And Although I Know It's a Long Road Back...

Sitting anxiously in the John F. Kennedy Airport in New York, I find myself reflecting on this world in which we live. I find myself thinking about Eyre Square—the quaint, welcoming city centre of Galway that isn’t much bigger than a soccer field (or Gaelic football, depending on your country). The same park is named Kennedy Square because the president once made a famous speech on those grounds one rainy day in Ireland. I recall my last walk through that park on a rainy Friday afternoon, on my way to enjoy my last pint in Galway…at least for a while. From Kennedy Square to Kennedy Airport—I begin to observe the small nature of this world. I find myself thinking about Laura, who traveled from Chile to Argentina last weekend for a short vacation and became well acquainted with a woman from Dublin of all places. She had a lot of great things to say about the city I grew to love. And finally, I find myself thinking about how I left my cottage this morning at 4:30 and will be in my own bed in about 6 hours. At the risk of being cliché (which is something I am well aware I often risk), it really is a small world after all.

Time is an interesting thing; but one’s relationship with time is even more interesting. We have all experienced instances in our lives when we want nothing more than to freeze time in a certain moment: a moment of relief; a moment of elation. Probably equally as many times, we have moments in our lives when we find ourselves praying to Chronos to make the arms of the clock spin as a tilt-o-whirl. Yet we know that no matter how hard we try, one way or the other, 60 seconds is always going to make one minute; 60 minutes is always going to make one hour; and 24 hours is always going to make one day (unless you are traveling from Ireland to Minnesota, via New York, and you realize your day now became 6 hours longer). Time is a mystery that I will never be able to grasp and this semester has solidified my befuddledness. I feel as if I have been gone for years; but at the same time, I also feel like it was just last week that I was at the Shannon Airport filling out a lost luggage form. The only thing we can do to combat this enigma of time is live.

I can’t wait to be back to tell you all about how I lived for the last 3 months and 6 days; but even more that that, I can’t wait to begin again to live the life I lead in Minnesota.

I want to thank all of you who have read any of these blogs. In all seriousness, I have thoroughly enjoyed being able to express myself through writing. It has always been something I have enjoyed, but these blogs have given me an opportunity to…well, say whatever the hell I want without any repercussions…that I know of. (I hate ending sentences in prepositions, and I know I’ll hear about it from Monica, but this one was necessary.) Most of all I want to wish all of you and your families a very blessed and merry Christmas. I hope this new year is one of great health and happiness. And of course…
May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back.

"The Good Lord Gave Us Mountains..."

"...So we could learn how to climb."

I've never climbed a mountain in my life. This one time I climbed a hill...but then I slid down it shortly there after. Just like those hills though, this one too was snow covered. It was no Everest, but Croagh Patrick, the mountain from which St. Patrick allegedly rid Ireland of snakes, was a little higher than the pitching mound where I occasionally make an appearance. Saturday the 29th was the day 8 of us embarked on this journey; and it's one I will not soon forget.

From the moment I knew I was coming to Ireland I made a list of things I wanted to do. Number 1: "drink beer." Check (better put a few checks). Number 2, "climb Croagh Patrick." Seriously, that was my list! I ran out of time so I didn't get any further. Lame, I know. The lack of list though gave me a blank canvas on which to paint a journey though. Anyway, I can now check number 2 off the list.

We left the cottages at 830am and took an hour and a half cab ride to the mountain. I listened to the same music on the way there that I listen to before any big game. I had such a rush of adrenaline on the ride there, and when I stepped out, I hit the ground running. (Not literally. It's really tough to run up a mountain.) After being unable to find any, we decided we were SOL with the walking stick aspiration. I'm going to say this: I thought I was in pretty good shape. The mountain had other ideas and thought it would be fun to kick my ass a little bit. Needless to say, I was a little sore the next day.

I met a man from Limerick and talked to him for a while on the way up and at the summit. As nice as he was, he did put somewhat of a damper on my accomplishment when he told me he had his hip replaced 5 years ago. C'mon man! Can't you just let me have my moment! I know, I'm 21 years old and in decent shape, but that was hard enough for me...with two real hips! It really was great, though, to share that success with an Irish man who was also climbing Croagh Patrick for the first time.

