Oh wait, I'm not finished with Italy!

Go back to Thursday in Venice: (still Mom)  Stayed at Ca Dogaressa.  (By the way, all spellings of Italian names, words, lodging, cities, are usually spelled incorrectly.  Accept that fact.) Paulo, our host at the guesthouse is wonderful.  We broke fast with fabulous brioche from a nearby Kosher bakery.  We stayed in the Canareggio sestiere of Venice, which was close to the train station and encompasses the first Jewish ghetto in the world.  So names because the area was formerly occupied by a foundry, geto, in Italian.  Passed up a great photo of 10 Orthodox Jewish men sitting by a small canal at a picnic table.  Felt like a creeper, so you will just have to picture it.

Mama looking beautiful in Florence

We wandered around that evening listening to the sound of clanging pots and pans, reminiscent of our old way of bringing in the New Year.  Clumps of little children ran around banging pots with wooden spoons, running into shops of all kinds, singing a little song. The proprietor, often waving his fingers in a mime of conducting, then gave them little candy treats.  Found out it was the Feast of St. Martin's Day. We stopped for a drink on a campo on the main drag, Strada Nova, and watched the kids and their parents.

Mom and I tried to get a picture of the little kids getting candy with their pots and pans.
We may or may not be on the Florence most wanted list. 

Of course, no one is dragging on the main drag, because the total beauty of Venice is that it is all pedestrian.  ALL pedestrian...except for the boats on the canals of course.  One enormous, living, sinking museum.  We missed a spot of flooding two days before we arrived, but the elevated sidewalks were still around in a few spots, no doubt waiting for the next winter flood.  As we returned to our little canal and guesthouse, we heard music and went to the bar across the canal.  Great time.  3 sax, guitar, bass, percussion.  Bluesy, jazzy, kind of the sound of The Average White Band.  Cheap, perfect.  Returned home late, found my purse was gone.  Mayhem.  Clare checked the club, tears, fears, trip to the phone bank to cancel my Mastercard. All my photos gone! Put off the rest of the cancellations till the following day.  Thank God I did.  After a bad night, I fixed the drapery the next morning and lo and behold--a miracle--my purse (with camera).  Clare and I, overjoyed, jumped up and down for a bit and felt reborn.  Fun night!

Mom outside Doge's Palace 

Friday: We loved crossing the Grand Canal on the small trahgettos.  Cool people stand as they cross, like George Washington crossing the Delaware.  Loved the Doge's Palace, the Rialto Market, San Marco, but I really loved the back canals, campos, and bridges.  Finding a campo with children playing soccer, seeing the laundry strung up high.  I'm a sucker for laundry. We treated ourselves to a concert of Vivaldi and Mozart in the Chiesa de San Vidal.  We particularly liked the 1st violin, second chair, and the violist.
Mom didn't explain why we liked the 2nd chair 1st violin and violist. They were very attractive (or, as her dad would call them, fiLm stars). 

We <3 laundry 

Saturday: We said goodbye to Venice by riding the vaporettos up and down the Grand Canal.  Our leisurely walk to the bus bound for the airport turned into a sweaty sprint as we realized Ryanair flies out of a different airport, which is 1.25 hours away and not .25.  Travel is so relaxing.

My being creepy with the dog on the vaporetto 

Returned HOME to Dublin and the Christmas lights were lit!  I may retire from the blog now, just saying we enjoyed exploring Green 19, Anseo Bar, and Shebeen Chic, for a different slice of Dublin.  Sunday, Clare bought some twinkle lights to brighten her common room and we were greatful to Govinda's vegetarian restaurant for their ENORMOUS servings.  Finally, generous portions and low price in Dublin.  Clare fell in love with The Winding Stair bookstore and you may find her there if you visit.  She doesn't intend to buy a book, but rather just sit in the big armchair with a cup of tea.  I think it is like home.

