30 Days of Thankful: Days 22-30

Day 22: (Surprisingly) for not having tutoring today so I could focus on getting school work done before everyone got down on Wednesday. I love E (the kid I tutor), but I really needed that time to do my own work. Also, for friends who will talk me through freak outs about school--also much needed.

Day 23: For seeing my family all together in one place for the first time since August. 3.5 months doesn't sound like a long time, but like I've said before, we're super close, so it seemed like an eternity. Also, for a washer and dryer at the beach house--yay for clean clothes!

Day 24: For all the blessings God has given me, most especially my family, faith, and friends. Also, for Grandma's stuffing. Boy howdy do I love her stuffing.

Day 25: For the absolute luxury of spending the afternoon reading a novel from cover to cover, then walking on the beach alone for an hour. Also, for being able to take my family to the Festival of Lights--Jack loved it and I loved experiencing it with him :)

Day 26: For mornings spent drinking coffee in our pajamas & talking and time spent shopping with Mom and Grandma (at the Walmart and the Dollar Tree--because we know where the quality bargains are ;)) Also, for taking the family to the Cathedral for vigil Mass, which everyone enjoyed. We filled up a whole pew and I was so happy to be in the church I love with the people I love. Also, for Jesus in the Eucharist.

Day 27: For another trip to the beach, catching up with Kate and watching While You Were Sleeping. Also, for ridiculous Youtube videos

Day 28: For a cancelled class, Thanksgiving leftovers and rain.

Day 29: For the ability to write, whether for school or for pleasure. Though I'm super focused for the next 10 days on school writing, after exams are over, I have some small (but fun!) writing projects in the works, which I'm excited about.

Day 30: For my health, for my warm apartment, and for the ability to confess and be in a state of grace.

I feel like I've successfully finished 30 Days of Thankful. Though I didn't post every day (next year's goal!), I did get a post in for every day of the month, so I think it counts. I'm planning to drop off the radar for the next week and a half (see Day 29), but after exams are over, I'll be back!

30 Days of Thankful: Day 21

Today I am thankful for friends with whom I can discuss my faith.

Last night after Mass, Christopher and I went to the beach down the road from the church, kind of on a whim (obviously, since we were both wearing dress clothes). Ours was the only car in the parking lot and the boardwalk was totally dark, which made me a little nervous, but since I wasn't alone, I kept going. Once we got on the beach, though, the darkness and the nerves didn't matter--it was so beautiful. The tide was really low, so the beach was huge and the only real lights we could see, other than the ships and the lighthouse behind us, were the stars.

Being that it is November, the water was a little cold, but we waded anyway and walked along the beach through the water. We talked about Latin Mass and Scripture and Mary, as well as discussing the depth of the tide pool we waded through and what the tiny glowing things in the water were.

At one point, while I was standing calf-deep in the ocean, looking out to the barely discernible horizon and not saying anything, an incredible sense of gratefulness settled in my soul, washing in gently like the waves I was standing in. I realized that ever since I graduated high school, I've been a rather intellectually lazy Catholic, which is shameful--I haven't really explored the beauties and mysteries of my Faith as an adult. But our young adult group, and specifically Christopher, who is studying to come into the Church at Easter, have pulled me out of that laziness because it has become the norm, once again, to discuss matters of faith, to read articles and books about things that pertain to Catholicism and share them with a larger audience. And I had forgotten how much I need my faith life to be intellectual.

So tonight I am thankful for that gift of intellectual, devout friends, for the reintroduction of study and inquiry into my faith as an adult, and for the awesome beauty of creation

30 Days of Thankful: Day 20

Today, I'm thankful for the men in my Young Adult Group (aka, YAG). They hosted a brunch this morning for all of the women, just as a way to say thank you to us for everything that we do for the group. They fed us a huge meal, complete with coffee and mimosas, gave us yellow roses, and told us that they, as a group, have been doing a Rosary novena for the last nine days, praying for each woman in the group (there's 50 of us!) by name. It was a wonderful morning, tinged with just a little sadness as we found out that one of the core men of the group is deploying this week, months before he was supposed to go. But we prayed for him and for his safe return and we'll keep things going until he gets back.

30 Days of Thankful: Day 19

Today I am thankful that I'm in grad school.

Yes, it's hard, especially at finals time, but I am so very blessed to be able to spend these two years (which are almost up!) studying what I love.

I'm thankful for a productive Saturday.

I'm thankful also that my family is coming down for Thanksgiving and will be here in 3 days and a wakeup

30 Days of Thankful: Day 18

Today I'm thankful that sweater weather is back.

I'm thankful for afternoons spent working with a huge fluffy dog sleeping at my feet and for falling asleep myself.

I'm thankful to be warm and cozy

Finally, I'm thankful for a weekend with few plans so that I can get lots of work done before the family gets here on Wednesday

30 Days of Thankful: Day 17

Today I am thankful for the gift of home. I had the luxury of spending all day at home until I leave in a few moments for my afternoon class. There have been a few things weighing on my mind lately (nothing earth-shattering, just preoccupations), so I set about righting them last night. First, I went to Confession so that I'd be in a state of grace again; listening as Fr. W talked to me after my confession was very helpful. Then, today, I took it easier than I have taken it recently. I forwent morning Mass because I was exhausted--I think that either the end of the semester is taking a bigger toll on me than I realized or my anemia is still not under control--even though I felt a bit guilty about skipping out. But I reasoned that 1) daily Mass isn't required and 2) I need to take care of myself, so I slept in, just a little. Then I got up and was really productive as far as my end of the semester papers go. As of 1:00, I've finished most of the research for two of my three final papers.

Now I'm sitting in my living room, windows open while the sun shines and the breeze blows, making the palm tree outside my apartment rustle. My house is cool and shady and I just took a loaf of bread out of the oven, so the house has a light yeasty smell. I slept for a while and I'm not rushing to finish preparing for class, so the calm that pervades my surroundings fills my soul too. I'm extraordinarily thankful for this very ordinary day, this time of oasis in the chaos I've been surrounding myself with.

30 Days of Thankful: Day 16

Tonight, as I'm incredibly tired, I'm thankful for the rain that's falling outside. I'm thankful for all the things (like growing crops) that rain makes possible and I'm thankful for the gentle noise of the rain washing down the gutters and hitting my windowpanes.

