I woke up about 5:45 a.m. so I could catch the 6:30 a.m. shuttle to the Dublin Airport. I flew for 7 hours and slept at least two of those hours.
I was all excited about getting five hours back.
But I've just, addled as I am, worked it out.
I've been awake since 45 minutes past midnight here and it's now 9:45 p.m. so I've been awake, except for a two hour nap on the airplane, for about 21 hours.
So, as soon as I walk my dog, a couple of hours earlier than he would like since he didn't go and come back from Ireland, I'm going to bed, having, I now realize, been awake for almost a day.
Good night. Sleep Tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite.....
Friday, April 17, 2015
The Irish and eating
OK, I eat as slowly as anyone you know. I just do. Chewing 40 times, not wanting to swallow too much at once, enjoying food at a leisurely pace--stuff like that.
And also, for a fat-ish guy, I don't eat a whole lot.
At Dromatine the staff serves your lunch and dinner. Breakfast you are, gracefully on your own, unless you let one of the wait staff dish out your 'porridge', which I would call 'oatmeal' and never want as much as they will give you at Dromatine.
Going through the serving line is like this: "One slice of beef/pork/lamb, please." "Oh, here's a second just in case." "No potatoes please." "Just two, if that's alright...."
For lunch one day, we had a curry to die for, really, they can really cook at Dromatine. And they found a way to have potatoes as well--curry and chips, I swear that was what they did, not even asking, not even believing I might not want 'french fries' with my rice and curry though I was saying I didn't.
Thing is, I never finish my meal, never clean my plate at Dromatine.
All the Irish do, even eating with their knife in their dominant hand and their fork in their other hand and doing things to their food I couldn't begin to do, being American and cutting with my right hand and then eating what I cut with my right hand with a fork.
Then the 'pudding' comes...want it or not.
I had a piece of cheesecake the size of a saucer.
It was very good.
In spite of myself, I ate it all, finishing a good 8 minutes after everyone else at my table.
And also, for a fat-ish guy, I don't eat a whole lot.
At Dromatine the staff serves your lunch and dinner. Breakfast you are, gracefully on your own, unless you let one of the wait staff dish out your 'porridge', which I would call 'oatmeal' and never want as much as they will give you at Dromatine.
Going through the serving line is like this: "One slice of beef/pork/lamb, please." "Oh, here's a second just in case." "No potatoes please." "Just two, if that's alright...."
For lunch one day, we had a curry to die for, really, they can really cook at Dromatine. And they found a way to have potatoes as well--curry and chips, I swear that was what they did, not even asking, not even believing I might not want 'french fries' with my rice and curry though I was saying I didn't.
Thing is, I never finish my meal, never clean my plate at Dromatine.
All the Irish do, even eating with their knife in their dominant hand and their fork in their other hand and doing things to their food I couldn't begin to do, being American and cutting with my right hand and then eating what I cut with my right hand with a fork.
Then the 'pudding' comes...want it or not.
I had a piece of cheesecake the size of a saucer.
It was very good.
In spite of myself, I ate it all, finishing a good 8 minutes after everyone else at my table.
The swans of Dromantine
I've been to Dromantine--the home of the Society of African Missionaries in Ireland--twice before this time. It is a breathtaking place, a manor house worthy of Downton Abbey, with the addition of a modern retreat house,. And at the bottom of the Great Lawn is a body of water larger than what New Englanders call 'ponds'...it's really a small lake.
(Google 'Dromantine' to see some views.)
And both times before one of the things I'd do early in the morning and as light was failing, was watch the pair of swans who live there.
This time, coming in, I saw only one, up on the bank. Later, I saw only one, swimming and feeding on the water. The next day I saw only one, up on the bank again, looking distracted or (as I anthropromorphized it) 'sad', and I decided one of the swans had died.
I lived through that day and the beginning of the next, I was mourning for myself and for the swan. Swans mate for life and I was making the swan I kept seeing into a mournful widow/er.
Then I asked one of the guys who do all the work for the conference center and minding the grounds, 'when did you lose a swan'.
After three tries understanding his particular accent, I realized he was telling me that the female was nesting amid some bushes, out of sight, and the male (who I kept seeing) was 'out of sorts' being alone so much.
As we were leaving, a day and a half later, there they were, hugging the far bank, the female unwilling to venture too far from her nest, swimming together.
Swans are not like dogs or cats or horses or ducks or cows. Swans can be really nasty and aggressive. But they are so noble and beautiful and belong in settings like the waters of Dromantine.
It gave my heart joy all the way to Dublin knowing they were together still.
(Google 'Dromantine' to see some views.)
