assed trail and just started to climb. And then we lost the trail but continued to climb. Everyone kept looking round asking, "Is that the trail?" There were a few mirage trails: "That's the trail, I see it up ahead!" Fortunately, since there are few to no trees on these mountains it's near impossible to get lost in them. Yer either going up towards the summit or down towards the sea.

Finally we came upon some other hikers with a map who informed us that we were not climbing Slive Binian but were in fact climbing, Slieve Donard, the highest mountain in the range and in NI. The hikers pointed us back in the direction of the real and actual trail (saving our ankles from prickly gorse and mud slides) and away we went. It was a good climb, with the last peak being the steepest and hardest and if it wasn't for my pride, I might have given up but was so very glad I didn't when I saw the incredible views from the summit.

All in, we were up and down the mountain in six hours, slightly weatherbeaten, midge eaten and with sore feet but otherwise feeling aces. If anyone's up for a hike... I'm in.

Daisy is a Lady

From Jerry Springer to Fat-free Fro-Yo, there are many opportunities to shake my head and say, "Only in America," in that sad world-weary voice (also used for disappointing but slightly amusing children.) It's less often that I can say, "Only in Ireland," (unless we're talking about 43 straight days of rain). That is, untill now.

I came into work the other morning and my work-colleague was talking about a beauty pageant he'd been to the day before. Everyone was fussing over the contestants, dolling them up and getting them ready for show time. These little beauties were shiny-clean, and looking their very best, nails filed, lips painted, and perfectly groomed. You might be wondering what's so unusual about that, Beauty pageants happen every day all over the world, but the contestants in this affair, were not little Jon Benet Ramsays but were, in fact, Fresian Cows. It was an extravaganza of Bovine beauties... The cows were brushed and oiled (to show off their attractive black and white spots). They were placed in "decorative" pens complete with gingham drapes and milk jugs filled with wild flowers. They had their lips painted and their nose-hairs plucked and last but not least, these farmland hotties were fitted with special raised platforms to make them look taller. (No Joke!) After I stopped laughing and got back into my chair, I realised that I was actually disappointed to have missed it. Afterall, how often do you get the opportunity to go to a cow beauty pageant?! Seriously. Only in Ireland. ;)

Taking off my Aran Jumper and throwing it on the ground and stomping on it...

Well. Finally. Just when I had given up and decided to slit my wrists, the sun appeared again. It was still lashing down last Friday afternoon when I set off with a big group of people to Co. Clare for the weekend. One of my softball friends turned 30 and she organised a big trip away with her friends from all over Ireland and everyone converged on the west coast on Friday night with rain gear and beer. After we'd all resigned ourselves to the fact that we were heading off camping in possibly the worst weather of the summer, we woke up on Saturday morning (in a hostel) to the most glorious day. This must be what people in drought feel like when it finally rains... It was absolutely divine. We took the ferry from a little town called Doolin over to Inis Oirr (pronounced Inishere), the smallest of the Aran Islands. On a bad day, I'd say a small island might be claustrophobic (nothin' to do but sit in the pub and get locked) but it was really, really, lovely on a hot sunny day. We spent the entire day outside, took walks, ate icecream, and generally soaked up the sun.

Since the weather was good, we decided to go fer it and camp. There's no campground on Inish Oirr so you just pitch your tent wherever suits. We found a sweet spot behind a dune on the beach and set down. Unfortunately one of the people who was supposed to bring a tent bailed and we found ourselves in the clown car situation of having 4 people trying to sleep in a 2 man tent... It's a good thing we stayed out until 3am at the pub - the less time spent in the tent, the better! In the end, there were only three of us in the tent but it was a serious tight squeeze! I really love camping, sleeping out in the air and waking up outside but I was a happy girl when I arrived home on Sunday night and snuggled into my lovely, warm, soft bed. And I only have to share it with one other person. ;)

I'd like to say that that streak of good weather continued... but that would clearly be too much to ask. I got actually drenched to the skin this morning as it poured buckets out of the sky during my entire 25 minute walk to work... It's lunchtime now and my jeans are still wet and my shoes are like two little lakes next to my desk. Monsoon season continues... Why exactly did I move to Ireland and not Tahiti?!

Click to pic above to see the exotic Irish sun making its brief appearance on Inis Oirr!

A Glasgow Kiss

For those of you who might not be familiar with Glasgow, a "Glasgow Kiss," isn't a peck on the cheek but is actually a headbutt to the nose...

Contrary to popular opinion, we found Glaswegians to be beyond nice. Our taxi driver was super chatty, a random punter on the street gave me his subway ticket with free fare on it and everyone we talked to was generally extremely friendly and helpful. The reputation of Glaswegians as a bit rough and tumble probably has more to do with the fact that it's home to the world's most contentious football rivalry (Celtic vs. Rangers) than the nature of the population at large. In fact, Glasgow is full of incredible architecture (both Arts and Crafts and Victorian), a ton of free museums, lots of indie cafes and ethnic grocery stores and an enormous park that's both beautiful and seemingly well used. It's also home to a lot of people whose accent is completely indecipherable. I did a lot of smiling and nodding and whispering under my breath, "What the f*ck is he saying?!" The wedding ceremony might as well have been in latin. ;) Fortunately, most of the other wedding guests who were from Belfast (only a short distance away and with it's own mental accent) also had no idea what any of the Glaswegians were saying so I didn't feel so bad about my cluelessness...

We managed to stay out at the wedding until the wee hours of Saturday and still get up and get a bit of sightseeing in on Sunday. Amazingly there was a bit of sun in Scotland on our last day there. After my last trip there a few years ago, I was expecting an arctic chill. Climate change must be in effect when Glasgow is sunny and warm and Dublin is drowning in it's own precipitation.