Reflections on the Emerald Isle, part 4 Rock of Cashel

Oh, my.  Working full time, teaching two graduate level classes, recovering from surgery and planning a wedding are kickin' my tushie.  I see that there might be time to breathe come the last week of July...

Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming! 

We woke up on our first morning in Ireland and set out for the Rock of Cashel, the beautiful ruins of an old cathedral. The site sits high above the little town below.  Legend associates the Rock of Cashel with St. Patrick, but the name comes from Caiseal, meaning "stone fort," and the hill was originally the residence of the kings of Munster. Excavations have revealed some evidence of burials and church buildings from the 9th or 10th century, but it was in the early 12th century that the Rock began to be developed into a major Christian center (thank you, Sacred Destinations) Despite a slight mist, it was lovely.  We spent quite a bit of time just roaming the grounds. 



At the time we were in Ireland, they were still recovering from unusually cold and snowy weather.  Much of the country had experienced a freeze.  Because it was an uncommon occurrence in the country, pipes froze and then burst once the thaws hit.  Many towns and cities experienced a loss of water and a water curfew ensued for several days.  The worst that we were personally hit was the day we were in Cashel.  Everywhere we went looking for facilities, we were told "we have no water".  You know, that's a little tough on someone who drinks just a few too many Diet Cokes (not me, mind you.  Blech).  Don't tell anyone, but one member of our little party had to desecrate the grounds of a national historic site.  Couldn't be helped.  Good thing the weather and the lack water kept most people indoors that day!

(More pictures below)

We ventured to find a tea shop to warm up and hopefully find a working loo.  On our way, we stopped in the Cashel Woollen Store and met Inge.  She was adorable and a wonderful delight!  She didn't care if we bought a thing or not.  Well, she probably did, but she didn't act like it. I purchased a lovely hand-woven scarf for my friend, Laura.  Should have bought more.

She kept us busy with her stories and her advice for our travels.  She told us all about the VAT tax and how to get reimbursed.  She advised us not to listen to anyone who said we had to spend 20 or 30 euros for a reimbursement receipt.  She said that they just didn't want to be bothered and hoped to keep the funds for themselves.  It was this advice that caused us to irritate a certain clerk at the Guinness Storehouse in Dublin later in the week.  Tee hee hee.  She was great.  She had a German name, but she was as Irish as the day is long!

We found our tea shop and a loo, then ventured off toward Doolin.  We drove around Limerick, but had no time to stop.  The days are much shorter in the winter and we had our destination in mind.  This required that we boogie on down the road.  Again, we traversed the narrow fence and shrub-lined roadways.  Jim managed the roads well, but as the afternoon began to wane and light disappeared, the tension mounted.  By the time we hit Doolin, the light was gone from the sky as we made our way in the dark.  No lighted poles lined the roads as at home, making the drive a bit more harrowing. A light mist floated on the air and covered the dark ground with a moist reflection.  Doolin is a teeny, yet famous town.  The home of traditional Irish music had but three pubs to its name.  Our little car found its way to the middle one---McGann's Pub---and so, an unexpected adventure began.  Ever found yourself unexpectedly in the middle of a stag (bachelor) party?  Neither had we.

That story the next time...

McGann's Pub.  Ah, yes.  The scene of the crime.

Where Tami fell down and went "boom".

The aftermath---wiping the mud from her boots and jeans.  Just look at that sad little face.

 

 

Reflections on the Emerald Isle, part 3 Kilkenny

This is it.  This was the first one.  It was goooood.

For our first three nights in Ireland, we had made no reservations for rooms to sleep.  That was part of the adventure we looked forward to.  We found a spot to park and walked in the rain along the streets of Kilkenny, a lovely and typical Irish village.  We stopped inside a hotel or two along the way, but nothing seemed quite right.  We didn't want fancy hotels.  We wanted the flavor of Ireland and we wanted the "full Irish breakfast" we'd heard so much about.  Soon enough, we went into a pub to ask and met a man named Luke.  Luke sent us on to a pub called Lanigan's Pub & Hostel.  It is here we had our first Guinness and licked the foam off our lips.  Ah, but, I digress. 