30 Days of Thankful: Day 15

Today, I'm thankful for days off, especially towards the end of the semester, because there's a lot of work to be done and I appreciate the extra time to do it.

I'm also thankful for the fun time I had with my friends at the Festival of Lights, even if I didn't get to ride the carousel (it was closed by the time we got there, but Chris wants to go back with his brother, so we're going to go again soon). The weather was super warm, so it was nice to walk around without freezing.

Finally, I'm thankful tonight in a special way for my Jack-Jack, who will be seven (7? Already?!?) exactly one month from today. He brings so much joy to my life and I can't wait to see him in a week for Thanksgiving

30 Days of Thankful: Day 14

For getting out of class early (half an hour!) tonight because the professor could see that we were all tired.

And now, to bed

30 Days of Thankful: Days 6-13

This week has been crazy and I realized today that I've been neglecting this poor little blog, so here (in brief) are 8 days worth of thankful.

Day 6: For warmth and sunshine while reading outside, even if I was doing homework.

Day 7: For a good job and a boss who is understanding. For learning while I TA. For free coffee from the Faculty House

Day 8: For going home for the first time in 7 weeks and just being there. For sitting at my grandparents' kitchen table and catching up with them. For snuggling with my Jack and having time with Mom.

Day 9: For my wonderful father, who went with me to traffic court so I wouldn't have to go alone. Also, for dismissed tickets :)

Day 10: For my YAG friends, who constantly challenge me to live my faith more and more by their examples.

Day 11: For everyone in the military, especially those that I know and love. They do a job every day that I couldn't do, but which keeps me safe and for that, I am profoundly grateful. I'm also grateful for those who have served this country and given their lives for it.

Day 12: For beach hopscotch, silliness with friends and late night theological debates

Day 13: For beautiful November days, sun on the river and Mass at the Cathedral

30 Days of Thankful: Days 4 & 5

Day 4:

On Friday, I was reminded how thankful I am for my 4 years in Wonderland. I had intended to go back for Corn this weekend, but I couldn't, so Friday was hard. I wanted to be there and see all of my friends, but since I wasn't there and couldn't see them, I focused instead on all the wonderful memories I have from being a student there.

Day 5:

I spent almost all of Saturday with a couple of friends, Katherine and Chris. We went to Mass and breakfast, then drove out to the Trappist monastery that's close to us and went exploring. We walked all over the grounds, visited the church and spent a good hour in the library (illicitly) before heading into town for a barbecue lunch. I came home and spent a few hours doing homework before we got back together to bake for our young adult group bake sale at church today. There was lots of laughter, good conversation, and a really fun storytelling board game called Dixit. It was pretty close to being a perfect day and I'm so thankful for that.

30 Days of Thankful: Day 3

If you know me, you know that my parents and I are incredibly close, which is a wonderful thing, except for when I go too long without seeing them. Then it hurts a lot and not just emotionally, but a real, physical ache in the general area of my chest cavity (heartache?). This weekend marks 7 weeks since I've been home, which is the longest stretch I've ever done, I think. I have so much respect for my friends who scattered all over the globe after graduation, particularly Sam and Hannah, because I couldn't do that. It's hard enough being 4 hours away and talking to my mom on the phone multiple times a day. The past few days have been really hard, probably because I don't get to go home tomorrow for Corn, which made me even sadder.

So today, I'm thankful for that pain. Thankful that I've been blessed with a family that I love so much I can't wait to go home and see them, hug my Jack-man, pet the stinky dog and just spend time being together.

I love you all and I'm so excited to see you on Tuesday!

30 Days of Thankful: Day 2

Today, I'm giving thanks for the traditions of the Catholic Church on feast days. Being Catholic, we celebrate everything, and the dead are no exception. Today, November 2nd, is the Feast of All Souls, where we pray for all the dead in Purgatory. In pre-Reformation Britain, this feast was celebrated by children going door to door begging for soul cakes; in return for the sweet, they promised to pray for the souls in Purgatory, hence the name.

I read the following recipe in one of the blogs I read and it looked pretty good, so I baked up a batch to take with me to Bible study tonight. I snuck a taste when one of them broke and it was indeed delicious. So tonight, we'll be remembering the holy souls in Purgatory as we eat them.

Soul Cakes

• 2 3/4 cup plain flour (sifted)
• 1 cup sugar
• 3/4 cup butter (softened & diced)
• 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
• 1/2 tsp pumpkin pie spice
• 1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
• 1 egg (beaten)
• 2 tsp of white vinegar

Preheat the oven to 400F and grease 2 flat baking trays

Thoroughly mix all the dry ingredients into a mixing bowl – sifted flour, spices, and sugar. Rub in the diced butter until the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs. Add in the beaten egg and white vinegar and mix by hand until a firm dough is made. Then cover it and put it in the fridge for 20 minutes.

Flour a working surface and roll out the dough to 7mm thick and using a small round pastry cutter cut into rounds; use a straight edge to press into, and then draw a cross shape, in the top of the dough. Place these rounds on the greased baking tray and bake in the oven for 8 1/2 minutes at 400F until slightly colored. Serve warm or cold. Makes about 5 dozen

Close up of my soul cakes. I don't know why my kitchen looks so dark

The whole lovely plate of soul cakes

Recipe adapted from here.

For more background on All Souls Day and soul cakes, visit this site or this one.

May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace!

30 Days of Thankful: Day 1

[For the month of November, each day I plan to post something (however brief) that I'm thankful for]

On this first day of November, the feast of All Saints, I am thankful for the Communion of Saints and the rich traditions of the Catholic faith. No matter where I am in my spiritual life, I have an older brother or sister (or many) who have gone through the same thing and who will help me grow closer to God

Book review: Flannery by Brad Gooch

As I mentioned before, I spent last week reading Brad Gooch's new biography of Flannery O'Connor, titled Flannery: A Life of Flannery O'Connor. It was a fascinating look at a woman about whom I knew very little, other than that she was Catholic, from Georgia, a writer, and she died young.

I found the quotes from O'Connor about her faith to be particularly resonant. As a graduate student in Iowa City, she attended daily Mass as a way of combating her homesickness. She said that "I went to St. Mary's as it was right around the corner and I could get there practically every morning. I went there three years and never knew a soul in the congregation or any of the priests, but it was not necessary. As soon as I went in the door I was at home" (120-1). This is one of the many things that I love about the universality of Catholicism; as soon as I walk in the door of any Catholic church, anywhere in the world, I, like O'Connor, am at home.

