Currently, I am reading for fun.
Please hold your shock or applause. Yes, I will answer the unasked question.
I am reading for fun today not because it is Sabbath (Friday was my Sabbath) but because I am a controlling, legalistic workaholic whose behavioral patterns are relationally and psychologically destructive.
This is something which has recently been presented to me through an uncanny number of sources, resulting in an experience much like Dursleys with a particular letter...
I'm not okay with it. I want to be better. I want to be different. I want so much more than this, not because I'm a selfish brat (which, to be honest, I really have demonstrated myself to be), but because the people who love me deserve better than my half-assed--more like no-assed-attempt at loving them well, and that includes God.
Yeah, it's reading. Small digs, Odom.
But, like Rob Bell would say, as he does in his book Sex God (not the book I'm currently reading but a very insightful look at the connections between sexuality and spirituality), this is really about that.
It's reading. But it's indicative of the fact that I have, other than this moment, stopped staring at my computer screen and contented myself with the slow process of eating language for breakfast (or brunch or tea time snack or any meal really).
I am doing something "unproductive".
I am delighting in the creation of someone else.
I'm trying--so hard--to change.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Saturday, November 9, 2013
"We're Storming the Big Town"
To Stormont we go!
Stormont is the Belfast version of Parliament.
You can't see it well, but from this vantage point, you can see all of Belfast. Also, in the springtime, that long road down the center is lined on both sides with big, blossomy trees and shrubs and flowers.
Some notables about Stormont itself:
During the second world war, after no one would believe the poor diplomat who claimed that NI would be attacked by Germany and the country was left entirely unguarded and, subsequently, was bombed, Stormont was used as a military base for the Royal Airforce. That was a poorly structured sentence, but you get the point.
However, the airforce was loathe to the idea of a station in the structure for, as you can see, it is high-roofed and bright white.
The solution? Double double, toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Tar and manure were melded together and spread over the entirety of the immaculate building. Green ash was spread atop the road as well to make it blend into the surrounding grass.
Why not black paint? Excellent question, young man. Black paint would have seeped into the stone, dying it permanently. After the war, a group of men were hired to restore the building. For 7 years, their whole job was to chip the tar off the white stone and make it beautiful again.
The picture of the ceiling there also has a story. It was painted in the 20s and hasn't required a refresher since. There is a special coating of wax topcoat over it, which can never be duplicated, as its creator died with the recipe.
The chandelier was once gifted by Germany to his brother ruler in England (the reason for the eagle between the branches which you can't see because I tend to be haphazard in my picture taking and it's blurry. But the eagle is the symbol of Germany). After a feud between them, it was sent to Ireland and officially gifted to Stormont within the recent past.
Stormont is the Belfast version of Parliament.
You can't see it well, but from this vantage point, you can see all of Belfast. Also, in the springtime, that long road down the center is lined on both sides with big, blossomy trees and shrubs and flowers.
Some notables about Stormont itself:
During the second world war, after no one would believe the poor diplomat who claimed that NI would be attacked by Germany and the country was left entirely unguarded and, subsequently, was bombed, Stormont was used as a military base for the Royal Airforce. That was a poorly structured sentence, but you get the point.
However, the airforce was loathe to the idea of a station in the structure for, as you can see, it is high-roofed and bright white.
The solution? Double double, toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Tar and manure were melded together and spread over the entirety of the immaculate building. Green ash was spread atop the road as well to make it blend into the surrounding grass.
Why not black paint? Excellent question, young man. Black paint would have seeped into the stone, dying it permanently. After the war, a group of men were hired to restore the building. For 7 years, their whole job was to chip the tar off the white stone and make it beautiful again.
The picture of the ceiling there also has a story. It was painted in the 20s and hasn't required a refresher since. There is a special coating of wax topcoat over it, which can never be duplicated, as its creator died with the recipe.