Mom and I went to Shebeen Chic Sunday night for our last dinner. Very cool place--sideways pictures of gentlemen in the 18th century, dozens of tattered chandeliers, little blocks of painted wood nailed to the wall in a jigsaw pattern. I walked her back to her B and B (or rather, "Grade A Guesthouse") and then decided I didn't want to say goodbye just yet (plus I didn't want to walk home in the freezing cold dark night and pass another old man murmuring "you so sexy!"). At around 7am Monday morning I woke up to my mom kissing me on the cheek and me sitting up to give her a sleepy hug and a sad goodbye. All day Monday I felt so alone! I miss my best friend, my 6' tall companion. Pounding the pavement alone was very lonely. BUT, mom's wise suggestions are already coming in handy: I met my friend Maisie at a very indie bar called Anseo on Camden st. Maisie was impressed but my coolness, or I'd like to think she was. I gave all the credit to mom. Then I went to a local natives concert across the street at a venue called The Village, right next to Whelans (not Kevin) pub. Unfortunately it was sold out, and I had to brave the crowd alone! I still had a lot of fun, but being 6' in a sea of little Irish girls and boys can be pretty odd. I need to bring Shannon, or another short person, to help me edge my way to the front. There was no way I was doing that alone... not without getting punched in the face by angry, drunk, short people. 


I'm kidding, I actually like short people. Kind of. 


This marks the end Eileen's reign on my blog. What a sad day....

Love,
Clare and Mom

Kevin Whelan

Kevin Whelan's mother died today.  Coffee hour and class is cancelled, and the O'Connell house is filled with a sort of stillness. Keep my inspiring teacher and his family in your thoughts and prayers.

Mom's dublin adventures continued

We've just returned from Italy, and are terrified at the prospect of writing about last sunday. That seems like a month ago. We'll do our best. 

Sunday--Breakfast at O'Neill's.  Perfect spot.  Great shower, high ceilings, clean, modest, cozy.  Clare has homework, but we found a bit of time to visit the National Gallery and spent most of our time in the Jack Yeat's room.  We tucked into the Natural History Museum, all dark wood, dead insects under glass, and preserved animals.  Filled with kiddies and their folks.  One family came out and the Dad asked his little boy, "Now, was that not fun?" The little fellow skipped out, smiling all the while, and called out, "No it wasn't!"  Conflicted? Pleasantly oppositional, or relieved to be away from the carcasses of dead animals.  

Mom looking heavenly in the chapel next to Dublin Castle. 

We conquered the bus routes and took the 16 out to Harold's Cross in Terenure to see Con, Morag, and Niall.  After a short wander in the dark, rain, and chill, we found Ashdale Rd. and had a wonderful time.  Con shaved his beard and looks younger than his 75ish years.  Niall's hurling team won their championship game that day and I wish we had gone to it.  Clare will go to a match next February when Niall's hurling starts up again.  Niall's team is called the Faughs (pronounced Fogs) short for Faugh a Ballagh, an anglicization of the Irish, Fag a Bealac.  I caused quite a stir when I knew what the phrase meant: clear the road, or clear the way, or make way.  Sad to say I'm not an Irish scholar, but Faugh a Ballagh was one of the 3 Irish phrases that we learned from Dad.  Our Irish relatives were very impressed.  Sarah returned from her nursing job and drove us back to Trinity.  Lovely time there, as usual.  They are so warm and welcoming and I get a little shot of the past when I see Con, whose looks are an amalgam of Dad and Neil, and who brings me back to earlier visits to Millstreet and Cork and all those we met in the old days.

Band at O'Donaghues from a few nights back. 

Monday--We jettisoned our trip to Kilkenny because of time constraints and the threat of bad weather.  Clare worked at homework a bit at the Bald Barista, ate at Urban Picnic in the St. George Street Arcade, and we attended Kevin Whelan's class at O'Connell House.  Kevin is a very knowledgeable and entertaining lecturer. I think I got more out of the class than some of the students around me who were checking email and facebook photos.  I saw quite a few pictures of kittens over the shoulder of the girl in front of me.  But I suppose it helped that I had a context and closer connection to the subject matter; I remembered well the times of Tommy Sands' hunger strike, that time period in Northern Ireland, and the references to Viet Nam.  We met Nicole at Gruel, then packed for Italy! 

We LOVE the christmas lights on Grafton St! 

Tuesday in Pisa and Firenze!  

