Nothing much new to say, except that we told our bookstudy (and half the congregation since the Russian group meets right after us) that we are leaving in a few weeks, unsuccessful. Paddy asked Matt (before he knew we were departing) to read for the bookstudy again, probably for the last time (sniff sniff). They are such a supportive group. There were hugs all around, and everyone asking when we are going to try and come back, because they want us to keep trying. It’s nice to feel like they really are going to miss us, even though we spent such a short time with them, comparatively. One sister, who has been in the hall for a few weeks now from Maryland, is on her seventh trip to Ireland (Dublin specifically) trying to find work so she can stay and pioneer, so I don’t feel quite so conquered, retrospectively.
The dinner/musical evening we had planned for tomorrow night at the Moriarty’s got cancelled (moved to next weekend, actually) because the Sister organizing it is under the weather. So, we may just leave in the morning for the Galway/Aran Islands trip. It is amazingly liberating to be have the lack of restrictions so that we can just pick up and go like that. It makes me miss my carefree early days in Seattle, golly gee. Matt wanted to anyways, and now he his excuse has been hand delivered :) We are also trying to tack on a three-day tour that includes the Giant’s Causeway. We’ll see….
Right now, Matt is sitting at the next computer over trying to find a cheap shipping rate so that we don’t have to lug our ridiculously gratuitous (in hindsight…. ah, what am I saying, I knew it then!) quantity of gear in all its glory to the airport with us again. We were almost the death of our poor taxi man. Apparently the first time really took it out of Matt, although I have conveniently forgotten if I myself was that torqued by the first run-in with the baggage fairy. I have a lovely memory that way :) I recall fondly now the words of our first B&B lady, Mary, when she saw that all we had left at home was the kitchen sink: “well, you can’t blame a girl for being optimistic, can you?” How did she know I packed it? Her husband, Daryl, as he heaved the (“white elephants” shall we call them?) mass of clothing, music, and books, yes, books, up the three flights of stairs, sounded decidedly less cordial. Something about us paying his chiropodist’s bill…. then he remembered they are called chiropractors (not a popular medical group here yet; still a little to mystical). I guess both then, are apt.
The dinner bell ringeth.
Matt just scared me by turning on the web cam that’s on top of my computer….Why didn’t he tell me my hair looked like that!?! I’m not comfortable with technology that looks back at me….
Here we are, almost four months into this escapade, and it looks like Matt and I are coming back to the States a bit early.
Matt just found out this morning that he isn't going to get the job in Cork, and we just can't spend any more time or money in this fruitless position, although it has been an experience I can't regret. Matt is getting the rejection blues. We are trying not to let our despondency at having to vacate prematurely color the little time we have left in melancholy (although it’s a shade this brightly painted yet naturally grey Island does will in…).
We are going to take one more sight seeing venture to some of the Islands off the west coast, and come home. We will stay a few days in Galway (we’ve seen it once before in 1998, but it was nice enough to see twice), and then move on to the Aran Islands for a few days. It is another place rich in, fortresses and monastic ruins, as well as home to fascinating people, historically. Matt and I both just read a book called The Aran Islands by J.M. Synge (also author of more renowned plays such as “Playboy of the Western World”, much of which was gleaned from these adventures). We figured we should at least make an effort to read something written by the man whose namesake street we inhabit. The book basically chronicles Synge’s (pronounced “sing” for those of you who are moronic like ourselves who insisted on pronouncing his name as though he could burn us) life staying on the islands and his experiences learning Irish from the locals, at intervals from 1898 to 1902. He also endeavoured to capture a dying way of life, as the Aran’s had always existed rather separate form the rest of the world. Alas, the old ways have mostly died out (there death being the mourned since the mid-1930’s), and a haven of fairy-lore, and brawn driven fishing industry are fading fast. The big island, Inishmore, has motorized vehicles, alongside motorized curraghs (the little hide covered boats used to be man-powered, and the only transport aside from your feet and a donkey or two). Irish is still spoken most widely in that quadrant of Ireland, but English is always as well known. At one point the Islands were home to over 3000 people. Now that number has been halved, and many people don’t spend the year round (due to the islands harsh winter weather) in residence. From the descriptions we have read, the Islands (second only to the Blaskets in westerly-ness) sound like a place of devastating beauty and a lesson in unforgiving living conditions. These hardy people even had to create dirt for their gardens when there was none to be had (done by mixing sand, dried kelp, and what little earth could be found, and spreading it over a section of land enclosed by stone walls to keep the winds from harvesting your work), since the island is almost solid rock, being an extension of the Burren (which can be described as naturally paved) in the west of the Mainland. Even thier fuel to keep warm was boated over in the form of peat turf from Connemara. If ever that ran out, it was back to the dried manure patties of yore. That couldn't have smelled good.