O'Connor was also not reticent about sharing her Catholicism with her friends. She wrote in a letter to a friend, who was in the process of converting, but saw herself as a "history of horror" that "The meaning of the Redemption is precisely that we do not have to be our history" (282). O'Connor wrote that, which struck me as very true and beautiful, after her friend had disclosed some information that was incredibly scandalous, more so in the 1950s than today, and which her friend felt would mar their friendship. But O'Connor's response was one of love, as she wrote in another letter that "from my point of view, you are always wanted" (282)-again, a beautiful, pure expression of friendship that's rooted in love.

These examples are just a small sampling of what Gooch's biography contains. As an aside, I learned that O'Connor gave a lecture at my alma mater, Meredith College, not long before her death. I never knew that, but I love thinking about her walking around the campus that is so dear to me.

I would definitely recommend this biography to any and everyone. The only thing that took some getting used to was the length of the chapters; I like reading a chapter at a time, but I found that I could only read parts of chapters in one sitting, since the book is close to 400 pages and only has 10 chapters. But other than that, I thought it was wonderful.

Morning Mass

I leave my house in the chill of a coastal Carolina predawn October morning and make my way down the stairs of my apartment building as quietly as possible so that my neighbors’ dogs don’t wake up. After my car warms up a little, I pull out of my parking space and silently make my way to an equally quiet church.

I’ve begun going to daily Mass in the mornings. This is not something I’ve ever been in the position to do on a regular basis; in high school I had to drive too far to get to school and in college, I always had morning classes. But recently I’ve been feeling a tug at my soul to experience Christ in the Eucharist every morning. Though I don’t like my alarm clock, it hasn’t been hard this week to get up and go.

Crossing the bridge, I see the first vestiges of day appearing over the horizon. The deep blue of night gives way to a paler blue sky tinged with brilliant rays of pinkish orange. My little red car is one of only a few on the highway and I marvel at the stillness of the morning.

My decision to start making the trip across the bridge was a combination of a few things. A few weeks ago, my mom and I made the trip to Murfreesboro, Tennessee so that I could present a paper at a conference. On the way, at some point about hour seven or eight of our ten hour trip, I saw a car sitting on the side of the road rather haphazardly and I made an offhanded remark that that sight reminded me of Flannery O’Connor’s short story “A Good Man is Hard to Find.” The next week, I posted a status on Facebook asking if anyone knew of a good biography of O’Connor, since I didn’t know much about her other than that she was a Catholic from Georgia who wrote short stories and died young. My friend Ann suggested the recent biography by Brad Gooch, which I’ll write about in more depth later, so I checked it out of the public library earlier this week. One of the things that I discovered about O’Connor was that she was a daily communicant, as that gave her her center, reminding her of her identity as a Catholic in the predominately Protestant South and helping shape her writing. Reading that gave me the first seed of the idea that this would be good for me.

Kneeling in prayer in the still church, I fight back yawns. My friends, seated around me, do the same. We are all here to begin our work days in worship, together, offering our still-sleepy bodies as a sacrifice to the One Who sacrificed all for us.

Then, on Wednesday night, my friend Nathan was bugging me about going to Mass with the small group from MP that goes every morning. He jokingly threatened to call me and wake me up every morning until I started going, so I decided that I would go on Thursday just because he had made such a big deal about it. I am so grateful that . It’s been a long time since I’ve had friends who want to peer pressure me into holiness; since July, I’ve been going to Wednesday night Bible study with the young adult group at the Cathedral downtown and it’s been wonderful. I’m probably a little biased, but it is wonderful having a group of smart, funny, kind friends who share my faith.

The tangibility of Catholicism seems particularly accessible early in the morning. The tissue-like paper of the Mass reading booklet. The firm grip of my fellow worshippers’ hands as we exchange the sign of peace. The stretch of every vertebrae in my back as I bow before receiving the Blessed Sacrament. The tastes of both species of the Sacrament. The coolness of the holy water as I bless myself while exiting the sanctuary. The experience is both concrete and mystical

In just a few short days, I have come to love morning Mass, early though it is. Receiving Christ’s Body and Blood into my body prepares me to go out and live my faith in a more fearless way. Prayer comes easier, I work harder and better, and (as this post evidences) I have begun to write again. All because I’ve allowed myself to experience Christ as He is calling me to do in this season of my life.

Ireland recap: Day 8

Day 8: Yeats Day!

Parke's Castle, Co. Leitrim

June 12^th, a Sunday, was for the most part a Yeats day; however, our first stop had nothing to do with the poet! We began the day at Parke’s Castle, a 16^th century castle built by one of Queen Elizabeth I’s soldiers, Captain Parke, on the site of an earlier Norman tower; the castle has displays of what life was like for the English Parke family, as well as the Irish peasants who lived in the surrounding village. My favorite moment, though, was when we were in one of the towers and our guide said that it was inhabited by migratory swallows. For the moment, we all suppressed the temptation to ask if they were African swallows and, if so, how a 5 ounce bird could carry a 1 pound coconut while migrating, but as soon as we were back in the bus, the Monty Python jokes just kept coming.

Me standing in front of the Lake Isle of Innisfree

Our next stop was the Lake Isle of Innisfree, immortalized by Yeats in his poem of the same name. We didn’t go out to the island, but we did stand on the boat ramp looking at it while Juli read the poem. Since I’d done it everywhere else, I put my hand in the lake to feel the temperature—it was freezing! Innisfree is on a beautiful, peaceful lake, but we didn’t spend long there because as Juli finished reading, it started to rain, so we headed back to the bus.

Tobernalt Holy Well

On the way to Drumcliffe Church, Nigel took us on a slight detour; it was one of those unexpected side trips that so often end up being wonderful. We visited Tobernalt Holy Well, which is maintained by one of the nearby parishes. Tobernalt is one of many places in the western part of Ireland where, when Catholicism was illegal, priests would come to say Mass in secret. At the entrance to the Holy Well, there are signs calling for silence, then a plaque that begins “Walk softly, pilgrim, for this is holy ground.” It goes on to explain the history of the place and to remind the reader that the people who attended Mass there showed by their attendance their willingness to die for the Faith; it ends by asking if we too value our faith the same way. We spent a long time (I actually have no idea how much) just walking around the shrine, soaking it all in. I wandered around the perimeter, with its Stations of the Cross and Mysteries of the Rosary, then walked softly through the interior, stopping at the high altar and the smaller side shrines; at St. Anne, I lit a candle for Mom. The entire place was filled with holiness and Divine mystery; even after we’d left the site, the silence continued until we’d reached Drumcliffe Church.