The chandelier was once gifted by Germany to his brother ruler in England (the reason for the eagle between the branches which you can't see because I tend to be haphazard in my picture taking and it's blurry. But the eagle is the symbol of Germany). After a feud between them, it was sent to Ireland and officially gifted to Stormont within the recent past.
 |
| This is the NI cresst. 6 roses. One for each county. |
The picture within the picture in the second shot there is a portrait done, which includes faces of current members of the government, including a man named Paddy Roche, who is the students' politics and economy professor here. A unionist man (pro-NI-UK). When we went to Dublin with him, he had to bring Hadden along; Paddy is banned from several political places because of his non-nationalist views.
It's a funny thing about the politics in NornIron. Actually, Westminster closed down Stormont for about 30 years during The Troubles. It was like a child in timeout for a tantrum. A 30 year tantrum.
When it started back up, the people elected into power were who? The heads of the criminal parties responsible for the destruction. They showed us a picture of the major leaders and who they used to be. Things like, "Chef, school teacher, ex-con, ex-con, ex-con, ex-head of paramilitary group..." A bad wrap sheet, a profession-killer in the USA, actually makes you a likely candidate here.
For now, the country is stable under the direction of the two opposing leaders (a unionist and a nationalist co-rule).I have my own projections, though. There is going to come a time when The Republic and their nationalist followers will be tired of waiting for their wayward bride to come back voluntarily. And I do not want to be here when that happens.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Oot
Though I will freely admit my hermit ways, I do occasionally mix with the outside world in a social manner. This week, I did so not one, not two, but three different evenings. Not entirely of my own volition, but it's really not the thought that counts...
Uno:
Mondays are community group nights! Shelby and I have missed the past few due to lack of transit, but we made sure to get there this week. Wes (the leader) had told us to bring our fun hats and be ready to party. Uhm. Yes. I am always about fun hats. Get it from my Grandma Ruthie. :) (Family joke. Slash, family reality).
There were no actual fun hats involved this time, but there was a good deal of this:
Everyone but we two Americans had heard of this game. What you do is start out with an empty cereal box. Put it in the middle of the room and, without anything but your feet touching the ground, pick it up with your mouth.
After each "round", the box is cut down further until only a wee flat square on the floor remains. It's such good fun. Even the elderly lady in our group joined in. More flexi than you'd expect. Although the tongue waggling down from her mouth toward the box is something my mind won't be able to erase.
The whole thing was hilarious. Then came a nice friendly game of mafia.
I'd say the evening was fun hat title appropriate. A good community laugh is always an excellent way to render people more comfortable with one another.
Dos:
Evening two was the Storehouse Fashion Show held at Cafe Vaudeville which, by the by, is gorgeous.
They're a blast to be around, though, despite our need for a translator (who, when she's around is Kiera). It's been a pleasure to have them adopt us into their lives.
Tres:
I done geared up and snazzed up in a right adult (pronounced "ah-dull-t" for you non okies) fashion to attend a postgrad party at Queen's.
Everything from my earrings, dress, heels, and jacket was styled entirely by somebody who isn't me; namely, my mother. It deserves recognition, really. When I left for college, she started reading 'InStyle" fashion magazines. I come home and she's all chatty about Katie Holmes and knows what's hott and what's not and what's on the fashion horizon.
It was all very disorienting, but has been beneficial in the alteration of my street urchin style ways. Guaranteed if you compliment me on something cute I'm wearing, I'll respond with "mom-buy."
Enough about my fashion-forward mother, though. Let's talk about social gatherings.
Dante had a lot of things pretty dead on, I think. But a chunk of his Inferno must have gone missing pre-publication. There's just no other explanation for the utter lack of a social gathering hell ring.
There are few things worse than walking into a crowded room and seeing no one you know.
Conversely, there are few things more relieving than encountering said event then hearing your own name called out.
Helloooooo Patti! Out of the whopping seven of my classmates, only two of us showed.