I was the first from our group up to the top, but on my way I met one of our other group-mates as he was coming down. He and another guy got an earlier start on the mountain than us 8. He said he met a kid that was from St. John's and he was coming down soon. I thought, "No way." I come all the way to Ireland to climb a mountain only to meet a fellow Johnnie?! Well, not quite; but I found out that the story was even better than I anticipated. This "Johnnie" was actually the son of a professor at St. John's who passed away nine months ago--Art Spring. Dr. Spring, who led the Ireland trip just 6 years ago, passed away suddenly at the end of February. His son that I met, Paul, was climbing that day for his dad, who was unable to make it up the last time he was there. This was the 9 month anniversary of his dad's death. The coincidence got even crazier when I told him that my girlfriend had his father for class his last semester at CSB/SJU. As I told him, I never had Dr. Spring, but from how Laura talked about him, I felt like I had him. This man had such a great impact on all of his students. No, Paul is not studying in Ireland right now; he is actually on a study abroad program through his university in Dallas, TX and is currently studying in Rome! He decided to come to Ireland over his Thanksgiving break. One of my roommates, who also had Dr. Spring for class, and I walked down the mountain with Paul and we were all in awe of the coincidence. It was incredible. It's hard for me to believe that stuff like that happens without any intervention from something greater than us. One of my friends calls this picture "God's Eye." I agree.


Climbing Croagh Patrick was one of the best moments of my trip, and also one of the best moments of my short life. The feeling of accomplishment I experienced reaching the peak of that snow-laden mountain was unlike anything I've ever tasted. But the circumstances that accompanied my journey made it truly an experience unlike any other. I'm so thankful for the opportunity to climb, the encounter with a fellow "Johnnie", and a day I will not soon forget.


Well, I'm now 3 and a half hours deep into Friday, and the alarm will come early tomorrow morning. Oh, the Cottage 1 Christmas party was a success tonight. I mean, how could it not be? I would never put my hand in a Christmas party and let it be sub-par. Really though, my eyes are drooping and Dave Matthews is singing sweet lullabies to me.


God bless you all. Be safe, have fun, and take care of each other.

Joe

Did You Know...

That Galway, according to my history professor, used to set its clocks 10 minutes later than Dublin? Apparently some still believe that is the case in Ireland...one of them is me. It's been nearly three weeks, so I need to catch you up.

First of all, I want to wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving; so in the spirit of the day...

I'm thankful that on November 9th, two cottage-mates and I met 4 politicians from New England in a local pub in Spiddal and talked about everything from baseball and football, to Bob Dylan, to the changes that had recently taken place in our country. (I'm also thankful that these mid-fifty year old men felt generous enough to buy us two rounds--but that's beside the point.) It was a great night and we have some great stories to tell when we get back.

I'm thankful that we had the opportunity to travel to Cork, in southern Ireland, on a group excursion. It is a gorgeous city and the fall colors were in full swing--not nearly as good as Minnesota, but not bad none the less. This is my "senior picture" from just outside the Blarney Castle.


Did I kiss that stone? You better believe I did--I mean who really cares if rumor has it that the locals urinate on it. I'm still kickin' after two weeks, so I think I'm fine. Anyway, if you thought you couldn't stand my excessive talking before, now I ACTUALLY have the gift of gab so you better watch out come Christmas. We also walked around the University of Cork campus which reminded me a lot of St. John's, the place I am really excited to get back to again.

I'm also thankful for a great trip to London!

6 of us jumped the pond and spent 4 days with the queen, and despite the cold weather, we had a great time. Oh FYI, in case you ever go abroad and lose your passport, all you need to do is fork over $100 and probably cry a little at the embassy. That would've been my plan anyway, but one of the girls who went with us executed it to perfection after she left her passport on the plane getting into London. Needless to say, we were hoping that this incident was not a sign of things to come, and thankfully it was not. We saw the play "Wicked" which was incredible, and Monica, I actually did stay awake for the whole play this time! (Last time I was in London, visiting Monica, she thought I fell asleep during Les Miserables...twice. Actually, I was just so moved by the actors' performances I needed to hold back the tears by closing my eyes.) It was great trip that consisted of a lot sightseeing and tube-riding, but I was really excited to be back in Ireland in my cozy cottage in the country.