Yeats' grave at Drumcliffe Church

Yeats’ grandfather was the rector at Drumcliffe, a pretty little church nestled underneath the mountain Ben Bulben, which is where Yeats decided he wanted to be buried; he is buried in the churchyard, though he wasn’t a huge fan of organized religion, preferring instead a rather New Age-y spiritualism that involved communing with spirits, etc. His grave, inscribed with an epitaph taken from his poem “Under Ben Bulben” (“Cast a cold Eye/On Life, on Death./Horseman, pass by!”), sits just to the left of the church; his wife Georgie is buried in the same place. Graveyards are some of my favorite places, especially in Ireland, where you have 20^th century graves just a few yards from 10^th century high crosses. The rain began to come down harder while we were there, so we returned to the bus for our picnic lunch.

Charles imitating the statue near the beach at Rosses' Point

We took a brief walk along the beach at Rosses’ Point because of the rain (did I mention that this was the day I accidentally left my poncho at the hotel? Because it was); we briefly lost Charlie and Drew and I took some fun pictures of Charles trying to be the statue of a woman waiting for her sailor; our group could make everything, even gross, rainy days, so much fun!

Me reading Yeats' "The Stolen Child"

The final stop of the day was at Glencar Waterfall, the setting of one of my favorite Yeats poems, “The Stolen Child.” The climb to the waterfall was negligible because whoever maintains it has installed stairs and a handrail. Since it’s one of my favorites, Dr. Kelly let me read the poem out loud; all my years of vocal training came in handy as I tried to compete with the loud waterfall! Dr. Kelly shot a video, which I haven’t dared to watch yet, since I’m funny about hearing my own voice. Rebecca and I hosted dinner in our room (pizza graciously purchased by Dr. Kelly, beverages provided by students) and even Nigel joined us for a few slices and a drink. It was a good end to a cold and wet day.

Ireland recap: Days 6 and 7

Day 6: Athenry Castle and Clonmacnoise Abbey

Me sitting in a medieval window

Day 6 was filled with all things medieval. Our first stop was Athenry Castle, a Norman structure which stood empty for centuries after Athenry was attacked by Hugh O'Donnell during the Elizabethan period, and was only recently restored. The stone structure was left intact, but all the wood inside had to be replaced by modern craftsmen.

Dr. K and Shannon outside the castle

This castle isn't filled with period pieces, as many are, but has been left bare. The castle was primarily a military structure, though civilians did live there. The weather was nice and warm and we spent quite a bit of time taking pictures on the grounds of the castle.

The Shannon river

En route to Clonmacnoise, we stopped at a town called Shannonbridge and had lunch on the banks of the river. Shannonbridge is a small town and its current claim to fame is that it is one of the small towns that President Obama stopped in on his recent trip to Ireland. Drew and Gretchen tried to lure some ducks in to us with bread, but the ducks would have none of it.

One of the original high crosses, brought indoors for preservation

Our next stop was Clonmacnoise Abbey, a 6th century abbey built by St. Ciaran. Clonmacnoise sits at the crossroads of early Ireland along a trade road that goes east-west and the Shannon River going north-south. The abbey was also famed as a center for learning and production of manuscripts, but it went into decline in the 12th century.

Telling secrets?

Here, Drew and Juli are trying out the Whispering Arch, one of the features of the Cathedral. Our guide said that this arch was originally used for hearing confessions; a monk would stand on one end and the person confessing would stand on the other and whisper his or her sins to the monk. Charles and I were the first two to volunteer to demonstrate for our tour group and it really worked--we could talk without anyone else hearing, which was very cool.

Dervorgilla's Nuns' Church at Clonmacnoise

After the official guided tour was over, we walked down the road to Dervorgilla's Nuns' Church. Dervorgilla was married to Tiernan O'Rourke and was either abducted by or ran away with Dermot Mac Murrough in 1152. She eventually came back to the O'Rourke, but Mac Murrough enlisted the help of the English to get his sweetheart back, which led to Strongbow's invasion of Ireland in 1169/70. According to the stories, Dervorgilla, filled with sorrow for her part in the whole affair, retired to Clonmacnoise and built this church in reparation. We had read Yeats and Lady Gregory's play Dervorgilla, so we all wanted to see her church. After leaving Clonmacnoise, we headed on to Sligo, two hours from Clonmacnoise and I met my friend Shane, who was also in Ireland, for dinner. After dinner, I came back to the hotel (the Glasshouse in Sligo, a very strange, modern hotel--we were on the orange floor) and we all hung out in the hotel bar together.

Day 7: Carrowmore and Knocknarea

Day 7 was somewhat shorter for me, as my food poisoning from Galway reared its ugly head again. I was nauseous in the morning, but decided that, perhaps as it had happened on Inishmore, the fresh air would do me good. So I got on the bus with everyone else and headed to Carrowmore, one of the four major passage tombs in Ireland. The dolmen pictured above is the focal point of the site; our guide said that every year at Samhain (Halloween) at sunrise, a shaft of light comes through the two mountains that sit opposite the tomb and lights up the whole inside, making anthropologists think that the site is in some way connected with a cult of the dead.
The dolmen that Juli is standing next to in this picture is outside the main site, but is also connected to the Carrowmore complex. It's hard to see in this picture, but the dolmen is surrounded by a stone ring, which isn't uncommon.

I don't have any pictures of Knocknarea because I ended up getting sick halfway through the climb and went back to the bus to sleep while everyone else had adventures; I was quite disappointed, but I figure that that just means I need to go back so I can check climbing Knocknarea off my list.
This final picture was taken from my hotel room's balcony; we were literally right over the River Corrib. When we got back to the hotel I went to the chemist's for some medicine that made me better much quickly and after a 3 hour nap, Shannon and I went out to dinner. It was funny, because we were just looking for some place small and kind of cheap and ended up in a "date restaurant"--all the tables were set for two and had lit candles. We just laughed about being there in our jeans, but being out of place was worth it, because we had the best pasta I think I've ever had, making the end of the day much better than I had thought.

