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!]

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.

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"

It was a week of pro-con listing and prayer.

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. 

Dubstepping

Dubstep: abstract. a ridiculous music craze to which frat boys and people who wish they were frat boys subscribe.

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. 

Monster Mash

Tonight, a very drunk Kenyan man asked me to bear his children. So...there's that.

Happy Halloween, everybody!

Halloween has long been a favorite holiday. When I was little bitty, my daddy and I would go trick-or-treating together. We tried all different modes of transportation. Some years we drove, some years we walked, and I know there was at least one year in there we went via 4wheeler. It was just straight fun.

Then, when I got home, I would sit in front of the fire place and neurotically sort all of the candy. I don't actually remember sharing, but I'm sure a few Almond Joys went missing when my back was turned. :)

All time favorite costume, though, has to have been in college. Junemore year  I went as a wallflower. Had it planned for months (Side note: One day, for some occasion, I and my significant other at the time will go as a Heroic Couplet. Dress up as superheroes and speak only in couplets. Booyah). Since I'm not big on social gatherings, it gave me a brilliant excuse to be excruciatingly awkward the entire night and it be totally acceptable. I went to far as to lie down and hide in a corner on stage while they were doing some sort of awards. One of which I won and they had to find me. It was truly great.

Tonight, Halloween was spent at Robinson's Pub skaraoke-ing. Yes, folks. That's scary karaoke. Since we've a curfew of 11 (or at least the students do), we got there at 9 when it opened and literally were the party. Others joined later.

I went as cookie monster. Thanks, Forever Lazy!

I know. I've never looked more appealing in my life. It's practically the only outfit I will agree to wear if and when I go manhunting. You know?

(--> Two pirates and two onesides walk into a bar. That's it. That's the punchline. Oh, and the part where literally no one else in the bar is in costume...)

Did I karaoke? Pft. Did I karaoke...OF COURSE.

You see, small groups of people I know, no way. No way no way no way will I embarrass myself. But goodness, you put me in front of a large group of people with maybe one person for support and I will blow your mind with shamelessness.

This evening, that meant very loud, very terrible singing to Ke$ha's Tik Tok while interpretive dancing...in a blue onesie with the hood up...sober. They also announced my name as Jimmy, which the guys at the back mockingly catcalled. People here. No one can say my name.

As if that wasn't good enough, then we got back on the bus where I was soon joined by my Kenyan friend who plopped himself down partially on top of me. 20 minute bus ride, my friends, trying to interpret his strong Kenyan/drunk accent and respond accordingly.

His life goals include lots of children and living out happy days with his family. He thinks his mother would like me, but I better get a move on the children train because she already had four by the time she was twenty-two. He just got out of a long-term relationship, so no strings there. "You German?" Nope! "You look like Russia." Uh...ok! I don't really even know what that means.

(My face at the mention of childbirth: a mix of horror and confusion.)

Oh there's more, but I'll spare you. I may have just missed my one and only opportunity to have mocha babies, though.

Tonight's group:

Comes in Waves

According to Professor Eamonn, there was some sort of minor hurricane off the coast of England this past week. He told me about the weather when he caught my horrified face looking out the window watching us get slammed with rain and listening to the wind screech like a pissy ex girlfriend.

NI is getting the backlash of it all. I would have known this if I had checked the weather.

The thing is, I don't check the weather anymore. In Oklahoma and Arkansas, I always check the weather. It's one of my favorite parts of every day. It's wildly different from one week or hour to another and I can't wait to see if the projected forecast lines up with reality. It's nerdy and weird, I know. But when I move back and you want to know the highs and lows and percent chance of rain for any given day, I'm your girl.

Here, though, it's different. Mornings are very bright usually and pretty lovely to walk about in. Then, around 2 or so, it clouds up, and by 5:30 it's dark. Expect rain and cloud cover throughout.

Because I don't check the weather, I wouldn't know that English waves were to be splashing our streets and skies with that level of force.

Life in the house and life for me has gotten into patterns. Monday mornings are family meetings followed by hours of class and, if we can snag a ride, Bible study. All the rest of the week, I read. Every hour that I'm not out with the students for a meal or something, I am doing my prep work for class. Fridays sometimes, I go on the day trips with the students, but mostly, I read.

Not complaining. I like to read. Always have. I mention it to say that I am settled into routine. Even the insanity of house relationships has calmed. There's no reason to check the weather. The incoming waves take me by surprise.

Practical Christianity.

The realm of Christianity often remains up there in the cloud of happy ideas. You  hear, "Do not let anyone look down on you because you are young," or "Fear not!" or "Cast all your cares on Jesus," but what does that look like?

Do you stand up for yourself? Go jump in front of bullets?

Let's be honest, I'm really most concerned with that last one. Casting our anxieties on Jesus. Taking our thoughts captive. At what point is it just faking it till we feel it?

Sure, in the morningtime, we pour out our hearts to Jesus, ask for guidance and peace and a big cosmic hug, but then you go out into your day. Things haven't changed. All those things that were filling you with fear and anxiety are still there! But you cast your anxieties on Jesus! So you feel as though if you're not joyful and bubbly, then something is wrong. So you do it anyway until you feel it. Obedience, you tell yourself. Acting out in faith, you tell yourself.

A friend of mine (a very wise owl type) this morning was telling me about a situation in her life and ended her little talk with saying, "Honestly, I think it's a good thing [I don't know what's going on]. It's reminding me to be constantly surrendering this to God. This isn't mine to have and control."

Beautiful. Two thumbs up, really. (No, you cynics. I'm not being sarcastic).

But what does it look like? Does surrendering something to God mean you stop trying to fix things by your own means and if it works out it works out? Pray hard? Does it mean you keep working and keep fighting but rely on his strength and guidance to help you get there?

Or at what point do you realize that it's time to let go? Not "let go and let God," but let go entirely.