Patti and I found a nice wee place and chatted over psychoanalyzation and social theory for the better part of an hour. It was actually very nice to get to know her outside of class. Especially because (drumroll please) she'll be joining my class of one! Upping our attendance by half. Thank God.
Did that change the fact that I was 20 minutes late and left an hour early? No. But it made the 45 minutes of attendance quite tolerable, if not enjoyable, indeed.
Uno:
Mondays are community group nights! Shelby and I have missed the past few due to lack of transit, but we made sure to get there this week. Wes (the leader) had told us to bring our fun hats and be ready to party. Uhm. Yes. I am always about fun hats. Get it from my Grandma Ruthie. :) (Family joke. Slash, family reality).
There were no actual fun hats involved this time, but there was a good deal of this:
Everyone but we two Americans had heard of this game. What you do is start out with an empty cereal box. Put it in the middle of the room and, without anything but your feet touching the ground, pick it up with your mouth.
After each "round", the box is cut down further until only a wee flat square on the floor remains. It's such good fun. Even the elderly lady in our group joined in. More flexi than you'd expect. Although the tongue waggling down from her mouth toward the box is something my mind won't be able to erase.
The whole thing was hilarious. Then came a nice friendly game of mafia.
I'd say the evening was fun hat title appropriate. A good community laugh is always an excellent way to render people more comfortable with one another.
Dos:
Evening two was the Storehouse Fashion Show held at Cafe Vaudeville which, by the by, is gorgeous.
The fashion show was high fashion vs. pre-loved clothing, as one of the branches of Storehouse is a clothing bank, the goal of which is not only to clothe people but to clothe them in things they can feel confident in, things they'll like.
To that end, I can see how that could seem vain or "not quite in the realm of outreach" But to me it makes sense. Rich or poor, you want to feel as though what you wear reflects who ya are, not who somebody else defines ya as or what you're forced to be defined as because of your position in life. I dunno. Judge for yourself.
Shelby, Abbi, and I met up at the bar with two of our Belfast best friends, Lynsey and Lauren. Absolutely love them. Shelby compares them to squirrels. In a good way. They're quite energetic and talk enormously quickly, especially to one another. We can almost never understand them. It's a time one wishes for subtitles.
They're a blast to be around, though, despite our need for a translator (who, when she's around is Kiera). It's been a pleasure to have them adopt us into their lives.
Tres:
I done geared up and snazzed up in a right adult (pronounced "ah-dull-t" for you non okies) fashion to attend a postgrad party at Queen's.
Everything from my earrings, dress, heels, and jacket was styled entirely by somebody who isn't me; namely, my mother. It deserves recognition, really. When I left for college, she started reading 'InStyle" fashion magazines. I come home and she's all chatty about Katie Holmes and knows what's hott and what's not and what's on the fashion horizon.
It was all very disorienting, but has been beneficial in the alteration of my street urchin style ways. Guaranteed if you compliment me on something cute I'm wearing, I'll respond with "mom-buy."
Enough about my fashion-forward mother, though. Let's talk about social gatherings.
Dante had a lot of things pretty dead on, I think. But a chunk of his Inferno must have gone missing pre-publication. There's just no other explanation for the utter lack of a social gathering hell ring.
There are few things worse than walking into a crowded room and seeing no one you know.
Conversely, there are few things more relieving than encountering said event then hearing your own name called out.
Helloooooo Patti! Out of the whopping seven of my classmates, only two of us showed.
Patti and I found a nice wee place and chatted over psychoanalyzation and social theory for the better part of an hour. It was actually very nice to get to know her outside of class. Especially because (drumroll please) she'll be joining my class of one! Upping our attendance by half. Thank God.
Did that change the fact that I was 20 minutes late and left an hour early? No. But it made the 45 minutes of attendance quite tolerable, if not enjoyable, indeed.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
A Bit of Belfast
Life in this city is a slight differing from my sweet hometown (and adopted hometown) of Tulsa and Siloam Springs. Here is a little list of my favorite eccentricities:
-Food comes from real animals. If you pass a sheep on the side of the road (which, in itself is weird) you may very well have that sheep for supper if you order it later.