Finally, I'm thankful for this trip, which is now winding down. I have just 17 days left, and I'm going to make the most of them. We have our Thanksgiving day dinner and celebration tonight, and although it won't be like either of my Grandmas' meals, I hope it will try to compare. Well, I'm off to play some traditional Thanksgiving day American football down at the Gaelic football field.

Thanks to all of you who continue to read this, and I hope your holiday is full of food, fun, fellowship and family.

God bless,

Joe E.

An Unforgettable All Saints Day...

It all started on Friday, when I brought back a bulletin from the local Catholic church in Spiddal. Of course, it was in Irish so I asked J.P., the owner/maintenance man/bartender of the hotel if he could tell me, according to the bulletin, when All Saints Day mass was on Saturday. He looked it over and told me that it was at 11am. No problem, I thought.

It's about a half hour walk from our cottages at the hotel to the church in town. Oh, I forgot to mention that last week was the first time in 3 weeks that I went to a mass in my vernacular. I had previously been in Rome for a mass spoken in Italian, and then the week after that I went into Spiddal for the mass said in Irish. The great thing about the Catholic tradition is that it is catholic (universal). Although I might not know what is being said, the order of the mass does not change and allows me to participate, even if it's just in my head. But back to the story... (I told Laura this story through an email, so I'm hoping I can capture the same level of suspense...)

So, seven of us 20/21 year old American students set out to fulfill our obligation to this Holy Day. (I realized later that since it fell on a Saturday, it wasn't obligatory.) Most of us speak one word of Irish: "slainte" ("To your health!"). And that's because we've spent enough time in a pub or two. Anyway, I felt really good about the prospects of the day, seeing as it was sunny and skies were clear, which is a rarity around these parts. The church, as you can see, is relatively small and I would guess it maxes out at about 3 to 4 hundred people.

We filed into the sanctuary and slipped into the last pew of the 1st section. I'd say there were about 50 people in the section behind us. This is important, for a reason you will soon understand.

The pew was calling our names, as it fit the seven of us perfectly. This was also the pew that everyone walks behind in order to exit the church; this is also important. Have I built up the story enough? I hope you haven't stopped reading yet. As we all get into the pew, the opening song begins...and as I'm taking off my sweatshirt, noticing a good number of older people in attendance, Alex leans over to me and says, "I think this is a funeral." What? No. It can't be. I mean why would a Catholic church have a funeral at 11am on a Saturday? I'm an idiot. So, as some of us are hinting at getting the hell out of there to avoid any more awkwardness, my lovable roommate Kevin says, "I don't think it is." Of course, he was on the end, unwilling to let any of us sneak out. We also didn't want to make the situation worse by leaving with so many witnesses behind us. Sure enough, there sat the casket at the foot of the alter with the pallbearers nearby.

There is a song that was popular when I was younger that contained the lyric, "I'm the kind of guy who laughs at a funeral." Well I guess now, so am I. It was really a surreal feeling accidentally attending a funeral, not understanding a word of the Irish, and not even knowing if the deceased was young or old, or even a man or a woman. I hope I got a chuckle or two out of some of you as well. And of course, the whole congregation exited right behind us, I'm sure wondering how we knew the wonderful man/woman. If none of this made you smile, maybe this will. As we walked out, Kevin turns to me and says, "Dude, I think we just crashed a funeral." Couldn't have said it better myself.

Wow...I need a Guinness.

When In Rome...Might As Well See the Pope

They gave us a break two weeks ago because they knew how hard we students were working and wanted to reward us. So, naturally we all went our separate ways and decided to see if the rest of Europe could handle us. Since I've always wanted to see Rome what better time than now to go, right? Kyle, Kelli, and I embarked on our journey, not really knowing what would happen; especially since I was conducting this crazy train. I must have fooled them enough so that they thought I knew what I was doing.

We planned on meeting a couple of my friends, Amy and Mike, who were studying in Rome, in St. Peter's Square sometime between 7 and 730 that night. It was almost creepy how perfect the day went for someone who has never really traveled. After a day of traveling, Kyle and I crashed...on the marble floor of Mike's apartment. Yep, we figured we saved around 200 euro, but by the end of the week, our backs were reminding us of the Eighth Amendment (That's the one about "cruel and unusual punishments.") But, we weren't about to let lack of sleep trip us up.

Kyle and my first priority was to explore St. Peter's Basilica which involved ascending 551 steps to the top of the dome. I don't think I'll ever forget my first impression of that amazing place.