Ireland recap: Day 5

Day 5: June 9th

This was a free day in Galway City, so I started early, since I had a lot that I wanted to see. I ran into Dr. K in the hotel dining room, so over breakfast, we discussed my paper and which conference I should submit it to. Then I headed out without a map to discover what Galway had for me; I will admit that I knew generally where I wanted to go, but not quite how to get there. One of the many things I discovered on this trip was how to trust my intuition and let go of having to be in charge. I just followed the sporadic signs indicating the general direction of a given landmark and managed to find everything I was looking for.

My first stop was Galway Cathedral, pictured above. As I entered the church, a Mass just happened to be starting in one of the side chapels, so I went. It was the feast of St. Columba, one of Ireland's three patron saints. He was one of the great missionaries of the early Irish church, as well as a scribe. Tradition has it that he got into a fight with St. Finian over which man had the right to keep a copy of a psalter that Columba had made. After a large battle in which many lives were lost, the high king passed a now-famous sentence on the copy of the book in question: "To every cow her calf; to every book its copy." Columba then became a missionary in an effort to save as many people as had died during his feud with Finian. After Mass, I wandered around the church, taking pictures, but most of them turned out really blurry.

Next, I went to the Anglican Collegiate Church of St. Nicholas, which houses a Crusader's grave from 1280. The tomb is fairly simple, with an inscription around the base in Norman French requesting that the reader pray for the soul of the man buried there. Other highlights of the church included a Celtic cross that serves as a memorial for parishioners who died during the Great War and a banner with the city seal and the banners of the 14 tribes of Galway who came over with Strongbow, the Norman knight. My Nana's family, the Martins, belong to one of the 14 tribes.

The Martin family crest is the bottom left; a cross with a sun and moon on a blue background

After St. Nicholas, I went around the corner to the Nora Barnacle house, which was the residence of the author James Joyce's wife for about 8 years during her adolescence (and which I forgot to get a picture of). As I walked up to the tiny house, an older lady was just unlocking the door. Her name was Anne and she's worked at the house since it opened in the 80s, talking to visitors about Nora and James' relationship, James' works, and (I think) just about anything else anyone would care to know. I spent a delightful hour and a half talking to her about everything under the sun; she was thrilled that someone from SC would take the time to visit the little house. The house next door had just been bought by an Irish expat who had grown up in Australia and he and his father were doing renovation work; they kept taking breaks to come over and visit with us. Anne was very excited to find out that I have Galway cousins and she told me all about the medical work that she and her husband had done in Uganda in the 60s. All in all, it was a wonderful visit.

The Spanish Arch, c. 1584

When I left the Nora Barnacle house, I went down to the waterfront to find the Spanish arch from 1584, then, feeling like I was going to burst with excitement about my morning, found a coffee shop in the Latin Quarter in which to journal. It took an hour and a whole pot of tea to get everything down on paper, but I didn't have to worry about forgetting any of the details. While I was heading back in the direction of the hotel, I ran into Drew and Charles, who were on the street waiting for the girls to get done shopping. They'd been waiting a long time and finally decided they'd been abandoned, so the three of us went adventuring. I took them back to the Cathedral, then they took me to a restaurant they'd found the night before, which had an indoor waterwheel. We had a pint, then headed back to the hotel, where I proceeded to sleep like the dead for two hours.

The boys outside the Cathedral

That night, we decided to get pizza and bring it back to the hotel to save some money. Nobody really wanted to go out, though, so I volunteered to go get it and Shannon, Gretchen and Gillian went with me. The only place that was open (it was about 7) was a Dominos, which I was reluctant to go into, but I ended up being glad I did. I ordered the pizzas and the girl asked me for a name. I gave her my last name automatically, since that's what my dad always does, and she repeated it as a question. I confirmed the name and then spelled it for her and she gave me the total. I paid, then waited there while the other girls ran to the Centra for drinks. While I was waiting, I did the math with the menu and realized that she'd given me a 15 Euro discount on our food. The only reason I could come up with was that it was because of my last name, which is a Galway name. Whatever her reason was, we certainly appreciated our cheap pizza! It was quite a packed free day, but I thoroughly enjoyed my exploration of my ancestral city

I promise I'm still alive

Hey folks, sorry for the fact that I haven't updated in quite some time. Rest assured, I'm still alive and having a fabulous time. We only have two full days left in Dublin, so I'm soaking up every single moment of the day. My plan is to do recap posts of the trip upon my return to the States, using my class journal as a guide.

I've had the most wonderful almost-two weeks here in Ireland; this trip has been full of lots of personal growth, which I intend to detail later if I can put it into words. I have hundreds of pictures and as many memories, but right now, the most important thing to me is that I take advantage of my last few days. I will say that I have a jam-packed day tomorrow, including the Book of Kells, Dublinia (a Viking-era Dublin hands-on museum), the Jameson Distillery and Tennessee William's Cat on a Hot Tin Roof at the Gate Theatre tomorrow night.

Yes, I'm soaking up everything Dublin has to offer :)

Ireland Days 3-4

Yesterday morning, we left Doolin to head to Galway. On the way, we stopped at Poul-na-brone, a Neolithic passage tomb in the Burren. We didn't spend much time there because it was pouring, but the rain had stopped by the time we got to Caherconnell, an Iron Age ring fort, the rain had stopped. We watched the informational video and then wandered around the ruins of the fort. This fort was particularly interesting to me because according to the video, it was probably built sometime before 1000AD, which is the approximate time period in literature I'm interested in; physical evidences of that time period give me a new appreciation for the literature.

After Caherconnell, we went to Coole Park, the home of Lady Augusta Gregory, one of the leaders of the Celtic Revival at the turn of the 20th century. While her house no longer stands (it was torn down in the 1940s), the land belongs to the state and it's beautiful. We walked down to the lake, where I spent a very happy hour sitting alone on a rock watching the swans and contemplating life. One of the things I've come to appreciate most on this trip is the amount of freedom Dr. Kelly is giving us; he's very much OK with us going off alone as long as we get back to the group by the appointed time.