-Pants do not mean pants. Pants mean skivvies. Trousers are pants. So when you tell someone their pants are cute, they flip thinking they're showing off their unders.
-Jumpers are sweaters and not little denim dresses your mom made you wear over your turtlenecks as a child.
-Cars don't mind a bit about pedestrians! Meaning, they will run you over in a blink. Because of this, I like to play a game called, "Who'd get hit first" when it comes to crossing the street. If there is someone coming from the opposite side whose crossing would be more dangerous, then I feel free to pass. That or following someone in front of me. Ladies with strollers are a favorite. I'm not evil. I swear.
-Bikes aren't allowed on the sidewalk.
-A little green coated man comes about the neighborhood each night to delitter it. Belfast is one of the cleanest cities I've ever been in. They take littering seriously.
-Outgoing mail goes in community mailboxes and not in individual mailboxes. That way, the postman only comes to your door if he has mail for you.
-People don't respond to "thank you" with "you're welcome." Instead, they give you an awkward "Ok." Shelby and I have been noticing this since the start, but we've realized that when they actually do use the word "welcome," they mean it in the sense that they're happy you've come along. "You're very welcome here."
-The post office asked if I wanted Christmas stamps. DUH. No trees, no sparkly lights, no santa or snow men. The Virgin Mary. Naturally.
-Everyone says "Hiya!" in greeting. It's all I can do to resist quoting Heavyweights.
-"Wee." A wee receipt, a wee second, a wee jumper, a wee nap, a wee sumo wrestler.
-Guy Fawkes day is actually celebrated. The Irish love a good political insurrection. I was out last night and folks in GF masks were drum circling it up at the gates of City Hall.
-Boxing Day is also a recognized holiday. I've already begun a list of ways that I can purposely misunderstand it when the time comes.
-The bus system. The bus really comes when it darn well pleases. A minute before the anticipated time, five minutes after the anticipated time, so early or so late that two buses come simultaneously. No matter at all! And sometimes, it just doesn't come at all. I do not take the bus for granted. When I see it turn onto the street or come up the hill, a Princess Diaries movie scene comes into mind. It's raining, she's in a top-down convertible, and her car has died, leaving her stranded. Then, out of the darkness, two headlights *cue victorious music*. Her bodyguard has found her and whisks her away to the ball. Those are my feelings toward the bus driver every time.
There are so many more, but that's a good wee start to whet your fancy.
[Unrelated happening worth note: I'm writing again! I'm writing content for a company. Submitted 3 articles Monday and have a few more to write today. Hooray and hallelujah!]
-Food comes from real animals. If you pass a sheep on the side of the road (which, in itself is weird) you may very well have that sheep for supper if you order it later.
-Pants do not mean pants. Pants mean skivvies. Trousers are pants. So when you tell someone their pants are cute, they flip thinking they're showing off their unders.
-Jumpers are sweaters and not little denim dresses your mom made you wear over your turtlenecks as a child.
-Cars don't mind a bit about pedestrians! Meaning, they will run you over in a blink. Because of this, I like to play a game called, "Who'd get hit first" when it comes to crossing the street. If there is someone coming from the opposite side whose crossing would be more dangerous, then I feel free to pass. That or following someone in front of me. Ladies with strollers are a favorite. I'm not evil. I swear.
-Bikes aren't allowed on the sidewalk.
-A little green coated man comes about the neighborhood each night to delitter it. Belfast is one of the cleanest cities I've ever been in. They take littering seriously.
-Outgoing mail goes in community mailboxes and not in individual mailboxes. That way, the postman only comes to your door if he has mail for you.
-People don't respond to "thank you" with "you're welcome." Instead, they give you an awkward "Ok." Shelby and I have been noticing this since the start, but we've realized that when they actually do use the word "welcome," they mean it in the sense that they're happy you've come along. "You're very welcome here."