Surprise!  Rain! Heavier than in Ireland!  Oh for the rain that allows you to still get around in a mildly damp fashion.  We landed in Pisa and wandered the area around the Leaning Tower with all our gear getting wetter and wetter. Had a great risotto at a little Trattoria nearby and were very relieved to get to the train to Florence and to dry out a bit.  Walk to Antica Dimora on Via San Gallo.  A bit hard to find, no big signage, just a discreet  little plaque on the stone wall.  Lovely place, canopy beds, beautiful drapery and frames.  Thank goodness for November pricing.  Amanda, the manager of the guesthouse, suggested a place for dinner, Osteria Pepo.  It was very pretty, pleasant, but all American guests.  I just don't like that! Clare met up with Nicole and her friends for a pub crawl.  It felt weird having her take off on her own here, but it is very safe, and very small.  

This is Clare. We’re sharing. The pub crawl wasn't really a pub crawl. I just met up with Nicole and her swedish friend Oscar, who she knew from high school (she attended an international school in London for 6 years).  Oscar is going to school in Florence for the year, and he brought along two of his friends: a German guy named Maxi (Maximillion) that spoke English like he was an American, and an American whose name I can't remember. We went to a wine bar that played some pretty wonderful music, though it was so loud I could barely hear Nicole and Oscar. We ended the night at the bustling little pub FILLED with Italians. Most of Florence was sleepy after 9:30, but this pub was packed with Italian 20somethings. I had a pint (and listened to classic Italian tunes like Wonderwall and ba-ba-barbara ann) and then decided it was time to head home.  I was completely at a loss for how I was going to get back to the Duomo area, but Max sacrificed the rest of the his evening and walked me. Florence is spectacular at night. We stopped at the Ponte Vechio on the way home and marveled at all the little lights over the water.  The Duomo seems even larger, even more powerful in the quiet, dark hours. Max dropped me off at my place, then admitted that he was a little "turned around." Oops. I hope he got home alright. I might head to Germany in January for a Munster and Hamburg trip, so maybe I can see Max and Hans and Inken all in one trip. 


Wednesday in Florence-- Mom again.  Our menu tends to be splitting lunch time pizza slices, some kind of bite-sized pastry, gelato, and oranges.  We splurge for dinner.  Wandered around the duomo, saw David and his shapely butt at the Academia, and were charmed by a fellow holding an umbrella for his girlfriend to shield her from the rain/hail while she worked on her painting of the Ponte Vecchio. We finished off the day at the Pizalle de Michaelangelo in honor of Kevin.  It was dark by then, but the lights of Florence were lovely.
Wine at a chic little wine bar, and dinner at Trattoria de Benvenuto, where Hank and I went when we were in Florence a few years back.  A bit disappointed this time.  Stopped at Finnegans of Firenze for a half pint, and listened to a Scotsman doing trivia.  Rounded out the night with a rousing half hour of an Italian, "American Idol" show for people under 12.  It shouldn't be missed.

Thursday:  We had a great train trip to Venice.  Fast and comfortable.  Our guesthouse was close to the train station in Venice, just over the Ponte Guglie in the Canareggio section. We attempted to eat at a self-serve place called Brek, and were met with an incredibly bitchy...server? If you can call her that. She did not meet our eye, she did not offer any hint for how we might order food. When we finally caught her eye and asked her if we could have a dish, she simply said "no. finished." We literally could not eat there! No one would look at us! So, we moved on.

Bits of the language became second nature: gratzi, boano, ciao, scuzie, conto, buon giorno, etc.  When we came back to Dublin, we found ourselves confused.  Gratzi was coming to the lips more easily than thank-you, and that would sound very lame.  We got over it though, without too much embarrassment.  Kind of miss the Italian men though.  Quite different than the Irish response on the street, which is pretty dull.  Clare tended to draw a lot of reaction.  I just finished Brooklyn, by Colm Toibin, and one of his characters drew the difference this way, (and I paraphrase):  If an Irish man looks too long, it's insulting.  It's insulting if an Italian man doesn't.

We must go to dinner now. Mom's last night in Dublin. I'll finish off the rest of the blog... we still have most of Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday to tell you about! I'm very very sad mom is going. Can't believe it, actually. 


Love,
Mom and Clare 

Joy to the World...I am here.