We arrived in Galway, the land of (some of) my ancestors, in the late afternoon. Some of the girls wanted to go out for fish and chips for dinner, so we found a place down past Eyre Square in the center of Galway; it ended up being one of the worst dinners ever. I decided that I wanted to experience things, so I ordered salmon and chips, which was terrible. The salmon just tasted like oil and the chips were bad too.

No one really liked their dinner, so we headed off to find music. We went to three different pubs and at the last one, one of our group, Charles, signed up for open mic and did a few songs. The nice thing about this group of people is that we all get along well and spent most of the evening together, with the exception of trickling back to the hotel in smaller groups at the end of the night. I came back around 11, thinking I'd go straight to bed, but my body, still not happy with the fish and chips from earlier, rebelled. I ended up being sick most of the night. I went to breakfast anyway, where Dr. Kelly, after hearing about my night, gave me the option to stay at the hotel today and go to the Aran Islands tomorrow alone. I was tempted, but remembered my travel motto: "What would Sam do?" I reasoned that, unless she was ill enough to be hospitalized, Sam would probably suck it up and go anyway, so that's what I did. I stopped by a chemist for some nausea medication and off we went.

I definitely made the right choice because between the medication and the fresh air, it didn't take me long to start feeling much better. In fact, while we were hiking up Dun Aengus, I was with Charles and Dr. Kelly and realized that I felt 100% better. We had great weather on Inishmore and a great bus tour guide--I was so glad to have the chance to go back! I bought a handmade cream wool cap in the sweater shop, which I'm loving.

The ferry ride back to Galway was quite exciting; the sea was pretty choppy most of the way and then a Garda Cósta (Irish Coast Guard) helicopter came up to our ferry and did some kind of drill where they lowered a guy down onto the ferry and then retrieved him. It was a fun day, but I was happy to see Nigel and our bus when we got off the ferry.

Tomorrow's a free day, so stay tuned for more exciting Galway adventures!

Ireland Days 1-2

I suppose it's technically been two days, but since I've basically been awake since 6:00 am Sunday morning, it feels like just one. So far, I don't have a whole lot of exciting things to report. We flew from Charleston to Newark on Sunday morning and then spent the afternoon laid over in Newark. All 6 of us girls ate at the Garden State Diner, then Rebecca and I went to the fake Irish pub in the terminal with the 3 boys. We hung out there for a while, then eventually wandered over to our gate. The flight to Ireland was delayed by about 30 minutes, but we ended up getting to Shannon a few minutes ahead of schedule, which was nice. After getting through customs and retrieving our bags, we met our (British) driver/guide, Nigel, who is wonderful.

Our first stop in Co. Clare was at the Cliffs of Moher. I went there on my last trip, when there was much less security than there is now; whereas I was able to sit on the edge and put my legs over the side the last time, we couldn't this time because they've put up limestone slabs as a barrier--slightly disappointing, but oh well. At least I did it last time. One of the guys on our trip told me I was "a little B.A." for doing that, which made me laugh. Hey, I'll take the cool points wherever they come from :). The visitors' centre has also changed since I was there last, which was a more pleasant surprise, especially when it started raining.

After leaving the Cliffs (of Insanity! No, really), we drove to the Burren, a national park famous for its unique flora and fauna as well as the limestone "pavement" that covers much of the park. We climbed all over one park of the limestone down by the water, being careful, though, since the stone was still wet from the earlier storm. We stopped a few times for short picture breaks, then ended up at the Irish Arms, a non-touristy pub (yay!) where I had delicious crispy bangers with creamy mash--fantastic!

Currently, I'm in our hotel in a room with the other girls, sending emails to our families and posting pictures on Facebook. I'm tired, but so, so thankful that I got another chance to come back to this country I love so much. More to follow!

Family in the Digital Age

Sorry to have been so silent for the last month; even though the semester ended for me on April 26th, I was really tired when it did end and I just didn't feel like writing. So, let's see. What have I been doing for the last month? Well, I'm getting ready for my Ireland study abroad trip, have been home a couple of times, started working full-time in the English department office, then dropped down to part-time for two weeks (this and next) because of my summer school class for my study abroad trip; I leave for Ireland in 10 days!!! I'm also working on paleography and Latin with my department head/faculty mentor (which is awesome for a nerd like me), writing conference abstracts to submit for the fall, and oh, have I mentioned that I'm going abroad in 10 days? Super, super excited about that! Hopefully I'll get to a computer a few times while I'm there to update, but if not, there will be lots of pictures when I get back. Needless to say, however, my life is not dull :)

However, I have another reason for writing tonight other than catching my friends far away up on my terribly exciting life. My grandparents have joined the digital age! Now, some people might want to hide their online activity from their grandparents, but I try not to write anything that I wouldn't want them to read anyway. So in honor of their recent technological leap, I'm going to indulge myself and tell the internet about how wonderful these two people are, even though it will embarrass them (I will, however, respect their privacy and not post a picture of the three of us, no matter how badly I want to).

There are so many people who have influenced me in the last 23 years, but my Grandma and Grandpa are the twin pillars who, along with my mom and dad, are always there, supporting and encouraging me. In all of my childhood memories, we are physically close to each other:

I remember sitting with Grandpa in his big brown chair to watch cooking shows, then practicing peeling potatoes with his hand over mine, guiding the peeler.

I remember Grandma sitting on their guest room (the "cherry bedroom") floor, letting me do horrible things to her perm with a spray bottle of water, a comb and her amazing collection of scarves, playing beauty shop.

I remember Grandpa sitting next to me on the piano bench, listening to me play and reading the music along with me, helping me when I hit a hard few bars.

I remember Grandma sleeping in the cherry bedroom bed with me during my sleepovers almost every weekend, singing songs and reading stories so I'd go to sleep quickly.

These are just a few of the million moments, big and small, that I've shared with my grandparents. I've always known I can count on Grandma and Grandpa to be there for concerts, recitals, and graduations, even if they don't care about the even itself; they come because they care about me and being supportive. They have always been close by, and now that they have internet and a webcam, we can skype since I'm now 4 hours away. It's not quite the same thing as being in the same room, but being able see their wonderful faces on my computer screen runs a close second. So, Grandma and Grandpa, welcome to the internet! I'm glad you've joined the digital age!