Our first night, Jim had breakfast for dinner.  It was goooood.

Inside, we met P.J., the bartender.  He was so helpful, but assured us that we probably didn't want to sleep in the hostel.  It was St. Stephen's night and things were about to gear up fast and furious with rambunctious and raucous crowds.  He directed us to a pub next door where we might find rooms, but says our best bet is Rafter Dempsey's up the road.  We quickly stopped next door, but soon left because breakfast was not included.  I'm telling you, we wanted that Irish breakfast and we were determined. The proprietor told us to come back if we don't have luck at Rafter Dempsey's and he'll "ring up a few B&B's".  Sweet.  Oh, and P.J. told us to come back once we had a room and he would let us park in his car park.  For free.  Luck was with us and we found a room and that Irish breakfast at Rafter Dempsey's.  Food and service did not disappoint.  Tami and Jeff were without heat in their room.  Jeff wore a hat to bed that night and about 14 layers of clothes.

My first meal in Ireland.  I was tired, cold and wet.  This was gooooood.

Scenes from Kilkenny

This would be Patrick Joseph, who proffered a wedding proposal to me, hinting that he would have to kill Jim first.  He was like a waif from a Dickens novel,   including hat, long wool coat, a limp and a cane.

 

 

 

 

Beggars on St. Stephen's Night

I obviously felt the same as Jeff.

Street Scenes

Kilkenny Castle

Where we parked our car, thanks to P.J.

Kilkenny Castle

Reflections on the Emerald Isle, part 2

Ireland is, too, green.

As the plane prepared for a landing in Dublin, I looked out the window and all I saw was white.  I'm not talking about clouds, I'm talking about snow.  SNOW!  Five to six inches of snow.  Here we'd been talking for two months about seeing green in the midst of our winter and I look out the window to see five to six inches of snow covering as far as the eye could see.  Well.  Dismay quickly turned to joy anyway because I thought, "People and pubs.  We are really here for the people and pubs." I wasn't going to let the snow diminish our trip in anyway.  Turns out, I didn't have to.  On our first afternoon, the rain came and washed the snow away.  We never saw snow again.  While it wasn't as green as it would have been at a different time of year, it was still green and it was still lovely.

At Glendalough (glen-dah-lock)

At the Rock of Cashel

Looking upon the town of Cashel

 They aren't kidding when they say the roads in Ireland are narrow.

The pick-up.

We picked up our rental car with relative ease and headed to Kilkenny for our first night.  Jim drove.  Yikes, Jim drove.  Jim drove on the wrong side of the road while sitting on the wrong side of the car.  And drove a stick shift.  Jim drove a stick shift with his left hand.  Oy, what an adventure.  Jeff was fine.  Jim was fine.

Don't let the picture fool you, he's just as nervous as the rest of us.

Tami and I were not fine and emitted many "eeks" and "ooooo-eeeeeee-aaaaayyyyyeeee!!!!!" along the way.  I may have also, um, calmly told Jim to slow down.  There are stone walls and fences that line the roads and I think we smoothed the edges of many of them.  I don't know how there weren't scratch marks all along the side of our car.  Reach out and touch someone?  Heck, I could have reached out and touched a sheep.

Don't let the smiles fool you.  They She's a wreck.

For the next three days, Jim ignored my nagging about his driving.  Yup, he just blew me off.  I thought we were going to slide off the road many a time.  He didn't care and just said, "We're fine, we're fine."  If we weren't traveling with people we didn't know (initially) very well, he would NOT have been fine.  I probably would have hit him with something a time or two.

They say they were exhausted from no sleep for 24+ hours.  I say this was a great way to deal with Jim driving on the wrong side of the road.

Reflections on the Emerald Isle, part 1

It is always so hard to sum up a really good experience so that someone who wasn't there can truly understand and enjoy it the way you did.  It's not really possible, you know.  There is no way they can feel it or experience it the same way when they weren't there.  As I sit here wanting to write about our time in Ireland, I am stumped with how to begin.  Maybe I'll just have to do it in several posts.  Whatever.  I'll just begin and see where it goes from there.