There aren't enough adjectives to describe this place. Sunday night, I met up with 4 people from the London program who were also on break, and the five of us went to 530 mass at St. Peter's Basilica. It was absolutely incredible, and I didn't even feel bad about letting my eyes wonder during mass. (However, that may have been a result of not being able to understand Italian.) The last time I was that nervous to receive the Eucharist I was in second grade and that's because I was trying to avoid the camera man. I think part of my fear stemmed from the fact that there was a man the size of Shaq standing next to the priest distributing Communion. I think he was prepared to do some damage if anyone ran off with a Host.

Monday Kyle and I were busy, to say the least. We careened around the Colosseum, Roman Forum, and the Palatine. I didn't get to fight any lions in the Colosseum, but it's not difficult to imagine that happening a mere 1500 years ago in that very arena. It was pretty amazing for me to think about these mind-boggling architectural structures being so well preserved with a bustling modern city surrounding them.

Tuesday was the day we went to the Vatican Museum, and being as uninformed as I usually am, I learned that the Sistine Chapel is actually part of the Vatican Museum. Go figure. Why I admit stuff like this on this blog is beyond me; must be because I can't imagine anyone's reading it. Then again, Mom and Dad keep telling me otherwise. Anywho, Mike went with Kyle and me and explained some of the stuff he had learned in his art history class. He gave us some crazy statistic that he learned that if a person spent about 3 minutes looking at each piece of art in the Vatican Museum, he or she would be there the rest of his or her life. I didn't believe him at first, but then I began to realize the sheer magnitude of this place. We had been there for over an hour, moving at a steady rate, and Mike said, "Well, if we start walking now and don't stop to look at anything else, we'll be at the Sistine Chapel in about a half hour." What? We eventually made it and it was nothing short of amazing. Despite the hundreds of people that were in the same room, I easily felt like I was the only one there, peering up to the creation of Adam and that of Eve, truly astonished at how anyone could create anything that beautiful. We took a much needed and deserved 2 hour nap when we got back, and followed that up with a little (cheap) wine (what else?) and some political discussions. Right up my alley.

When I thought I couldn't top Monday and Tuesday, Rome reminded me that it had still more to offer...in the form of an 81 year old native of Germany. You guessed it, I saw the Pope! After stressing out a little because we didn't have tickets that everyone else seemed to have, we got in no problems, and were...well, pretty close as you can see. He is truly a rock star, and it was an experience unlike any other because I got to witness the myriad people from around the world. Some of us then met up with a couple priests from Minnesota that one of the guys from London knew. One of them lived in Rome for 9 years; so, let's just say he knew is way around St. Peter's and I think I learned more on the two hour tour than I have in any of my classes. (Sorry Mom and Dad.) I just wished I could have videotaped him so that I could study everything he told us. I mean, who knew that the Pope enters into the Basilica through an inconspicuous door behind the Pieta? He did, and now I do too. We affectionately named Wednesday, "Pope Day" and it didn't disappoint.

Thursday and Friday flew by and we visited a few more places of interest like the Spanish Steps. Did I mention that I think i gained a few pounds on that trip? Thankfully, Rome is rather accommodating for broke college students, because the pizza was cheap and so was the gelato. Gelato is kind of like ice cream, only much more addicting and, dare I say it, better tasting.

So, I did make it back without any big issues, and in my opinion it was a success because I made it back with all my limbs and at least a few euros to my name. I know what you're thinking, "Don't enjoy yourself too much over there, Joe, or you might not want to come back!" Actually, you're probably not thinking that. Either way, I miss a few of you and the rest of you I'm sure will grow on me again when I get back. That's a joke by the way. I'm not sure if I've nailed the whole sarcasm in writing thing. I might just sound like an ass. Oops, I can't say that can I? Of course I can it's my blog!!


Love you all, God Bless

"I have to be in this lane, right?"

