Started the day off right with the "family meeting" (I assigned room checks for this week) and a staff meeting (the little cooks slept through it). Next, I scampered off with my screen shot google map to find Tomb Street. Yes, I informed everyone on my way out where I was headed because, well, I guess I don't have a good reason, I was just a little freaked out with the idea of looking for a warehouse on Tomb Street.
On the walk there (a walk on which I did not get lost but did ask several very unhelpful people for directions. SO glad that for once I listened to my inner traffic director and not the general public), I ran into this lovely clock.
Don't worry. Found Royal Mail and picked up my package without being kidnapped or mugged. Then to class! Yes of course I got lost. Just so you know, my 2 o clock was actually my 4 o clock and vice versa. The poetry master's program participants were very kind though...
Once I found the correct room--the office up five flights of stairs, even though it's technically the third floor of the third building, the one you can't actually get to from the third building--I started in on my first class of my master's program with Dr. Eamonn Hughes (resident fire warden, by the way. He has a neon slicker to prove it): Irish Writing from 1920-1960. We're calling it the middle child syndrome era of Irish literature because it's a bit forgotten. It's not so far away in history that it's interesting and it's not so close to now that it's modern.
Through a series of questions, it became evident to my professor that I hadn't a spark of an idea about...anything. I'd read the introductory chapters he'd assigned, but I don't have a literature or a history degree, and I'm not Irish. Thus, class number one was spent on Irish history lessons from the 1900s on. Did you know that Ireland could be considered both a colony and also not a colony? It can.
The view, one stair flight down from Dr. Hughes' office:
Somebody get me a singing chimney sweep.
My next class--down 5 flights of stairs, over three hallways, up one flight of stairs, around a bend, down a flight of stairs, take a left--is Wilde to Heaney. The first few sessions are taught by Dr. Sinead Sturgeon. She's the loveliest little creature.
Today, she waltzed into class with a tray of wee, wee goblets, announced that we were to celebrate at 5 properly, but first, my presentation. I hadn't done any outside reading (note: do for next time) but I had read and taken notes extensively and felt really confident about my topic. I discussed Wilde in relation to social justice, religion vs. God, nature vs. nurture, tied them all together, and weaved them through a myriad of his short stories. It was actually really fun.
17:10: actual event: Sinead: "What sets Wilde aside in this sphere is that his structure--Oh goodness, the sherry! It's time!!" Then out of her bag, she pulls out a bottle of sherry and serves us. We spent the next hour drinking sherry and debating Oscar Wilde.
Four plus hours in class. You'd think I'd be ready to scream. I loved it. I think this is going to be really fun.
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