I’ll let you know if the book was fact or fiction :)
Then, at an as yet unspecified date, we are coming home.
Home, what a funny word. I don't know what exactly it means anymore.
Here we are, almost four months into this escapade, and it looks like Matt and I are coming back to the States a bit early.
Matt just found out this morning that he isn't going to get the job in Cork, and we just can't spend any more time or money in this fruitless position, although it has been an experience I can't regret. Matt is getting the rejection blues. We are trying not to let our despondency at having to vacate prematurely color the little time we have left in melancholy (although it’s a shade this brightly painted yet naturally grey Island does will in…).
We are going to take one more sight seeing venture to some of the Islands off the west coast, and come home. We will stay a few days in Galway (we’ve seen it once before in 1998, but it was nice enough to see twice), and then move on to the Aran Islands for a few days. It is another place rich in, fortresses and monastic ruins, as well as home to fascinating people, historically. Matt and I both just read a book called The Aran Islands by J.M. Synge (also author of more renowned plays such as “Playboy of the Western World”, much of which was gleaned from these adventures). We figured we should at least make an effort to read something written by the man whose namesake street we inhabit. The book basically chronicles Synge’s (pronounced “sing” for those of you who are moronic like ourselves who insisted on pronouncing his name as though he could burn us) life staying on the islands and his experiences learning Irish from the locals, at intervals from 1898 to 1902. He also endeavoured to capture a dying way of life, as the Aran’s had always existed rather separate form the rest of the world. Alas, the old ways have mostly died out (there death being the mourned since the mid-1930’s), and a haven of fairy-lore, and brawn driven fishing industry are fading fast. The big island, Inishmore, has motorized vehicles, alongside motorized curraghs (the little hide covered boats used to be man-powered, and the only transport aside from your feet and a donkey or two). Irish is still spoken most widely in that quadrant of Ireland, but English is always as well known. At one point the Islands were home to over 3000 people. Now that number has been halved, and many people don’t spend the year round (due to the islands harsh winter weather) in residence. From the descriptions we have read, the Islands (second only to the Blaskets in westerly-ness) sound like a place of devastating beauty and a lesson in unforgiving living conditions. These hardy people even had to create dirt for their gardens when there was none to be had (done by mixing sand, dried kelp, and what little earth could be found, and spreading it over a section of land enclosed by stone walls to keep the winds from harvesting your work), since the island is almost solid rock, being an extension of the Burren (which can be described as naturally paved) in the west of the Mainland. Even thier fuel to keep warm was boated over in the form of peat turf from Connemara. If ever that ran out, it was back to the dried manure patties of yore. That couldn't have smelled good.
I’ll let you know if the book was fact or fiction :)
Then, at an as yet unspecified date, we are coming home.
Home, what a funny word. I don't know what exactly it means anymore.