Sometimes I cheat when I’m searching for a more intelligent or descriptive word when I’m writing. Most of you probably know about the “synonym” option available on Microsoft Word when using the typing machine we call a computer. It conveniently helps you sound like you have a vast and eloquent vocabulary. There again, I used it for eloquent. So when I tried the word “surreal,” one of the options that really struck me was “dreamlike.” Dreamlike, yep…that is what I am currently feeling. I just shipped my parents and sister back home to the states after a fantastic week, and I am writing this on an airplane headed for Rome. Seriously? What an incredible feeling and an even more incredible opportunity. Granted, I’m not quite there yet, and I have a few more hoops through which to jump in order to get to my residence for the week; but it’s really hard to grasp what is happening in this dreamlike state of being. I know, like a dream, my week long mid-semester break in Rome will be over before I know it; but hopefully, unlike most of my own dreams, I will be able to remember and appreciate all of the amazing experiences I will have over the next 7 days.

First, however, let’s recap this past week with my family. I was in Dublin from October 9th through the 12th and Mom, Dad, and Monica were scheduled to arrive in the Dublin airport at about 09:00 and we both understood that I had a tour around the city with my group that day and I was unsure when I would be finished with that and able to be on my own for the rest of the night.

*Sidenote: I will be the first to say that the amount of dependence society places on personal electronics is becoming unhealthy. Don’t get me wrong, it is nice to be able to have the world at my fingertips with the click of a few buttons; but sometimes I wish it was just me against my environment. Last Saturday was not one of those times.*

I would have given almost anything for both my parents and me to have a cell phone so I could find them. Long story short, I may or may not have spent 2 hours total waiting in a hotel lobby, worrying, waiting, and writing. There was no one at fault; we just kept missing each other! I did find humor in the irony of the situation—this time it was my turn to wait patiently for those rascals to come home, while worrying about what trouble they could possibly be getting themselves into in the bustling city of Dublin. When they finally did come back, they felt far worse than they needed to, but Dad made up for it by buying me dinner and each of us a pint…buy someone a Guinness and all is forgiven.

Monday I had class for three hours in the afternoon so we had dinner together in Galway. It was a great meal, and a good start to the week. Tuesday I decided to take them into Connemara National Park—a picturesque place full of a beautiful mountains and streams. How did we get there you ask? Did I mention my family rented a car for the week? Yes, they do drive on the “wrong” sides of both the road and the car itself. It was an adventure all week to say the least, and just as Dad started to feel comfortable, the trip was over. Wednesday I didn’t see them at all because I had class from 10 in the morning until 8 at night, with few breaks in between. They survived the gorgeous Cliffs of Moher and we met up again on Thursday. We took a ferry out to the Inishmore, the largest of the Aran Islands, one of my favorite places in Ireland, and spent the day on the island. I was really thankful we had a perfect day for it, and all of us mustered up enough gumption to army crawl to the edge and peer down the 300 foot cliffs. As Dad described, “The Cliffs of Moher were beautiful, but these cliffs are breathtaking.” I couldn’t have said it better myself. That night we (a couple of us reluctantly on account of being exhausted) ventured into the nightlife of Galway city. We stumbled (no we weren’t drunk) upon Taaffe’s, a pub that has live Irish music on Thursday nights. We got there early enough to get our own table, and I have to admit, it was a blast. The place was packed but the atmosphere was unbeatable.

So, they departed this morning, and Dad was nice enough to drop the three of us travelling to Rome at the bus station this morning at 05:20. Alright, we’re about to land so I have to pack this thing up, but take care of each other, and I’ll say hi to the Pope for all of you back home.

Whoa...For The Longest Time...

I feel it's necessary to apologize for the tardiness of this post. I first looked at when my last post was (September 24th) and thought to myself, "Oh I better do another because it's been about a week." Well, a week turned into two, and, well, here we are. So I'm sorry for those of you who are legitimately interested in my life. (Thank you to the half dozen of you.) But seriously, as I reflected on my failure as a blogger, I came to the realization that I've been busy as hell the last two weeks and I had absolutely no time during which to blog! I've been writing a lot in my personal journal, which is good, and I've found it therapeutic in a sense. However, it's unfortunate that a couple of my professors don't agree that freelance writing should be the only type of writing. I have heard from a few of you that were curious about my role in academia. Yes, I actually do have classes! I guess I neglected to mention this aspect of my trip because...well that's the boring part. But I'll briefly touch on my classes.