Spring Cleaning with the Grandmas

Unlike apparently everyone else I know, I haven't been bitten by the royal wedding bug. I have no idea why I don't care, but I just don't. Although I will say that I've seen a few pictures of Kate Middleton's dress and she was gorgeous. That's the end of my royal wedding talk, though :)

What I have been preoccupied by the past few days, though, is cleaning. This is the first year that I've done a good, thorough spring cleaning and I have to say, I love being in my apartment right now. My reasons for spring cleaning now are that 1) I'm having some friends over for dinner tomorrow night and I wanted the place to be spotless and 2) it's the end of the semester and I felt like I needed to purge the literal junk that was leftover after I turned in final papers. So yesterday, I started working like a madwoman, cleaning everything in sight.

The book pictured above is one of my new favorites. The author, Erin Bried, combines practical advice for how to do all kinds of tasks with anecdotes from grandmothers. The book is divided into 10 sections: cooking, gardening, cleaning, dressing, nesting, thriving, loving, saving, joining, and entertaining. I've been using it as a reference guide as I learn how to run a house on my own. For instance, in this bout of cleaning, I used one of her entries on using vinegar to clean with; commercial cleaning products make it hard for me to breathe and they make my hands peel awfully sometimes. Vinegar does not, so I now know what I'll use to clean my apartment. The only downside to vinegar is that it smells, but I combated that with burning candles, and the smell fades pretty quickly anyway.

I would highly recommend this book for any other recent college grad who needs those kinds of basic life skills. The next portion of the book I want to tackle is gardening, since I seem to have a black thumb that I'd like to get rid of!

The Dream of the Rood

One of my favorite Anglo-Saxon poems is "The Dream of the Rood," a poem about the crucifixion told by the cross itself. The Anglo-Saxon conception of heroism is clear, as in this poem, Christ is not nailed to the cross but as a heroic young warrior climbs up and embraces it. Jonathan Glenn's translation is a lovely (and annotated!) version.

On Holy Saturday, the Church waits in silence for the Easter Vigil Mass. This ancient poem, excerpted below, provides much fodder for meditation in Holy Week; for me, translating it, which I have done twice, has been a profoundly spiritual experience.

it is glory's beam

which Almighty God suffered upon
for all mankind's manifold sins
and for the ancient ill-deeds of Adam.
Death he tasted there, yet God rose again
by his great might, a help unto men.
He then rose to heaven. Again sets out hither
into this Middle-Earth, seeking mankind
on Doomsday, the Lord himself,
Almighty God, and with him his angels,
when he will deem--he holds power of doom--
everyone here as he will have earned
for himself earlier in this brief life.

"The Dream of the Rood," lines 97-109

Bookstores

Ever since I was a very little girl, I have had a love affair with books. One of the most memorable Christmases I had was when I was 5 and got a boxed set of the Little House on the Prairie books; if I'm remembering correctly, I took off the wrapping paper, got through the cellophane and immediately started reading the first book. This love is why I majored in English in college and why I've continued into grad school for literature. It is also why I boxed up all 200+ books that I own and moved them and two bookshelves down to South Carolina. Even though I have very little time to read for leisure, I like to know that I have all my books at hand because they may (and have) come in handy at unexpected times (so, Daddy, you didn't move them all down for nothing. Some of them, maybe, but not all :))

Since books are such a huge part of my life, it should come as no surprise that I love bookstores. Like Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany's, going to a bookstore, even if I have no money, cheers me up when I've got the blues or the mean reds. But I'm a bit peculiar when it comes to bookstores. I prefer small used bookstores to the mega-stores like Barnes and Noble. I like other people's books because they sometimes have notes; I also feel like I'm rescuing books that were unloved and thus sold to a bookstore. This is not to say that I dislike big stores; they have their own special feeling, but it's different than the little places like, say, Reader's Corner back home. I suppose the small places also feed into my slightly hipster pretensions ;)

At big stores, I always look first at the bargain books because I feel like they're just a little less loved; clearly, somebody decided that the books should get a sticker proclaiming that, more or less, the store just wants to get rid of those volumes (Perhaps I'm projecting a bit? Probably just a tad). Sometimes the bargain racks and bins have real treasures, like the $7 copy of Yeats' Irish Fairy Tales that I picked up the other night with the gift card my sweet sister-to-be gave me for my birthday; sometimes books are in the bargain bin for a reason, like the $7 biography of Grace O'Malley, the Irish pirate queen, that I bought several months ago--it's full of shoddy scholarship and rampant misspellings, despite being in its second edition (and yes, I'm a little bitter about that purchase).

I also have a hard time buying magazines at bookstores. It somehow seems like a cop-out, to go to a building full of glorious (and not-so) volumes, in hardback and paperback, with pictures in black and white and color, without pictures, large and small: to take in all those options and decide instead to purchase a publication that the publisher knows will end up in next month's recycling just seems wrong. For the record, I like magazines too, but I prefer to buy them at the drugstore or where have you, not a bookstore. Back to bookstores.

Just for giggles, I'll walk you through a typical trip to a bookstore, whether large or small. When I walk through the doors of a bookstore, it's as if I've entered a trance. I scan the room, trying to decide where to start. Once I pick a row to start with, I slowly make my way up one side and down the other, picking one up, scanning the covers, then placing it back on the shelf where it goes (I can't stand people who don't follow alphabetical order when reshelving books. That's just rude). Sometimes I back up because I think I've missed something good. It literally takes me forever to get through the fiction section until I get to the horror/Western/romance shelves. Those I breeze through, since none of those topics interest me. I skip certain sections in non-fiction as well, but that depends on my mood; the sports section is the only one I shun consistently. Very rarely do I pick a book on my first trip around the store. I need to absorb the selection, to see what I'm in the mood for, and then make my choice. As you can imagine, bookstore visits are long, involved rituals that I can't perform too often, because I don't have time and for which rarely have the money, though looks, thankfully, are always free.

(the above post inspired by Tuesday night's trip to Barnes and Noble, where I bought Yeats while [inadvertently] dressed like Olive Oyl from Popeye. True story)

Thoughts on fostering and the ivory tower

I discovered this blog this morning via StumbleUpon and have been reading it off and on, with my heart breaking, all day. The blogger, Rebecca, makes her love for her foster child obvious, but so is her pain at losing the little girl, whom she calls "Jacket." I've gotten through about 50 pages now, and I'm almost overwhelmed at what this woman is doing: essentially single-parenting while working full-time, while also dealing with the emotional ups and downs of knowing that the child you have come to love will eventually leave you and probably go back to an unhealthy environment. It's definitely worth a read, though I will warn you about getting sucked in.