And both times before one of the things I'd do early in the morning and as light was failing, was watch the pair of swans who live there.
This time, coming in, I saw only one, up on the bank. Later, I saw only one, swimming and feeding on the water. The next day I saw only one, up on the bank again, looking distracted or (as I anthropromorphized it) 'sad', and I decided one of the swans had died.
I lived through that day and the beginning of the next, I was mourning for myself and for the swan. Swans mate for life and I was making the swan I kept seeing into a mournful widow/er.
Then I asked one of the guys who do all the work for the conference center and minding the grounds, 'when did you lose a swan'.
After three tries understanding his particular accent, I realized he was telling me that the female was nesting amid some bushes, out of sight, and the male (who I kept seeing) was 'out of sorts' being alone so much.
As we were leaving, a day and a half later, there they were, hugging the far bank, the female unwilling to venture too far from her nest, swimming together.
Swans are not like dogs or cats or horses or ducks or cows. Swans can be really nasty and aggressive. But they are so noble and beautiful and belong in settings like the waters of Dromantine.
It gave my heart joy all the way to Dublin knowing they were together still.
Home again...
I really am a homebody! As wonderful as my trip to Ireland and the Making a Difference Workshop was, I really missed being home....
The flight from Dublin to JFK was amazing. There were only 86 passengers on a plane that seats 190, so I had 3 seats to myself, as did lots of others. There were enough couples who sat window/aisle and had a seat in between that everyone traveling alone had 3 seats to themselves! The people in first class must have felt crowded if they ever deigned to look back in coach!
Payback came in the form of a 45 minute delay, for no reason announced, in the luggage from the flight. I finally asked a woman in an American Airlines blazer what the problem was. She got on a phone and the luggage started down the carousel before she hung up. Some luggage handler must have forgotten to flip a switch or something....
The flight left Dublin at 9 a.m. and I was home after waiting for my luggage by 2:30 p.m. It's great to get the five hours back I got robbed of on the way over.
I'll blog several times this weekend about the time in Ireland. See you then....
The flight from Dublin to JFK was amazing. There were only 86 passengers on a plane that seats 190, so I had 3 seats to myself, as did lots of others. There were enough couples who sat window/aisle and had a seat in between that everyone traveling alone had 3 seats to themselves! The people in first class must have felt crowded if they ever deigned to look back in coach!
Payback came in the form of a 45 minute delay, for no reason announced, in the luggage from the flight. I finally asked a woman in an American Airlines blazer what the problem was. She got on a phone and the luggage started down the carousel before she hung up. Some luggage handler must have forgotten to flip a switch or something....
The flight left Dublin at 9 a.m. and I was home after waiting for my luggage by 2:30 p.m. It's great to get the five hours back I got robbed of on the way over.
I'll blog several times this weekend about the time in Ireland. See you then....
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Going to Ireland
I'm flying out tomorrow evening and will be in Ireland at 7 a.m., when my clock will be at 2 a.m. Oh, well, I get those hours back on the way home next Friday.
I'm taking my lap top, I think I can get on "Under the Castor..." from there, so I might send you a few posts from the Emerald Isle. If not, I'll be back next Saturday.
There are not many reasons I would fly to Ireland overnight--but I'd do it anytime for the Making a Difference Workshop. I think I told you I'm not leading but coaching three Irish leaders in the expectation that they won't need an American any more.
I've been thinking about it and my life can be divided into BMAD and AMAD--before and after 'Making a Difference'. When I went I was burned out, seriously considering renouncing my priestly vows and trying to get my life back together. When I came back I was truly alive, had my priesthood all new and my life has been a joy ever since.
No wonder I felt so thankful that I became a leader of the workshop and am now a senior leader and coach of new leaders.
That's how much it gave to me. So, I have to give back.
So an old homebody like me will fly 7000 miles, miss a night's sleep and feel like I'm doing what I was meant to do.
Not bad, such commitments.
See you soon, or in a week....
I'm taking my lap top, I think I can get on "Under the Castor..." from there, so I might send you a few posts from the Emerald Isle. If not, I'll be back next Saturday.
There are not many reasons I would fly to Ireland overnight--but I'd do it anytime for the Making a Difference Workshop. I think I told you I'm not leading but coaching three Irish leaders in the expectation that they won't need an American any more.
I've been thinking about it and my life can be divided into BMAD and AMAD--before and after 'Making a Difference'. When I went I was burned out, seriously considering renouncing my priestly vows and trying to get my life back together. When I came back I was truly alive, had my priesthood all new and my life has been a joy ever since.
No wonder I felt so thankful that I became a leader of the workshop and am now a senior leader and coach of new leaders.
That's how much it gave to me. So, I have to give back.