-The post office asked if I wanted Christmas stamps. DUH. No trees, no sparkly lights, no santa or snow men. The Virgin Mary. Naturally.
-Everyone says "Hiya!" in greeting. It's all I can do to resist quoting Heavyweights.
-"Wee." A wee receipt, a wee second, a wee jumper, a wee nap, a wee sumo wrestler.
-Guy Fawkes day is actually celebrated. The Irish love a good political insurrection. I was out last night and folks in GF masks were drum circling it up at the gates of City Hall.
-Boxing Day is also a recognized holiday. I've already begun a list of ways that I can purposely misunderstand it when the time comes.
-The bus system. The bus really comes when it darn well pleases. A minute before the anticipated time, five minutes after the anticipated time, so early or so late that two buses come simultaneously. No matter at all! And sometimes, it just doesn't come at all. I do not take the bus for granted. When I see it turn onto the street or come up the hill, a Princess Diaries movie scene comes into mind. It's raining, she's in a top-down convertible, and her car has died, leaving her stranded. Then, out of the darkness, two headlights *cue victorious music*. Her bodyguard has found her and whisks her away to the ball. Those are my feelings toward the bus driver every time.
There are so many more, but that's a good wee start to whet your fancy.
[Unrelated happening worth note: I'm writing again! I'm writing content for a company. Submitted 3 articles Monday and have a few more to write today. Hooray and hallelujah!]
Monday, November 4, 2013
Comic Relief
It's been a pretty emotionally heavy week in my wee blogosphere here. Sorry for that. Actually, not. You choose to read. :)
Anywho, it's been requested that I give some more details as to my classes:
At my high school during one of their Senior Farewells, there was this skit in which each of the 7 or so students pretended to be one of our teachers, merely saying one of their taglines. It was funnier when they did it. Either way, my three professors in tagline and behavioral traits form:
Sinead (pronounced "Snid"): listens while slouched way down in her chair then respond with eyebrows up and a slow, deep head bob while saying, "Riiiiiiight, riiiiight, yeah."
Stefanie (pronounced "Schtefanie"): leans way forward when she listens with her neck outstretched, totally tense and says, "Tow-tahlly, tow-tahlly. yah."
Eamonn (pronounced "E-mn"): strokes his beard or runs his fingers through his hair constantly and starts with a sort of chuckle-harumph before he responds with, "Yes...yes..right. well. not quite."
My first class (the one in which I am the only student) is with Eamonn. I've no idea what to call him. Doctor Hughes? Professor? Tutor? Eamonn? I go with nothing. I just greet him.
Class progresses in the exact same way every week:
"Have you got any questions?"
"About the class or about the reading?"
"Either."
*Jamie squirms trying to figure out what she's supposed to say, knowing that she doesn't even know where to begin with a question on either the text or the class and knowing that he's not looking for a question. He's looking for a position. Therefore, she starts spouting off random things she's noticed in the text.
*Chuckle harumph*"Yes...yes...right. well. not quite" then goes on to talk about everything in creation except for the actual reading. Jamie hasn't the faintest idea how anything that's happening relates, and she zones out for long periods of time. "Yes, well getting to the point of how it relates to the text..." and connects it in ways that are totally above Jamie's head. "Have you got any questions?"
*Jamie slowly nods her head as if in understanding and says, "Not quite. I'm still just processing through."
Class ends. Every week.
Today, though, I brought in coffee and my new stress ball. [Digression: my stress ball. It's a wee globe of a nice weight and size that reminds me of one of my favorite books. Better yet. It's also a snowglobe, a bouncy ball, and a light-up ball. What. Yes.] I played with it all through class (which actually helped me focus better), but I dropped it near the end and it went bezerk with the light show, to which Eamonn exclaimed: "Blimey!!!"
hahahahaha. Blimey. That's a thing here.