At O'Hare waiting to leave.

Tami and Jeff

Jim takes his own picture.

The Irish people are lovely.
  
We  did not meet one grouchy, cranky, or rude Irish person.  Not one.  Oh, there may have been two, but one was drunk and young and stupid and he was the brother of the bride at a stag party (bachelor party) which we stumbled upon our second night there.  The other was a young woman ringing up our purchases at the Guinness Storehouse in Dublin.  Besides them, we met not a one. In the U.S., it is a rare find anymore to find a clerk in a store saying "please" and "thank you" let alone have a smile on their face and an obvious delight in serving you.  Huh-uh.  But in Ireland, oh, in Ireland, I felt like a queen.  The bartenders, the store clerks, the people we sat next to on a bus, the people we sat next to in the pubs, ALL of them to a person made me feel like I was doing a great service by allowing them to assist me.  And they did it all with their lovely Irish lilt and grinning ear to ear, which just made it all the better.  I tell you, I felt lifted up just by asking for a cup of coffee.  You would have thought they had just been waiting all day for the moment I came in just to serve me.



The Irish are generous.

Jim and I are generous people.  We are generous with our time and our money and our love.  But during that week in Ireland, I had several experiences that have encouraged me to be even more so.  Those stories will come, and more.

Suffice it to say that we went to Ireland looking for adventure through the land, the pubs and the people.  We found it.  The worst part of our trip was the flight to and from and that was only because KLM seats are too narrow and have too little legroom for a transatlantic flight.

A few pics to entice you:

Cancer

About fifteen years ago, I learned that I have hypothyroidism and have been on medication for it since then.  The medication reduced the size of the nodule that had grown on my thyroid.  This fall at my annual check-up, my doctor (I love my doctor) noticed that the nodule had grown larger again.  Could mean thyroid cancer.  Hmm.  The specialist I was referred to told me that if one could choose the cancer they got, thyroid cancer would be the one to choose because it is so slow growing.  Uh, okay. 

So, the first step for determining what was what was to have a needle aspiration biospsy.  This wasn't a horrible experience, but it was a bit uncomfortable.  The results came back inconclusive.  Sigh.  So my next choice was another needle aspiration in conjunction with an ultrasound or surgery to remove half of the thyroid.  I chose the surgery.  It seemed to me that another needle aspiration would just produce the same results and I'd still need a more conclusive measure.  I chose to bypass the needle aspiration and just have the surgery.  I wasn't really gung-ho about surgery, but I thought it would be better to just bite the bullet and find out.  I will tell you, though, that I chose not to have it until I got back from our Christmas trip to Ireland (more on the trip later.  It was a blast.)

Soooo, I had surgery yesterday morning to remove half my thyroid. It was scheduled as day surgery with the possibility of having to stay overnight.  An overnight stay would mean they had to take out the whole thyroid because they found it to be cancerous.  I wouldn't know until I woke up.

No cancer.  No cancer.  I was trying to be all cool as a cucumber prior to the surgery, but I will tell you that I felt a tremendous release of tension when I learned no cancer was found.  Praise God.

I got to go home.  Jim was my little haus frau and waited on me very lovingly.  Today, I'm home trying to recuperate.  Watching movies set in Ireland.  Swayze the Dog has barely left my side.  Vicodin makes me woozy.  It also makes me sleepy and I've found myself dozing in the middle of emails and blogposts..............

Gratitude and relief.

Knots in my stomach

Well, friends, here it is almost the end of November and I have failed miserably in my quest to write and post every single day during the month.  Nope, didn't happen.  Nice try, Jannie Babe.  I'm not apologizing, either.  It is what it is.