Tuesday, nov 2--Eileen here. I'm taking over the blog job for a bit.  Clare is trying to read Shakespeare and I am trying to get a few thoughts down so we can go rambling a bit.  I can't remember Tuesday very well; it rained I believe.  Or am I thinking of Wednesday, or perhaps Thursday, or maybe Friday, or was it the past weekend?  Oh yes, it was each and every day.  But it's not so bad.  Most rains don't drench you and the sun peeks through once in awhile to give a lift.  I met Clare outside her digs for a quick and long-awaited hug; how strange to meet up on the cobblestones in the Trinity yard.  She met her deadline with the theo paper and I dragged myself to Beweley's for tea and brown bread and felt somewhat revived and able to visit the beautiful O'Connell House and to meet some of her Notre Dame friends and the famous Kevin Whelan.   Siomha, Clare and I later went to Cornucopia; Clare and I then had a pint at O'Neils.  I'm staying at O'Callaghan's Davenport Hotel for 3 days and hinted around that I should get a discount because of my name.  No one picked up on it.

Wed--I met Clare for her Developmental Psych class, where the prof used the phrase "cop on" about 20 times.  It's a new one on me; means common sense, savy, street smarts type of intelligence.  I'll see if I can incorporate it to gain some authenticity.  Much more fun than incorporating "grand", which needs the right accent for it to work and then one would feel like a poser. I certainly don't want that.  Although I think Pat has "Tanks a mill, dat's grand" down pat.


We had the book of Kells display to ourselves that morning and the long room was powerful.  Too much so for me; I had an attack of vertigo looking up at the beautiful stacks and down at the archaic texts. I gingerly made my way down the stairs and through the front square, feeling old and fragile, and I am neither, damn it!  Tea with Clare and Siomha somewhat revived me and we headed to O'Connell house, making our way through the hordes of Trinity and UCD students who had closed the streets and were protesting the doubling of their registration fees.  The ND students had little sympathy for the students' cause considering the hefty tuition and fees they pay their mighty University, but as Emer said, everything is relative.  Clare and I had lunch at Cafe Fresh (at the top of the beautiful Powerscourt building). I came armed with a list of eateries and pubs that I wanted to find.  I needed the eateries to be affordable, have good value, offer healthy fare, and to be somewhat interesting.  So Cornucopia and Cafe Fresh fit the bill.   I also had a list of pubs.  Had a pint at Messers before we went to The Abbey Theatre to see John Gabriel Borkman.  Messrs was not on my list, but it was a nod to Pat who liked it when he was here.  Of the play, Allan Rickman was great and all, but Fiona Shaw was fabulous.  I couldn't get enough of her.   Late bite to eat at Yamamouri.

Thurs--Slept til noon by accident, shocking!  Must be recovering from the trip.  Ran over to the Chester Beatty museum by the Dublin Castle to meet Nicole at the Silk Road Cafe.  Wonderful. inexpensive lebanese food. Explored the museum, and the Castle's garden.  Afterward we wandered Williams St., Greater St. George's St., and picked up some veggies and bread at the Copinger Row outdoor market. I have big plans to cook a bit for the starving students. Clare raced back to O'Connell house to rehearse for the Arvo Part piece, The Deer's Cry.


I left my diggs at the Davenport and Clare helped me shlep my bags over to O'Neills Victorian Pub and Guesthouse.  The Davenport doubles their fee during the weekend and I wouldn't have any of that.  I loved their shower, but their light bulbs were so dim I could hardly read at night.  I can't stand paying more than necessary for a room, for then I won't have the money to check out all my pubs and eateries.  If the place is clean, somewhat quiet, with a decent bed,that will do  O'Neill's is on Pearce street, which some of the kids thought was a bit sketchy of an area, but there are very posh hotels down the way, and it is right across from the Pearce entrance to Trinity.  I'm from Detroit anyway; this is nothing.


Ate at Gruel.  Really, really loved the place, great food, great, low key feel.  Saw the play adaptation of Jane Eyre at the Gate Theatre.  So so.  I told Clare to read the book.  Didn't really work for a play.  The BBC production was far superior to the play, but it's a different thing to pull off with a play.  My favorite thing about the play and the theatre was seeing the line of tea cups and saucers laid out on the counter in preparation for intermission.  There was a bar area down below which was very busy and all, but the upper service area was for tea.  20-25 china cups and saucers laid out, ready for the rush, with more behind at the ready.  A pint at another pub on my list, the Long Hall.  Great, old, non-touristy.  Mike and Siomha joined us near closing time.  