My second class is a gaggle of discussion and energy and it goes by pretty quickly, I'd say.
To be clear, I really enjoy the reading for both of these classes. I just usually am at a loss as to the content of the discussion. Did I google for "Irish history for dummies" today? Yes. Yes I did.
Ways that my classmates and I try to appear as if we know class information:
-"To that point...oh I've just lost it!" (flips through book as if to rediscover answer)
-Repeating in different words exactly what the person before you said
-Saying, when called upon, that you are processing.
-Talking well about something entirely unrelated and mentioning that it reminds you of the text.
-Bringing up a point from a previous class you had with that same professor and getting them off-topic
-The deep nod
-Making a question of the last statement made and making it sound as though you've just made a profound statement. agh. Too many "made"s.
-Looking deeply into your text and writing lots and lots of notes or typing lots of nonsense. Too busy transcribing brilliance to answer questions or participate in discussion.
At 17:30 each day, the classroom is filled with the sweet scent of chinese food. Every week. I finally discovered that we abuck (yah I said it. abuck) ChinaChina foodery. Talk about distracting and far more interesting at dinnertime than Victorian Irish literature.
Am I enjoying my education? Yes. I love the readings; I love the pieces I understand, and I actually enjoy getting into lightly heated discussions over the text with my classmates.
That wasn't a very exhaustive post. Sorry, ma. But it gives a nice little image for ya.
Anywho, it's been requested that I give some more details as to my classes:
At my high school during one of their Senior Farewells, there was this skit in which each of the 7 or so students pretended to be one of our teachers, merely saying one of their taglines. It was funnier when they did it. Either way, my three professors in tagline and behavioral traits form:
Sinead (pronounced "Snid"): listens while slouched way down in her chair then respond with eyebrows up and a slow, deep head bob while saying, "Riiiiiiight, riiiiight, yeah."
Stefanie (pronounced "Schtefanie"): leans way forward when she listens with her neck outstretched, totally tense and says, "Tow-tahlly, tow-tahlly. yah."
Eamonn (pronounced "E-mn"): strokes his beard or runs his fingers through his hair constantly and starts with a sort of chuckle-harumph before he responds with, "Yes...yes..right. well. not quite."
My first class (the one in which I am the only student) is with Eamonn. I've no idea what to call him. Doctor Hughes? Professor? Tutor? Eamonn? I go with nothing. I just greet him.
Class progresses in the exact same way every week:
"Have you got any questions?"
"About the class or about the reading?"
"Either."
*Jamie squirms trying to figure out what she's supposed to say, knowing that she doesn't even know where to begin with a question on either the text or the class and knowing that he's not looking for a question. He's looking for a position. Therefore, she starts spouting off random things she's noticed in the text.
*Chuckle harumph*"Yes...yes...right. well. not quite" then goes on to talk about everything in creation except for the actual reading. Jamie hasn't the faintest idea how anything that's happening relates, and she zones out for long periods of time. "Yes, well getting to the point of how it relates to the text..." and connects it in ways that are totally above Jamie's head. "Have you got any questions?"
*Jamie slowly nods her head as if in understanding and says, "Not quite. I'm still just processing through."
Class ends. Every week.
Today, though, I brought in coffee and my new stress ball. [Digression: my stress ball. It's a wee globe of a nice weight and size that reminds me of one of my favorite books. Better yet. It's also a snowglobe, a bouncy ball, and a light-up ball. What. Yes.] I played with it all through class (which actually helped me focus better), but I dropped it near the end and it went bezerk with the light show, to which Eamonn exclaimed: "Blimey!!!"
hahahahaha. Blimey. That's a thing here.
My second class is a gaggle of discussion and energy and it goes by pretty quickly, I'd say.
To be clear, I really enjoy the reading for both of these classes. I just usually am at a loss as to the content of the discussion. Did I google for "Irish history for dummies" today? Yes. Yes I did.