My first class, taught by my director, is called Senior Seminar. If you didn't catch the irony of the name of the class, I am actually a Junior, not a Senior, but I need to take this class to graduate. I'd like to lie to you all and say that I'm just ahead of everyone else, but I knew none of you would buy that so it wasn't worth trying. My other three classes are taught by professors from the University in Galway who come to our living quarters to teach us. Monday's class is Irish Catholicism which is interesting because the many places of religious significance we talk about in class, we have seen or will see during our excursions. On Wednesday I have an Anglo-Irish Literature class which is probably my favorite class. Right now we're reading Yates and we'll be reading Joyce and Seamus Heaney in the next couple weeks. I'm really excited. My other class on Wednesday is my Irish History class. I just finished a paper for that class about an hour ago on Irish immigrants, specifically those who immigrated to Minnesota. So all in all classes are really good, but I can honestly say that what I learn in the classroom doesn't compare to the amount I am learning through our excursions and listening to people who are a part of this rich history of Ireland.

In light the journey on which my parents and sister are about to embark (to Ireland, to see their handsome son and brother), I feel this is necessary...
"Please fasten your seat belts for takeoff and remain fastened until the seat belt sign is turned off."

Two weekends ago, that would be September 25th through the 28th for those keeping score, we took a weekend excursion to Northern Ireland, specifically Belfast and Derry. This was an amazing trip and one that was no doubt very different than any of our previous excursions. We were able witness first hand the hostility that once existed in the two cities, and that still exists to a certain extent. The wall in Belfast, separating the Nationalists (who support British control over Northern Ireland) from the Unionists (who support Northern Irish independence from Britain) still exists, but is no longer a wall of separation; rather it is a wall that is a constant reminder of the British presence in Northern Ireland, and the differences that plague the people of the country. I've been in the country for a mere month, yet it was quite an experience to see an Irish city with red, white, and blue curb paint representing the British colors, and the flag of Great Britain flying on every building on the Unionist side. There are so many beautiful murals in this city; each making profound political and social statements. Speaking of beautiful, if you look at the dates closely you might notice that the 25th was a very important date in Minnesota history. Some of you might say it was all for not, but I watched the most beautiful Twins game I've seen in my lifetime. I stayed up until 5am to watch my boys come back from a 6-1 deficit to beat the Sox. I won't say anything more about them because it bring tears to my eyes, but I saw a beautiful, beautiful game that night.

From Belfast, we traveled to Derry, which is about an hour or so from Belfast, also located in Northern Ireland. We had an emotional tour around the city led by a man we just happened to run into who was a former tour guide. He was really able to tell us a first hand account of his experiences. The murals here, like Belfast, were so profound, yet powerful to the point that we could still feel the tension present not long ago on the streets we were walking.

This past weekend, we traveled to Kilkenny for just one night. This Medieval town is still bustling with tourists (that's me!) and visitors from all over the world. My favorite thing that happened to a group of us took place on Saturday night. We arrived in the evening and just after six o'clock we went looking for a church to find out mass times. We found the Catholic church (which was built in the 1600s) at about 6:08, we looked at the time of mass and...it started at 6:10. I was in awe. I'm pretty sure the reason that mass time existed was simply because someone knew we were going to be there at that exact time. 6:10? When has there ever been a mass starting at an obscure time like that? Sorry, I was befuddled. We also visited a castle the was conquered by Oliver Cromwell in the 17th century; that's it in the background. "You may now unbuckle your seat belts until further notice."

So, now you're caught up! We're off to Dublin on Thursday morning, and I'll be meeting Mom, Dad, and Monica there on Saturday night! I'm really excited to see them--I'm also excited for the food they're bringing me; but don't tell them that. So, as they say in Irish...

Slainte! (To your health!)

Loyalty

I may be a fair weather Vikings fan; I mean, who isn't? But one thing I am not is a fair weather Twins fan. Any chance I get to watch the boys compete for a playoff spot against the most hated team in all of baseball, next to the Yankees, I'm there. So, seeing as the boys are fighting for their playoff lives against the Sox, I'm sitting here, in the lounge, watching the game. The clock is now striking 3 bells...that's AM. It's the bottom of the 6th, and we're up 3-2. Ah, c'mon Punto! Roller to short. This is more a stream of consciousness than anything. If you're reading this, I'm sorry. I really feel bad I'm writing this, but I had to. What else does one do at 3 in the morning during a baseball game. Sidenote: The Irish National Baseball team was established in 1998. So, as Jermaine Dye steps to the plate with a man on in the 7th, and Boof is on the mound, I will sign off. Farewell all, until next time...