So an old homebody like me will fly 7000 miles, miss a night's sleep and feel like I'm doing what I was meant to do.
Not bad, such commitments.
See you soon, or in a week....
Friday, April 10, 2015
Luke's new home
Our cat, Luke, has decided his new home is on top of our baby grand piano (which hasn't been played for 20+ years and is so out of tune no one who could play would play it). The piano is a piece of furniture with lots of pictures and stuffed animals on top of it.
That's where Luke has spent a whole bunch of hours a day for about three days. His previous place was on the couch (actually, the bottom of a bunk bed) where Bern sits in our TV room.
One thing you never want to happen is to suddenly be thrust into the brain of a cat.
You'd never get out.
Dogs, even dogs like our bad dog Bela, have some sort of semi-logical, linear thinking. You can usually approximate what they're thinking.
Not cats. Cats are an eternal mystery that ends up spending hours among framed photos on the top of a piano.
And after he uses the litter box, he runs like mad (and he's pretty fast for a 14 year old cat!) all the way upstairs.
Do you ever run out of the bathroom? Me neither, but Lukie does.
Go figure.
You can't even 'ponder' a cat's mind. It's imponderable.
Dogs, someone told me, have packs. Cats have a staff.
That's where Luke has spent a whole bunch of hours a day for about three days. His previous place was on the couch (actually, the bottom of a bunk bed) where Bern sits in our TV room.
One thing you never want to happen is to suddenly be thrust into the brain of a cat.
You'd never get out.
Dogs, even dogs like our bad dog Bela, have some sort of semi-logical, linear thinking. You can usually approximate what they're thinking.
Not cats. Cats are an eternal mystery that ends up spending hours among framed photos on the top of a piano.
And after he uses the litter box, he runs like mad (and he's pretty fast for a 14 year old cat!) all the way upstairs.
Do you ever run out of the bathroom? Me neither, but Lukie does.
Go figure.
You can't even 'ponder' a cat's mind. It's imponderable.
Dogs, someone told me, have packs. Cats have a staff.
Thursday, April 9, 2015
birthdays
I'll be flying home from Ireland next week on my birthday.
I'm not sure I've ever been on an airplane on my birthday.
I expect special treatment from the flight attendants and two people in the cockpit at all times....
Two things that convince me I'm really as old as I truly am are how tentatively I walk in ice and snow and how freaked out I become about traveling.
I got pounds and euros, made sure my passport was where I thought it was, booked a hotel in Dublin for the night before I fly back, spent hours looking for a 'continuous voltage converter' (still no luck) and worried about parking at JFK and all sorts of travel related anxiety.
I don't think I used to be like this--worried so about details. But I am now and will probably get worse.
This is Thursday night and I'll probably be worrying about details I've forgotten until I take off Sunday. Not like me.
This 'traveling anxiety' is the only thing that contradicts, in me, my theory about aging: "as we get older, we get more like we've always been."
I get more left-wing every year while people who had some conservative stuff in them already get more conservative. I get less interested in doctrine (which never interested me anyway!) each year while doctrinal folks get more doctrinal. I care less about details as I age (which I never cared about much at all) and more interested in the 'big picture'. People who were 'tree' people instead of 'forest' people, as they age, become even more tree obcessed.
That's my theory and I'm sticking with it: as we age we get more like we've always been.
Ponder that and see what you think since we're all (with any luck at all) always getting older....
I'm not sure I've ever been on an airplane on my birthday.
I expect special treatment from the flight attendants and two people in the cockpit at all times....
Two things that convince me I'm really as old as I truly am are how tentatively I walk in ice and snow and how freaked out I become about traveling.
I got pounds and euros, made sure my passport was where I thought it was, booked a hotel in Dublin for the night before I fly back, spent hours looking for a 'continuous voltage converter' (still no luck) and worried about parking at JFK and all sorts of travel related anxiety.
I don't think I used to be like this--worried so about details. But I am now and will probably get worse.
This is Thursday night and I'll probably be worrying about details I've forgotten until I take off Sunday. Not like me.
This 'traveling anxiety' is the only thing that contradicts, in me, my theory about aging: "as we get older, we get more like we've always been."
I get more left-wing every year while people who had some conservative stuff in them already get more conservative. I get less interested in doctrine (which never interested me anyway!) each year while doctrinal folks get more doctrinal. I care less about details as I age (which I never cared about much at all) and more interested in the 'big picture'. People who were 'tree' people instead of 'forest' people, as they age, become even more tree obcessed.
That's my theory and I'm sticking with it: as we age we get more like we've always been.
Ponder that and see what you think since we're all (with any luck at all) always getting older....
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