Ways that my classmates and I try to appear as if we know class information:
-"To that point...oh I've just lost it!" (flips through book as if to rediscover answer)
-Repeating in different words exactly what the person before you said
-Saying, when called upon, that you are processing.
-Talking well about something entirely unrelated and mentioning that it reminds you of the text.
-Bringing up a point from a previous class you had with that same professor and getting them off-topic
-The deep nod
-Making a question of the last statement made and making it sound as though you've just made a profound statement. agh. Too many "made"s.
-Looking deeply into your text and writing lots and lots of notes or typing lots of nonsense. Too busy transcribing brilliance to answer questions or participate in discussion.
At 17:30 each day, the classroom is filled with the sweet scent of chinese food. Every week. I finally discovered that we abuck (yah I said it. abuck) ChinaChina foodery. Talk about distracting and far more interesting at dinnertime than Victorian Irish literature.
Am I enjoying my education? Yes. I love the readings; I love the pieces I understand, and I actually enjoy getting into lightly heated discussions over the text with my classmates.
That wasn't a very exhaustive post. Sorry, ma. But it gives a nice little image for ya.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
A Week in Her Shoes
And if the world were black or white entirely
And all the charts were plain
Instead of a mad weir of tigerish waters,
A prism of delight and pain,
We might be surer where we wished to go
Or again we might be merely
Bored but in brute reality there is no
Road that is right entirely
- excerpt from Louis MacNeice: "Entirely"
Therefore, it was a week of fasting and walks. Since my sincerity is not to be trusted in food fasts, I redirected it to the next obvious thing: liquid. Anything that wasn't water was off-limits. I have never wanted tea so badly. However, when I felt myself craving it, I took it as an opportunity for prayer and focus.
In addition, I took a daily walk. Sometimes alone, sometimes with others.
Monday, I decided to take a morning run. Those who know me know that running is not nearly my forte. I look like some sort of wounded animal. It ain't pretty and I give up fast. It's my go-to for burning off excess emotion, though. My wee run ended in walking the perimeter of my home.
Tuesday, I walked at night down to the food co-op about a half mile away to top up my bus pass. I left the house at 17:30, which mean my descent down the hill matched the descent of the sun, and my walk home was dark. Cold air, music, and seeing my neighborhood by night. It may be my favorite walk of the week.
Seen at Co-Op: He's with Royal Mail.
Isn't his wee truck just the cutest little thing? I love it I love it.
Wednesday: I finished up my first class' homework early, so after lunch, I headed into town for a few errands and then a dander down to Queen's Library to retrieve my books for class 2. Just before I started down to University, the heaven's opened up (from the side) and spurted water on us like a slit jugular, in pulses. Luckily, my "errands" were to pick up an umbrella and some wellies, so I changed into them, slipped my cloth shoes into my backpack, and headed out.
The McClay Library in "Fall"
yes, two views of the same thing. The first because it's clear and the second because I like the reflection of the light on the wet stone. It's my favorite walk in Belfast, from the library to the bus stop. Especially when it's wet, the whole street glows and the church at the end of it is lit at odd angles, giving it an ominous look, but ominous in a good way. I don't know the right word.
Thursday was Halloween! My walk was more of a swagger in my sweet onesie and, of course, my smooth dance moves (not smooth. not cool even kind of. don't let me fool you). The Europa Hotel was right across the street from Robinson's Pub, where I was.
Fun fact: The Europa was the most bombed location in all of Belfast during The Troubles. It's also a thing here to fasten yourself to the top and rope shimmy down the hotel. Man, I butchered that. There is probably a real name for what I just described. Either way...
Friday's walk was in Dublin. I went with the group of students down to the south. Dublin is built up around the River Liffey. Our walk mostly involved walking from Grafton (tourist shoppy area) down to Kildare Street (political and artistic area).
This is across the street from the Leinster House (like the capitol building. hub of political life). This house in particular has absolutely no historical value that I know of, it just happened to have a lovely door next to a really cool lamp post.