Reading and thinking about this corresponds rather nicely with a conversation Sam and I had this weekend about our chosen professions and, more specifically, perceptions of the "ivory tower." I told her that one of the things I struggle with as a training medievalist is the fact that what I'm learning to do doesn't directly help anyone. The conclusion that I've come to is two part. One, if I'm doing what I love, I'm a happy, productive member of society, which is better than me doing something I hate that I think I ought to do. Two, though my work with, say, Anglo-Saxon poetry may not be life-changing for any of my students, the way I teach can be. Everyone has had a teacher in the past (or perhaps has one now) that has changed them, even if they didn't like the subject that particular teacher was teaching. That's who and what I want to be when I grow up.

So while right now I may not be able to save the world one foster child at a time, there are people that I can impact by doing what I love and doing it well. I'm not entirely convinced that that's the answer to my ivory tower dilemma, but that's what I'm working with at this point. Any thoughts?

Spontaneous adventures with Sam

Anyone that has known me for any length of time knows that I am a person that loves order. I have a perpetual to-do list and I delight in checking off the items on it. I like schedules and knowing where I'm supposed to be and when. I love planning because it gives me something to look forward to. Margins, discipline, neatness: that's what makes me happy.

And yet, Thursday afternoon, I decided to throw all that to the wind. I knew I should spend the weekend reading criticism and starting to outline papers, but I just couldn't bear to. I texted Sam to see what she was doing this weekend; she responded that she had her play. My next question was "So if I were to show up in your part of the world could I see your play?" and with that, I had a new weekend plan. Well, sort of. I still didn't have a ticket, nor did I know when I was heading up to North Carolina; all I knew is that I was going. Let me reiterate here: I don't do this. Spontaneity is not really part of my vocabulary (although it might be working its way in!). Sam and I texted again later that night, so I knew at 11:45 pm that I needed to leave in time to be up there at 1:30--still no idea how long it would take me, which was easily found with Google Maps.

So yesterday morning, I got up, packed a small bag, filled up my car and plugged Sam's address into my GPS. And I just went. I called Mom from the road just so she'd know where I was; she told me to drive safe and have fun, which I knew I would. The drive up was pretty uneventful, other than a brief stop at a McDonald's in rural SC where some construction guys "helped" me back up with lots of hand signals (I told Sam I must give off the "helpless little girl" vibe because, really, it was just a normal parking space. Nothing weird about it at all. But the sentiment was kind and therefore appreciated, if still amusing).

Slightly less than 4 hours after leaving my apartment, I pulled up at Sam's. After lots of hugging, I brought my bag (note the singular. Sam was impressed) inside and we had lunch, then I went to work with her. We adventured around downtown Winston for a while and had coffee and sandwiches before her 6:30 call; I sat in her car like a creeper and read until the house opened at 7:30 :)

The play was Stephen Sondheim's musical Assassins, which was wickedly funny. I did forget at one point that I was watching a play, though. The theatre was small and I was in the second row, so when the actor who played Giuseppe Zangara (attempted assassin of FDR) looked out at the audience, he was able to make eye contact with me. He looked so convincingly evil that for several minutes, I couldn't break that eye contact because I thought he was an actual killer. In reality, Sam says the actor, Neil, is a really nice guy, so she found the story hilarious.

After the show, we went out for beer and food, then came back to Sam's house and went to bed. We slept late and had a lazy morning that turned into an afternoon. We talked about everything and nothing and, just like always, I remember how fortunate I am to have a friend like Sam. We've known each other now for 5 years; in some ways, it doesn't seem that long and in other ways, it seems longer. Our friendship is one of those beautiful, indescribable things that doesn't happen very often, but you know it's a good thing when you've got it.

Thank you, dear friend, for making my first spontaneous adventure successful! Can't wait to see you again soon!

Post-birthday thoughts

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred moments so dear.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes.

How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets,

In midnights, in cups of coffee,

In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife,

In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes,

How do you measure a year in the life?

How about love?

How about love?

How about love?

Measure in love.

My 23rd birthday, which happened this past Thursday, can be summed up in one word: love. My family, who drove down for Corps Day an entire day early so that they could be with me on my birthday. My aunt and uncle, who came for dinner on my birthday and brought cupcakes so that I could have cake on my actual birthday (my real birthday celebration wasn't until Saturday night). My grandparents, who are two of the most generous people I know. My sweet friends, who called and texted and wrote on my Facebook wall. Everyone who made last Thursday such a wonderful day.

Yes, 23 is going to be the year measured in love. I can just tell :)

Review: The High Kings, Memory Lane

This morning, as an early birthday present to myself, I downloaded The High Kings' new CD, Memory Lane, which I've been wanting for months. I must say, it was an excellent purchase. Overall, it has a much more traditional Irish feel than their first CD, which was produced by the same man who put together the group Celtic Woman, David Downes. The album has some really fantastic tracks, some of which I'll talk about individually.

Step It Out Mary

I had never heard this song, so I looked it up; the chorus is actually the words to a children's skipping game, which was incorporated into a song by a folk songwriter in the 20th century. It's a sad story, but you can definitely hear the playfulness of the skipping game in the beat of the song.

The Fields of Athenry

This rendition of Pete St. John's ballad about the Potato Famine brought tears to my eyes; the simplicity of the guitar and the lovely harmonies did a beautiful job of conveying all the tragic emotion of this song.

Red is the Rose

This song is very similar to the Scottish song "Loch Lomond," all about lovers making promises. Beautiful, melancholy, very Irish.

Star of the County Down

This is the first song that I heard because iTunes shuffled the tracks; I was listening to the album on my way into work this morning and about 10 seconds into the song I said out loud "I LOVE this album!" Listening to the tracks in order wouldn't have changed my mind, but this was definitely a good hook for the rest of the album.

The Green Fields of France

Another tragic 20th century song, this one again receives a gentle but mournful treatment with wonderful harmonies and background guitar.

There are 14 tracks in all, all of them well done. Many of them are sad, but as G.K. Chesterton said:

The great Gaels of Ireland

Are the men that God made mad.

For all their wars are merry

And all their songs are sad.