So, the Mediterranean Cruise I alluded to earlier is indefinitely postponed. We had hoped to visit as much of Europe as possible before we had to come home, but they way things are headed, it seem like even if we do have to come home, we should keep the bank account as far above red as possible, and hope that in the future, we will probably come back to Europe (UK) when this one place finds Matt contract work, if the Cork things a no-go. So, we’ll see. It would have been so nice to cruse the Med for two weeks and see the sights, but hopefully we will get a chance again if/when we return. So, we are trying to be providential I guess is what I’m trying to say :)
At meeting on Tuesday, I walked in to the auditorium at our Kingdom Hall with Matt at my side, only to turn around and find He had disappeared on me. I sat down where I found our books, chatted to some friends, and the song began sans Matty. When he did come back it was to whisper that he was to be in a demonstration that evening…too late to talk about it, during the meeting and all.
Later on, he popped up to the stage for about 10 seconds to be the stand-in American in a re-enactment of witnessing at work :) He said, “All I know is that in America, you have J.W.’s and Mormons, and they were pretty much the same”, to which the brother replied that, there were many major differences, and being a witness, he could tell him what those were. Matt looks at his watch, says, “gotta get back to work, maybe later” and high-tails it back to our seats, accompanied by the giggles of the audience at such a token part played. This congregation is a lot of fun. They are serious in all the right places, but genuinely jovial. There have been more verbal foibles (one of my favorites being that every time someone mentioned Jehovah’s “purposes” for the first month, I sincerely got lost, trying to figure out what “porpoises” aka: dolphins, have to do with anything. Pronunciation and accents are a wonderful anomaly) than I can share on a blog, but it keeps things very lively, and automatically makes everyone feel like they fit in here somehow :)
At meeting on Tuesday, I walked in to the auditorium at our Kingdom Hall with Matt at my side, only to turn around and find He had disappeared on me. I sat down where I found our books, chatted to some friends, and the song began sans Matty. When he did come back it was to whisper that he was to be in a demonstration that evening…too late to talk about it, during the meeting and all.
Later on, he popped up to the stage for about 10 seconds to be the stand-in American in a re-enactment of witnessing at work :) He said, “All I know is that in America, you have J.W.’s and Mormons, and they were pretty much the same”, to which the brother replied that, there were many major differences, and being a witness, he could tell him what those were. Matt looks at his watch, says, “gotta get back to work, maybe later” and high-tails it back to our seats, accompanied by the giggles of the audience at such a token part played. This congregation is a lot of fun. They are serious in all the right places, but genuinely jovial. There have been more verbal foibles (one of my favorites being that every time someone mentioned Jehovah’s “purposes” for the first month, I sincerely got lost, trying to figure out what “porpoises” aka: dolphins, have to do with anything. Pronunciation and accents are a wonderful anomaly) than I can share on a blog, but it keeps things very lively, and automatically makes everyone feel like they fit in here somehow :)
Greetings
Matt and I are back in Dublin, in case I didn’t express that last blog :)
We had a lovely dinner last night at a Sister’s (the Jameson’s) house in a town called Walkinstown, outside city center, but still in Dublin County. She had a few other families over (all of whom had children), and us. We played around in her backyard while waiting for a few stragglers (although Matt and I were sure that we were the last to show, because we got off the bus too early, and had to walk a ways before we found the right house).
The simple dinner and warm conversation made us feel at home with people we barely know, as always. It’s been a while since we have been able to associate with the families in our congregation. The last few things we were invited to took place while we were in Kilkenny and Cork respectively. So, we sorely needed this :)
After eating, we sat around sipping wine (Matt and I brought a bottle from Sonoma, to hint at our California-ness silently) and coffees, and were blessed by the musicality of our hosts and other guests, we ourselves sadly lacking the rich history of Irish ballads that they all seem to have been born with. Matt picked up the guitar (after two other people tried fruitlessly to tune it amid the prodding fingers of the three little girls present), and played a bit. One of the mothers (of three teenage boys, poor thing) there strummed and sang a song about freedom that seems to have a long history. Her husband (this is the Moriarty family) picked up a tin whistle and gave us a few other tunes. One of their sons seems to be a violin prodigy, and translated some of that to the guitar, in the course of jeering at his parents, as he embarrassed easily (which is always fun). Another sister there sang a few more contemporary songs, the only one of which I could join in on was Billy Holiday’s “Summertime”. Eventually we turned to Kingdom Melodies, and when enough songbooks were turned out, we all joined in (Matt accompanying us with the guitar, and once in a while Declan jumped in on the tin whistle) singing our favorites.