Lord, I Was Born a Ramblin' Man...

Let me clarify, I've never wanted to be a rock star. I think part of it was the fact that my instrument playing abilities never materialized to the level one might need to be at to play in a band; another reason could be that the only time I sing well is when I'm drowned out by other members of the congregation at Mass, or in the car or shower. This weekend I figured out the real reason I would never want to be a rock star: life on the road is full of nauseous moments and very few good sleeping positions...even for an expert sleeper of my caliber. However, if I were touring around beautiful Ireland, that might be an exception. Countless hours on a bus are less than fun, but the places I have had the opportunity to see and experience because of that bus made this past weekend's excursion well worth it.

We departed from Spiddal on Thursday morning at about 9am and made our way to County Kerry, and the town of Tralee, which was the site of our hostel. We made a few stops on the way to our destination including the breathtaking Cliffs of Moher, and a pristine beach, but we got there eventually. Thursday was the 18th and it happened to be not only my grandpa's birthday (Happy 50th Grandpa!), but a roommate's 21st birthday. So, as my own birthday is the 19th we had a little duel pub crawl...without the crawling part. For the adults, don't worry, I was responsible; for the younger folk, I had plenty of fun; for the children, there were plenty of clowns; and for the girlfriend, all of us with significant others sat together and talked about how we wished you all were here. There, I think I have all my bases. And for those who were wondering, my first beer on my 21st (or period) was a Guinness...what else!

On Friday we traveled the Ring of Kerry which is a gorgeous route around County Kerry, during which I climbed a small mountain, which I have surprisingly never done on my birthday. We then made our way to Killarney, which I know some of you Christmas caroling fans are pretty excited about. I'm sure "..the prettiest picture [I ever would have] seen [would be] Christmas in Killarney." However, I'll be home to help you all sing that in a few months. We also received a tour of the Muckross House, which is a mansion originally owned by a Henry Arthur Herbert, once a member of the UK Parliament. Killarney really is a beautiful town, and I even met a few high school kids who happened to be hazing a buddy of theirs. That's all the further I'll go with that, but it was entertaining. (Nothing too dangerous, don't worry.)


Saturday, we took a trip to the Dingle Peninsula we saw more beautiful scenery. Sense a theme? That night the group went to a play performance. It was a musical called "Tearmann" and it had, you guessed it, Riverdancing. It was nothing short of amazing, even if all the songs were in the Gaelic/Irish language. That night about a dozen of us went to a local pub and invited our director, Iceman, and his wife Maverick. I suppose I need to explain why Chuck and Suzanne are named Iceman and Maverick respectively. Many of you have probably heard of the ultimate fighter Chuck Liddel whose nickname is "The Iceman"; well our director's name is Chuck Rodell...get the picture. Then, in reference to "Top Gun" the famous Tom Cruise movie, one of Iceman's rivals is Maverick. I needed to explain this because for the rest of my blogging, I will be referring to Chuck as Iceman and Suzanne as Maverick. It was a little odd thinking about a 55 year old man being as "Cold as Ice" but we make it work. I just hope he never sees this blog.

So, that brings us to Sunday which was a long day of driving. We left at 1030am from Tralee and made a few stops for lunch and groceries, but finally made it back "home" at about 7pm. Whew! If you've made it to the end of this novel, congratulations! I'm trying to update this thing as much as I can, but hell, I've got exploring to do! I leave for Belfast and Derry in Northern Ireland on Thursday and come back again Sunday. So, Thursday morning will be here before I know it and I have plenty of reading to do before that, so until next time...Cheers!

Riding a Bicycle to Heaven?

Let's first start from where I left off...My second bag is here!! We were just sitting down for dinner, tacos to be exact, when one of the guys from another cottage knocked on the door carrying what I thought to be gold, frankincense, or myrrh; actually it was something far more useful than any of those gifts. This gift contained my warm fleece, my rain jacket, a very important book, some shorts (Hey at least I can wear them to bed right?), and FOOD! Can you tell I'm a little relieved? And that was the perfect ending to the perfect day. Actually the perfect ending to any day is finishing it off watching my favorite movie...anybody? You guessed it, "The Sandlot." So, that is what I'm doing right now, watching "The Sandlot" and writing.