Fri-- Morning tea with Clare and Siomha, then wandered.  Walked around Christchurch, St. Audeon's. Tea and soup at the Brazen Head, Dublin's oldest pub. Best seafood chowder I have ever tasted.  We kept wandering looking for St. Patrick's Cathedral, found ourself in the Liberties, an area around the Cathedral, so called because it had been independent of the government and under the jurisdiction of the Cathedral.  It was a dirt poor territory during Jonathan Swift's tenure.  It is presently not the best, but I found it cool.  Another slice of life as it were. Kevin Whelan told the ND students that that was the only area where he had been mugged. We picked up some chicken at a butcher shop in the Liberties and eventually found the Cathedral.  We opted to visit the wonderful little gem of a library nearby, called Marsh's Library.  We had little time before closing and were not charged the small entrance fee.  A gentleman gave us a short intro to this 300 year old library that is still in use.  A young woman was standing on the sliding ladder with a kerchief covering her hair, dusting the old volumes.  In the second room were the cages where a reader was locked in as they read one of the books from the stacks.  When finished reading, one would be sprung from the cage and return the book.  Later I cooked a stir-fry that was shared with Siomha and Mike.  Clare went out for the night and I hung around the apartment and made some chicken vegetable/pasta soup with caramelized onions that didn't caramelize well but whose scent permeated each item of my clothing.  I snuck out after midnight risking the wrath of the Trinity security guards who would probably guess I was not a Trinity student.  Almost caught…another black eye for Clare, exposing her debauched lifestyle at Trinity.

Sat—I had a great, big breakfast in the cozy, little dining area in the Guesthouse.  The room was filled with sunshine and I looked out the window trying to spot Clare who was coming to meet me.  But we were operating at cross-purposes.  She was looking for me, and I missed her when I went downstairs to scan the street.  No phone so no contact.  Eventually we found each other and resurrected our morning at the Saturday market at Temple Bar held in the Meeting House area near the International Film Institute and the Photography Exhibit.  Great food vendors, great market.  Split a curry and a lamb kebab. 

Walked down Wexford Street/Camden Street for a little taste of non-touristy Dublin.  Popped into Whelans and picked up old music posters for the bare walls of Clare’s apartment living room.  Saw many of the places that were on my list.  Somewhere along the line we saw the Bald Barista, Green 19, Asteos, Cassidy’s.  But more importantly, we shopped.  My favorite kind of place…A second-hand store, or a charity shop as it’s called here.  The one we looked at was called, “Charity shop for the Elderly.”  I firmly believe the proceeds benefit the elderly, not that one need to be elderly to shop there.  After all, they let Clare in. 

Tea at Beweley’s with a nice fire.  We are waiting patiently for the Christmas lights to be lit.  They’ve been installing the displays for days now, but no glow.  They better come on before I leave.  We returned to the flat for a quick dinner of the non-carmelized onion  soup, and on to the film institute for The Social Network.   Then off to Pat’s favorite pub, O’Donaghues.  Jammed.  Big rugby crowd.  A lovely Spanish woman offered us her few inches of space against the wall.  We hugged the wood for dear life; I figured I’d be bruised by all the jostling around. We met two nice fellas, Eugene and Mick from Wicklow.  They asked to join our 5 inches of space and Clare stayed around for awhile, but got a bit tired of Mick's singing to us.  He does a mean Veil of Avoca.  Mick, by the way, is his late 70's.  Clare inched up closer to the session and I remained listening to Mick and holding his hand.  Eugene just smiled and told me of his little girls.


Now, we have to head out. We had written much more, but it is saved on Clare's computer back in Ireland. We're off to have a bite to eat in FLORENCE!