Knots in my stomach.  I have knots in my stomach.  Sometimes, when I get knots in my stomach, I become immobilized.  I hate that feeling.  I think I just have a lot on my plate.  I'd say "these days", but I think I have a lot on my plate most days.  The month of November 2011 brought me tears---tears of angst and tears of joy.  The semester is winding down for my grad students and me and I think all of us are just. done.  Christmas is coming and I'm going to Ireland soon.  My work at the middle school is winding up for a busy number of months and next semester, I am teaching not one, but two grad classes.  In addition to the two classes, I have to meet with five or six practicum students 1:1 for an hour each week.  In January, I will have some minor surgery.  On the one hand, I'm not worried about it.  On the other hand, there are things about it that are nibbling at the back of my mind.  It will all get done and it will all work out, but I will probably be a bit nuts by the end of it all.  As the school year winds up in June, our family will head east to finally bury my parents' ashes after a three year wait on the Veteran's cemetery to open in my hometown area. 

Oh, and did I tell you?  We're having a wedding.  Yessiree, Bob, my daughter got engaged on Tuesday!  By Saturday, we had a date, a venue for the ceremony AND the dress.  All that in spite of also preparing and having a community Thanksgiving dinner at our church.  Breathe, Jan, breathe. Now, I'm just praying that we find an affordable spot for the reception.  We only have seven months until the GRAND EVENT, so we are a little behind the 8-ball in getting details worked out.  Many spots are already reserved, so if you could just send some good vibes our way, I'd be appreciative.  :)  Gracias.

On top of all that, I'm having an internal battle that is really causing the knots to accumulate.  The battle stems from the aftermath of relationships.  Being in ministry brings blessings and curses.  I'm dealing with the curses right now.  I think I just expect the best from people even though I know that churches are full of hypocrites.  The rudeness and self-centered-ness of individuals just never ceases to amaze me.  And disappoint.  And hurt.  I'm also blown away by people who use their anger to punish and control.  Although I'm pretty astute at picking up on when people are trying to control me and don't allow them to, I still get the sense of being touched by their craziness.  It's invasive.  Actually, it feels like being touched by evil.  It's yucky.

Despite all of this, I am so thankful. 

There is a story my husband once heard somewhere that he shared one morning in church.  I've thought of it many times over the years.  The story is of a man who lamented that the cross he had to bear was too much.  He prayed to be relieved of his heavy load.  One day, he met Jesus and brought his concerns to him as they walked down a long corridor lined with doors.  Jesus stopped before one door and opened it as they passed.  The door opened into a large room.  In the center of the room was an enormous hill of large crosses, crosses that others had left behind when they found the burden too great.  Jesus told the man to leave his cross, so the man tossed his on top of the pile.  Immediately, he felt a release of strain and stress.  Jesus closed the door and together with the man, continued down the corridor of doors.  Soon, Jesus stopped before a door once again.  As the door swung inward, the man saw that it opened into the very same room containing the discarded crosses, his own teetering at the top of the pile.  As the man stared confused into the room beyond, Jesus said to the man, "Pick one."   The man looked questioningly at Jesus, so Jesus explained.  "Everyone has a cross to bear.  You must pick a new one."  The man, now humbled, stood before the door and gazed upon the mountain of crosses before him.  As he studied the pile of crosses, he saw how large each cross appeared.  The more he studied, the clearer his choice became.  Slowly he walked to the pile and chose his cross.  The cross he chose was the same cross he had discarded.  As he looked at the crosses that others had to bear, he realized that his cross was not so large after all. 

And so, I carry my cross with joy (and knots in my stomach) because when I compare it to the crosses of others I know, my cross seems quite tiny in comparison.

"Hey, is anybody there?"

I'm starting to feel the rumblings of a cold or something coming on.  Hope not, Christmas music season is fast approaching and with that comes Christmas solos.  I hate it when a cold interferes with that!  Anyway.

Thought you might like to know that the two blogs I had concerns about are A-okay.  Mocha Momma is just on a wee bit of a hiatus because the creation of her new webpage will take longer than expected.  9 Bartlett is back up, so I don't know what's up with it coming up as deleted last week.  Weird.  Anyway, all is well.  I know you were all losing sleep over it, so now you can slumber.  :)

Something I just saw on another blog jarred a memory I haven't thought about in a while, so I thought I'd jot down a few words about it.  It was one of the funnier moments I've experienced (almost)  by myself.