We started the day at about 930am and took a bus through Spiddal to a small bay. We then took a 25 minute ferry ride to the largest of the Aran Islands. As a group we decided to rent bicycles so we could ride around the island. It was really the perfect day for us. It is the first day we haven't had a rain cloud hanging over our heads for an extended part of the day, so it really was perfect. Now, I'm in decent shape, but biking is something I haven't really done...well, since I was about 15. I picked it up pretty quickly, and we were off. Kevin, my roommate, and I split from the group after a little while and tooled around on our own. These are some of the many pictures we took today, and none of them do this gorgeous place justice. The cliffs were the really the last things we saw, and we definitely saved the best for last. We passed some of the group on our way up to the cliffs and in a very sarcastic tone, one of my other cottage-mates said, "It's definitely not the best thing I've every seen." I was pretty sure we were in for something special. It was truly amazing to see nothing but ocean for miles and miles from the edge of a 200 foot cliff, while the waves crashed into the facade. It was one of those special times in my life when I was simply amazed by God's wonder and presence in the world. I can only hope that I can have another experience of that magnitude by the end of this semester.

I really appreciate your interest in my life right now, and I always welcome prayers, because I know I can use as much as you are willing to give. We have another day long excursion tomorrow, which is likely to include me being on my feet all day; so, it looks like it's time go to bed. Don't get me wrong, I'll welcome this type of fatigue every day, if I can have the same experiences. However, I'm not sure if my roommates will be too happy if I wake up screaming with leg cramps. Oh well, you know what they say...when in Ireland... Just kidding, and don't worry, Laura, there's no saying like that here. :)

Sleep Deprived

Well, I made it to Ireland. If my math serves me correctly, which it doesn't very often, I started this craziness about 26 hours ago, when mom and dad drove me to the airport. It's been a whirlwind ever since.

I consider myself a relatively organized person, but apparently yesterday was an exception. During the past few days, I went from using a big suitcase, then switching to a smaller one, then back to the bigger one (with a little encouragement from a loving aunt), then to a the big one accompanied by a small duffel bag (with the encouragement from my loving mother). Needless to say, I was a bit fed up with the amount of time it took to pack.

Well, I got to Chicago with no problems, and there were 5 other members of my trip on the same flight. With a little help from a customer service rep, we found our terminal and we were ready to go through security. Of course, I was the only one who didn't receive a boarding pass in Minneapolis for my flight from Chicago to Ireland. Luckily, I had printed one off before I left, and used that. Apparently security people are a little particular about you having the right stuff, so he sent me back to Aer Lingus, the Irish airline, and made me get my boarding pass stamped to make it "official." Cool, no big deal. So I go back to security, get through no problem and... remember I haven't eaten since 1030 am. It's now 540pm. So, I'm about to say, "Whatever, I'll go back and get something and go through security for a second time. Then I remember someone telling me I needed to be at the gate at 550pm. So, I consider myself SOL, bite the bullet, and buy a pepsi, an apple juice, and some chips. Don't worry mom, that's what I eat for dinner all the time at school. So, I'm looking for the others, thinking they also are supposed to be at the gate, but of course, they aren't; they're eating, and getting their names called by Aer Lingus to come check-in. But, of course, they get there about 5 minutes before boarding, check in, and have their bellies full of food, happy as clams. So much for following directions.

I slept about an hour thanks to the Benedryl (thanks Terri) and was awoken by a heavenly voice: "We will be serving beef or chicken for dinner this evening." So by 8pm, my stomach finally forgave me. We rolled into Dublin at about 830am, waited a long hour and took off for the Shannon airport, on the other side of the country. While we were falling asleep walking to the baggage claim, I couldn't help but think how ironic it would be if that second bag, that was not supposed to be part of the equation in the first place, didn't make it to Shannon. Well tip your cap and call me Nostradamus, ladies and gentlemen, because that's exactly what happened. I'll keep you posted on that situation.

So, after a two hour bus ride to our little cottages on the outskirts of a town called Spiddal, we made it. No, we didn't bring any dry or warm weather with us, but we're happy, though a little tired, nonetheless. It's almost 9pm here, and after a long 2 or 3 mile walk into town in the rain, I'm about ready to hit the hay. Oh yeah, my rain gear is in the other bag... I'm sure it will only get better for me in this beautiful country, and I am excited for everything to come! Cheers!