Love,
Eileen (Clare's mom)

Halloween and more

Last Monday through Friday was non-stop Dr. Horrible!  I always have the most fun in shows when they open. That's when the most bonding with cast-members occurs--when we're all huddled backstage mouthing along to the songs and dancing and whispering and being silly. It turned out to be a good show. In fact, we sold out every night. And the audience thought it was hilarious.  The guy who played Dr. Horrible was MVP...he must've watched the blog a dozen times, since he had Neil Patrick Harris down pat. So, even though the director was a bit scattered, it all turned out in the end. I even made some friends along the way.

Thursday night, we went to a prayer service at the O'Connell house for our friend, Declan, that died in an accident at Notre Dame. Winds had been pretty crazy for about a week--on Monday there were 61 mph winds, so the football team practiced inside. On Tuesday, the winds were about 50, so they thought they could practice outside. Declan's job was to video tape practices, and he was video taping from a lift/tower. 20 minutes before the tower fell, he obviously felt unsafe, since his tweets and facebook statuses before the accident were "holy fuck, holy fuck, this is terrifying." So tragic, so sad.  A lot of us knew him, and a few of us were close friends with him.  One of his best friends is here--he flew back to America for the funeral.

After the prayer service, things felt pretty subdued. We headed back to my room to have some hot chocolate and work on our costumes for the O'Connell house halloween party.  My California gurls (yes, gurls) costume proved more difficult to create than i expected. Without a hot glue gun, without working staples, without enough thread.... it was messy. But it all turned out in the end! California gurls won the costume competition at the O'Connell house. Best group costume. Basically, for those (like my parents) that do not know what the costume might entail, we were basically characters from the board-game Candyland.

The Halloween party was a blast--I really love how the O'Connell house tries to make this place feel like home for us. Lots of silly costumes, a trivia game, costume competitions, yummy food.... I was, in fact, two things for Halloween. A Tetris piece, and one of the California gurls. I made several quick changes, especially when it was time to judge the costumes. Near the end of the night, when they were about to announce the winner, Kevin Whelan subtly made his way over to me and said "Can you uh... can you kinda, uh change back into your uhm, your california girls costume?" It was hilarious. I was happy that we won!

Afterwards I had a few people over to my room. I was worried, since I didn't want to get a noise-violation again, and you weren't allowed to have more than 8 people in room without registering a "party." But everyone needed a place to pregame. So our motto was "quick and quiet." There were about 11 people in my room, whispering, being silly, drinking. All of a sudden, I heard a very loud, stern, slow knock on the door. My heart just about stopped. I told a few people to go into Siomha's room, a few to go into mine, a few to hide in the kitchen. I was freaking out. I went to the front door, shocked and confused as to how the Trinity police heard us. I took a deep breath, and pulled open the door. And there, ladies and gentlemen, was Mike Rodio, dressed as an Oompa Loompa. I've never been so glad to see Mikey Rodio. I was proclaimed "Ok, half of all these people need to go downstairs to Mike's room to drink or I'm going to have a heart attack." After that, I could relax. We all went out and had a fun night, noise-violation-free.

Saturday afternoon, the entire O'Connell house bunch went to the Ireland v. Australia Compromise Rules Match.  I LOVED it. I felt like I was at the Quidditch world cup.  The Irish flags waving, the scarves and flashing lights, the rowdy Irish kids parading down the street wearing green, the orange leaves swirling in the air. The roar of the crowd as we walked into the huge Croke park stadium was pretty overwhelming.  At first I didn't quite understand the rules of the game, but that's because the "game" doesn't really exist. Kevin Whelan explained to me why it is called the Compromise Rules Match--combining Australian Rules Football with Gaelic Football. So, they combined the Irish "net" with the Australian's poles (very much like Quidditch--a huge middle post like football, with two side posts). The Australians were professionals, and all the GAA guys were amateur. It was quite a game. Irish lost by 3, which made the game so exciting. I would love to go back again. After, I was tempted to boycott the ND game, because of Declan, but both teams wore little shamrock symbols on their helmets in honor of him. I went to Peadar Kearneys, where the bartender loves us, to watch the game with a few people. It was a fun, low-key kinda night.