Waaay back when, I attended the University of Maine at Orono.  I had so much fun my freshman year, I had to have a second one.  First semester GPA the first go 'round was a 1.0.  Second semester was a 1.6.  That's when Dad and the university decided I was going to take a little time off to reassess my college education.  Two years later, after having worked in Quality Control for a factory that made machine guns and shock absorbers, I returned to UMO for a second shot.  Because of my stellar performance the first time, I had to re-take all the courses I'd taken before.  One of those classes was Psych 101- Introduction to Psychology which was taught by Dr. Ellen Lenney.  This was the 70's, and I will just tell you that Dr. Lenney never wore a bra.  She was small-breasted, but it was obvious.  I noticed this every single class.  She always wore a really cool necklace that rested between her itty-bittys.  I didn't necessarily always wear a bra  myself at the time.  Listen, it was the 70's, okay?  But, I digress.

At that time, it was a requirement of the course that we participate in three psych experiments during the course of the semester.  So, one, two, three, I signed up and participated.  I can't remember anything much about them now, but I did participate as needed.  I hated taking the exams for this class.  They were always multiple choice exams and it was too easy to get messed up on an answer.  I dreaded the long walk up to the third floor of the Psych Department a few days after each test.  They would post the test and all the answers on a wall in the lobby area.  One day, I made my way up the stairs and entered the hallway outside the Psych office.  There was the test, posted on the glass doors of a display cabinet.  It was kind of freaky being there.  I mean, come on, it was the Psych Department.  Weird things happened up there.  So, there I was, all alone, a little creeped out, comparing the correct answers to the test with my own.  I mean to tell you that I was feeling a wee bit paranoid for no particular reason.

As I read the test answers, I heard a voice call out, "Hey, is anybody there?"  A chill ran up my spine and my heart skipped a beat.  I seemed to stop breathing for a second or two, as well.  I kept my head very still and kept looking ahead at the answers.  Again, I heard a voice cry out, "Hey, is anybody out there?"  As much as I wanted to keep looking straight ahead and pretend I heard nothing, I couldn't resist a look around.  I tried to look like I wasn't looking for a hidden camera, but I was.  Nope, didn't see anything and there was no one around.  Not one person was around.  By this point, my heart was in my throat, I couldn't breathe and I felt like an idiot.  I was pretty sure that some sick individual had just added a fourth experiment to my requirement without my knowledge or consent.  I refused to play that game, yessirree.  They weren't gonna fool me and use my video in their next candid-camera-foolish-Psych-student-caught-unaware.  Nuh-uh.  Noooope.  So, I went back to checking the answers.  No sooner had I looked back at the test taped to the windows did the voice once more shout out to me, "Hey!  HEEY!  Hey, is anybody out there?  Please?  Is anybody out there?"

Just to my right, I caught something out of the corner of my eye.  A brown paper towel fluttered to the ground.  I couldn't just stand there and ignore it, so I walked the tens steps to where it lay on the floor.  When I picked it up, I noticed writing on it that said, "Help!  I'm trapped in the bathroom!"  I looked up to see a door marked "Men".  I gave a knock, knock, knock on the door and said, "Hello?"  From beyond the door, a voice told me that he was in a wheelchair and he couldn't get out of the bathroom.  The poor guy had been able to get into the bathroom, but once the door shut behind him, he couldn't angle the chair to get out and from the position he was in, he couldn't unlock the door, either.  I went into the Psych office and explained the situation.  Help in the way of a custodian with a key was found quickly and, soon enough, the guy was out.

We laughed and joked about it a little bit nervously and then we both went on our merry ways.  I'm still not quite convinced that I wasn't an experimental dupe.  I guess after 30 years, though, I can stop worrying that I made the textbooks.

I would like you to know that I did graduate from UMO with high distinction, three years after I was to originally graduate.  I decided that something called "studying" wasn't such a bad idea and I reduced my number of nights at fraternity parties to one or two a week down from four or five.  See?  I learned my lesson well.