Everyone had such a good time, that the Moriarty’s decided to have us all over to their place on Saturday evening for a repeat show, for which we are to learn some song we can add to the repertoire. We’ll see how that goes, since I can only seem to come up with half the words to anyone line in any given song before I go blank, and start laughing. Hopefully Matt can come up with something….
As far as the job in Cork goes, we have to wait until the end of this week to see how the other interview-ees got on. Then, barring Matt getting the position in Cork, or something else miraculously happening, we get to decide when we are going to come home; we really are at the end of the line here. We will have given it four months by then. We don’t want to leave by any means, but there’s only so much we can do before we admit defeat. If we do go home, we will still have feelers out here, and in the UK, that we may come back to at some point, after having made some money in the States again. The redline approaches….
And even if we do get the Cork placement, we will have to leave this congregation that has been so hospitable and caring towards us these last few months, knowing we may stay or go. It will be a sad parting.
Matt and I are back in Dublin, in case I didn’t express that last blog :)
We had a lovely dinner last night at a Sister’s (the Jameson’s) house in a town called Walkinstown, outside city center, but still in Dublin County. She had a few other families over (all of whom had children), and us. We played around in her backyard while waiting for a few stragglers (although Matt and I were sure that we were the last to show, because we got off the bus too early, and had to walk a ways before we found the right house).
The simple dinner and warm conversation made us feel at home with people we barely know, as always. It’s been a while since we have been able to associate with the families in our congregation. The last few things we were invited to took place while we were in Kilkenny and Cork respectively. So, we sorely needed this :)
After eating, we sat around sipping wine (Matt and I brought a bottle from Sonoma, to hint at our California-ness silently) and coffees, and were blessed by the musicality of our hosts and other guests, we ourselves sadly lacking the rich history of Irish ballads that they all seem to have been born with. Matt picked up the guitar (after two other people tried fruitlessly to tune it amid the prodding fingers of the three little girls present), and played a bit. One of the mothers (of three teenage boys, poor thing) there strummed and sang a song about freedom that seems to have a long history. Her husband (this is the Moriarty family) picked up a tin whistle and gave us a few other tunes. One of their sons seems to be a violin prodigy, and translated some of that to the guitar, in the course of jeering at his parents, as he embarrassed easily (which is always fun). Another sister there sang a few more contemporary songs, the only one of which I could join in on was Billy Holiday’s “Summertime”. Eventually we turned to Kingdom Melodies, and when enough songbooks were turned out, we all joined in (Matt accompanying us with the guitar, and once in a while Declan jumped in on the tin whistle) singing our favorites.
Everyone had such a good time, that the Moriarty’s decided to have us all over to their place on Saturday evening for a repeat show, for which we are to learn some song we can add to the repertoire. We’ll see how that goes, since I can only seem to come up with half the words to anyone line in any given song before I go blank, and start laughing. Hopefully Matt can come up with something….
As far as the job in Cork goes, we have to wait until the end of this week to see how the other interview-ees got on. Then, barring Matt getting the position in Cork, or something else miraculously happening, we get to decide when we are going to come home; we really are at the end of the line here. We will have given it four months by then. We don’t want to leave by any means, but there’s only so much we can do before we admit defeat. If we do go home, we will still have feelers out here, and in the UK, that we may come back to at some point, after having made some money in the States again. The redline approaches….
And even if we do get the Cork placement, we will have to leave this congregation that has been so hospitable and caring towards us these last few months, knowing we may stay or go. It will be a sad parting.
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