Sunday morning, Siomha and I trudged to the O'Connell house to meet the bus for what would be the last O'Connell house trip. All us ND kids were going to the Boyne Valley for a day trip. We went to the Hill of Tara, Hill of Slaine, beautiful Newgrange, and an early Christian settlement called Monasterboice near Mellifont abbey, the first Cistercian Abbey in Ireland. Hill of Tara and Hill of Slaine were both more interesting in theory than they were in person. It was an incredibly rainy, cold day, and climbing up to the top of a hill can only be so exciting. Yes, hundreds of kings were crowned here, yes, St. Patrick built his monastery here, yes, amazing things happened, but can we please go inside?

My favorite spot was Newgrange. It is a 5,000 year old burial temple, older than Stonehenge and the great pyramids. Unfortunately, we weren't there for the amazing Winter Solstice, when the sun strikes Newgrange just so, perfectly illuminating the burial passageway. Even so, we were able to experience a little bit of the magical phenomenon. The tour-guide led us into the incredibly narrow, tight, rocky, short, pitch black passageway. It was actually quite spooky. I felt oddly claustrophobic and, to be honest, trapped. I think we were all a bit more shaken up than we anticipated. But it was all worth it for the light demonstration. Using a lightbulb set up at a tricky angle, they were able to give us a taste of what the winter solstice might be like. The narrow passageway was filled with a long, single beam of light. It was so beautiful. Once the show was over and our guide turned the lights back on, we were all ready to get OUT of the frickin ancient burial tomb. Spooky stuff.

I did not take this photo. No photography allowed. 

To end the day, we wandered through the graveyard of Monasterboice and admired the ancient Celtic High Crosses. We were lucky enough to have Geraldine Stout, the world's expert on the Boyne Valley with us the whole day. She really came in handy at Monasterboice, since she had the key to the ancient round tower there. We all got to climb up (5 at a time) the rickety, dark ladders to the top of the tower. THAT was scary. Since it was Halloween, I decided to make the tower climb a bit more fun, and freaked everyone in the tower out with a few scary laughs and "ooooh"s. I'm really cool.

However, Kevin's mannerisms were the highlight of the trip. I laughed out loud several times, watching him and Geraldine fight over who gets to talk. Geraldine would be in the middle of explaining something, and out of the corner of my eye, I'd see Kevin opening and closing his mouth, his hand outstretched, his fingers extending and closing in, like little body spasms. He was always trying to interrupt. It was hilarious. As soon as Geraldine would let him talk, there'd be no stopping him. He can go for 2, 3, even 4 hours without pausing for breath. Some of my favorite Kevin mannerisms are:

-flicking us all off. While he's speaking, he points, gestures, and moves using his middle finger.
-saying "kinda" after every third word. (ex: And ya know, they kinda, all the people, they kinda died, and it was kinda tough for the uh, for the kinda, for the people. D'you know what i mean?)
-clapping his hands together, waving his arms in the air, or doing any number of other odd gesticulations when trying to think of what he wants to say.
-closing his eyes while he speaks
-"or whatever"
-"d'you know what i mean" after every sentence.
-insulting the Scots

Everyone needs to meet Kevin Whelan at some point in their lives.

And now.... Mom is here!! I'll let her write the next blog.

Love,
Clare Mairead

Happy Halloween!

Oh, how I wish I were on Ronsdale road, handing out candy to trick-or-treaters with my brother and my parents... Instead, I am in Dublin, struggling to write even a few measly sentences for my theology term paper. Eesh...

I have much to say, but I can't say it until this paper is turned in. Wish me luck!

Clare Mairead

p.s. Joy to the world, my mama is coming!

Frustrated and behind on homework...but loving the world.

I realized that you can become fond of just about anyone if you're around them enough.  For example, my director for Dr. Horrible, Chris.  I was very unhappy with him at the beginning of the process. He seemed very bizarre, awkward, rude, and unorganized. A very poor combination of descriptives.  He still is all those things. But now I find his awkwardness endearing.  And as much as I'm frustrated with how unorganized his directing style is, I sympathize with him instead of taking it out on him. I think I've just realized that he means well. The same with our music director.  Yes, he's got an embarrassingly bad voice. Yes, he is kind of incapable of teaching anyone how to sing a line of a song.  But he always wants to please people.  And when a female cast member is missing, he takes such pride in busting out her solo lines in his falsetto. It's hard not to find him endearing, no matter how frustrating his lack of musical ability. Finally, Mike Rodio (this one's dangerous to write about since a lot of Notre Dame people know him, but don't worry, it ends happily). Mike and I don't get along all that well. Mostly because he'll say something arrogant or sarcastic, and I'll tell him he's a jerk and he needs to be quiet. Then the cycle continues. As Siomha says to people "Mike and Clare have a love/hate relationship. More on the hate side."  But it's gotten to the point now where I like having him around. I'm downright fond of him, our squabbles and all.  It has become a good-natured-sibling thing (kinda like me and Norah!! Except Mike is kind of afraid of me now. Norah is not afraid of me). 