It was also on this day that Hadden (wise and old. all you need to know) told me something I thought was some very good fodder for thought: "If you are true in your intentions and ambitions to follow God, no matter where he's leading you, then he may not show you the one right door--in fact he probably won't, love--but he will make absolute sure you don't open the wrong one."
Good words and good perspective.
Saturday: Turning point: figurative and also pun.
Wet streets, if I haven't mentioned before, are one of the most soothing things, especially wet streets that have stop lights glowing on them. There's a place in Tulsa that is especially beautiful in the rain. It's a couple stoplights in a row with an overpass separating them. The whole street glows, but you can only see it from certain angles. Mmm.
I went out at 17:30, but it had been dark for an hour already. I walked from the house down the hill to the stoplight above. No earbuds, no people. Before I left, I was trying to finish up some homework and found myself praying instead. I don't know. I just felt different in my head and in my heart before leaving for this one.
And it was a different walk and I came home from it with an entirely different perspective, one which didn't make me cheerful exactly but one which finally gave me peace, like that's what my pro-con list had been lacking all along.
For the first time all week in my debacle-ing, I saw my own part in the problem. Praise God for that.
Sunday: I anticipated the ability to tell you that today brought total resolution and clarity, but it hasn't. Some things can't be fixed that fast. That doesn't mean they can't be fixed or that it's not right to fix them, but change is hard and slow and forces you to own up to yourself and confront your insecurities and shortcomings and that's just never fun.
The "autumnal" walk to and home from church. Joined by Abbi and Shelby and mostly spent in silence. Silence which I usually fill up with mindless chatter because that's just what I do in my own socially anxious way, but I didn't today. I just let it be quiet and okay. The sky was perfectly cloudless, the wind was a little whippity, but overall, it was a nice cleansing walk.
My final walk of the week was 12 hours later and to the mailbox just a bit down the road. Why tonight and not tomorrow? Because tomorrow I might have answers. And tonight I just have faith.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Dubstepping
Dubstep: abstract. a ridiculous music craze to which frat boys and people who wish they were frat boys subscribe.
Of course, because it's me, there had to be some sweet frozen goodness involved in the day. But seriously, look at that. Tell me you would have resisted. I dare you.
Dub-stepping: literal. stepping into the streets of Dublin with a group of semi-culturally aware people.
I am of the latter.
A city built up around the River Liffey for trade and commerce, Dublin is a hub for tradespeople. You may wonder of what nature this trade is. Or you may not wonder at all. Dublin is the birthplace of Guinness Beer. Now, before you go all teetotalling crazy on me, let me reassure you and defend Guinness.
Before I came to Ireland the first time, I was required to read a book entitled "The Search for God and Guinness." In it, I learned all about the beer's history, how it was created as an actually healthy substitute for other lagers, and how gosh darn well Guinness treated his workers and his workers' families, even today. In a time of famine and utter poverty, Guinness fought for social justice. And won. It's a pretty insane story, really.
I have a thing for post offices. Sometimes back at home or at school, I would write someone a letter just so I could go to the post office. Don't really know why. Don't have a specific warm childhood memory associated with post offices (except a sweet elementary school field trip involving being given an airplane stamp), I just like them. They're soothing.
My friends, meet the mother of all post offices.
You may be wondering what those odd little squiggles are where there should be words. We're in Ireland, right? They speak English! Nope. Gaelic is actually the official language of The Republic. Spoken in homes, taught in schools. They've been fighting for ages to make it the only language, but alas, the colonization did its job too well, and English has stuck.
Of course, because it's me, there had to be some sweet frozen goodness involved in the day. But seriously, look at that. Tell me you would have resisted. I dare you.
In other news, since we don't have Thanksgiving here, Belfast is already stepping into Christmas. For me, this means seeking out and listening to every version of "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" and dancing to the NSync Holiday Album like it's 1998.
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