Maybe this "being fond of people" thing won't last too long, but right now I'm very pleased with the way I'm feeling towards people here. I don't dislike anyone, I don't talk about anyone behind their backs... I think it's better to just be "fond" of people, flaws and all. I know "fond" is a vague word, but I think it's one that's well-suited for this kind of situation. 


I hope that all made sense. 


The past few days have passed extraordinarily slowly.  I'm not quite sure what I did. I spent most of Friday at the beautiful O'Connell house pretending to do homework, and in the evening I watched The Nightmare before Christmas with Nicole and a UCD friend named Thom. Having been away from my mom and Norah for months, I demanded that both Nicole and Thom give me a massage. They did so willingly. It was wonderful. 


All day Saturday and Sunday were spent doing absolutely nothing in the halls of DU Players. We barely ran the show once. I'm truly disappointed with the society as a whole. PEMCo has no school support, nowhere to practice, no stable resources. DU Players has a fantastic home base, filled with two theatres, practice rooms, a work shop, a costume room--all available 24/7 all year round. They have so many interested students, all with so much talent. They have the support of the school, not to mention dozens of celebrities. And what do they do with all that support? Produce mediocre shows. Maybe I shouldn't say that, since I really don't know if my experience with DU Players is a typical one. But I know that I have never appreciated PEMCo more. What a fabulous organization. We make something wonderful out of practically nothing, year after year. Not only that, but we manage to all be best friends in the process. I feel really blessed that I went to Notre Dame, mostly because of my involvement in PEMCo. 


That was cheesy, but it was also true. 


I think that going abroad is a great experience. But I don't think its value lies in going to the bars every night. I don't even think its value lies in traveling to countless countries. That's all fine and good.  But I think you need to go abroad just because you need to leave home. You need to leave your home to realize how great it really is. I miss Notre Dame. I miss my friends, I miss the trees, I miss the professors, I miss the buildings, I miss PEMCo.  And I miss Beverly Hills. I miss my family, I miss 13 mile road, I miss my car, I miss Somerset around Christmas time. Maybe that's weird that the "value" I'm getting out of my abroad experience doesn't relate to my actual experiences abroad. But I think there's something to be said for appreciating where you come from. I wouldn't want to feel any other way. 


Now I'm off to bed. Maybe I'll pretend to read some of Richard the Third before I go to bed. Or maybe I won't. 


Night,
Clare Mairead


P.S. Speaking of fondness for others, my roommate, Siomha, is delightful. She has become a little piece of home for me. We're oddly similar in our personalities, in our moodiness, in our love for weddings and tea and girl talk. It's strange how quickly we became close. We don't even spend that much time together, but we coexist wonderfully. And she's taken to saying things like "my clare" when she's talking about me or defending me, or she says "hello beautiful" if we pass each other coming back from class. It's little things like that that make me feel like she's my home here. 
P.P.S. Just a little anecdote... Siomha's "hello beautiful"s almost backfired on her one night. My Irish roommate, Dee, has a boyfriend named Henry. One night, Siomha was in the shower/bathroom washing her hands, and Henry was walking into the toilet/bathroom (we have two bathrooms. It's weird).  Siomha didn't see the person's face, just their shadow as they walked by. She knew that the person was tall, and assumed it was me. She must've been in one of her silly moods, because she was about to say "hi sexy," to me when she saw a MALE hand reach outside the bathroom and turn on the light switch. Luckily she only got out "hi" when she stopped herself. She was mortified. It was hilarious. I think Dee might have murdered her in her sleep if Siomha had said "hi sexy" to her boyfriend. That would have been a difficult one to explain.