A Tree Among Thorns

The day we bought the 4th Christmas tree of our married life was SO horrible. It was the kind of day where the alarm goes off late, and the coffee is already cold. So many things went wrong, that if I wrote about all of them, youd get pretty sad too. It started off not bad though. We got to Skype with some friends in the States, and had a whole list of fun things to do on a fun Saturday in Dublin: Christmas shopping! The Zoo! But nothing went like it was supposed to, and everything slowly fell apart. As thing after thing didnt work out, it was progressively more difficult to stand near each other. The most significant disappointment that day Ill tell you about, was us trying to find our Christmas tree.

This Christmas is obviously one of the most poignant of our lives yet. For so many reasons, this year will stand out in our memories forever. One of the highlights will undoubtedly be the fact that Jon & I, for the first time ever, get to host family, in our very own home, for a major holiday. Its not like a practice holiday that people only minimally care about because they get time off work for it, like Columbus Day or President's Day. People only know when its President's Day because when they stop by the bank, the sticky note taped to the glass says, "Closed during business hours again, because you really needed to cash that check to buy food for your family, and generally just to piss you off. Oh and its President's Day." But Christmas? Thats a real life holiday folks, one that the whole world knows about! Banks are still closed, but nobody cares! Hosting the family for Christmas is just about the biggest honor you can have bestowed on you, and you cannot take it lightly. Needless to say, getting The Tree to set the stage was paramount.

The first bad omen of the day was that after walking ten minutes to the bank, it was closed so we couldnt cash the check. From there it just got worse. It was surprisingly hard to get a straight answer from people about where to find a Christmas tree to buy. Sometimes it was a language barrier (those are adorable cookies, but I meant a REAL tree) and sometimes just poor judgement on our part (just because she's carrying a wreath made from pine tree branches apparently doesnt mean she knows where the branches came from originally). Then we heard about trees in Smithfield.

We bought our tickets, hopped on the Luas, and four stops later, we got off again. Having never been to Smithfield before, we had only a vague idea about where to look (but were assured that we'd definitely find a tree there). Would you be surprised if I told you the mythical Christmas tree lot didnt come to greet us as the doors opened to Smithfield? The only trees we found were the sugar cookie kind. Thinking we were going to (definitely) find a tree there and have to carry it back, we didnt buy return tickets to the City Centre. Let me tell you, having to carry a tree by ourselves for 20 city blocks would have sucked, but having to walk all that way and NOT have a tree to show for it at the end was even more depressing.

By the time we finally got back to our sadly tree-less living room, half the day was over and we had spent it failing at life, and blaming each other. The worst part? We hadnt even done our grocery shopping, so we didnt even have a pizza to throw at the situation. Being grumpy and hungry is no way to shop for anything, especially not for groceries. Jon gets super frustrated in two seconds if he cant find something on the list, or when people practically rip the skin off his forearm with their sharply angled hand-carts, and then dont even bother to look back and apologize. Oh wait no, thats me. And so much for going to the Zoo.

Knowing that bad days like this are random and not the fault of anyone, we ate our chicken fingers and mashed potatoes in silence, trying to be civil until the calories recharged some spent energy. Since theres almost no bad mood that deliciously fatty food cant make better, we eventually re-grouped and decided to check out ONE LAST place we'd been told that there were (definitely) trees. We grudgingly re-bundled in the many layers we had earlier chucked to the far corners of the room in annoyance, and braved the icy wind one last time. Fifteen minutes later, my heart fluttered and the throb in my feet was suddenly less painful than before: I could see green just up ahead!

Being a good foot taller than the rest of the group, it was immediately obvious what tree would be coming home with us. I pointed, Jon paid, and we carried our living treasure home one joyful step at a time. I felt like Santa Claus carrying that tree. Adults pointed and smiled, and kids screamed, "Look Mommy!" It was like if we had started singing a carol, the entire city would have joined in with choreographed moves, and then there would be a really cool aerial shot of the Earth sprouting arms and hugging itself. World peace by Christmas tree. Our completely ruined day was instantly un-ruined by one sparkly green fir. The presents finally have a place to call home, and we are officially ready to host Christmas. Its going to be the best Christmas ever!

Christmas is Green this year, in so many ways!

Christmas is so close I can feel it! It smells like cinnamon buns and tastes like snowflakes, and its just 23 days and counting down to the best Christmas in history! Well, recent history. Ok just my personal history, but it still counts. We are having a simple Christmas this year, so far from home. And half our family will be missing on that special morning by the fire. But having half is SO much better than having no halves at all!

We are trying to spend our money wisely, and that means I cant decorate exactly like I would want to. There will be no fluffy green wreaths on the door or over the mantle. No pricey matching ornaments or expensive designer wrapping paper. No gorgeous ceramic nativity, glittering in the candle light. If you make your own decorations, does it count as being "green"? I know the "hey quit murdering the Earth with your mass-produced disposable products" sentiment is old news, but it still is a great excuse to skimp out & save money, even if youre not a total hippie! Im not extreme about it; I still went to the 2euro Store (like a Dollar Tree) and got some cute little birds to clip to the branches, and a pack of red velvet bows that were probably made in China or Indonesia by small children whos homes and lands are being ravaged by conglomerate outsourcing. Out of sight out of mind? But I really love a home-made Christmas, and I mean home made by me, not home-made by the people of the Etsy community (however awesomely talented they all are).

And the best part: home-made decorations can be easy and simple, and even basically free! This year, I spent hours cutting out nearly a hundred snowflakes out of white printer paper. Jon helped me string them together on kitchen twine, and hang them over the windows. Pretty much free decorating right there, especially because Jon got the paper from his work office. I even forced Jon to cut out a snowflake, but it was like the size of a pencil eraser and I "lost" it.

We are spending money for Christmas though, its impossible not to during a holiday, especially one as important as this one! We are buying a tree, and with the ridiculous ceilings we are blessed with here, it will be 10ft tall if I can find one that big! Carrying that up a flight of stairs will be fun for Jon. I let him do stuff like that so he feels involved. We also ordered a 17lb free-range turkey from a local farmer, for Christmas dinner! As I write this, the big guy is probably happy as a turkey can be, gobbling it up on the farm. I hope they're feeding him lots of stuffing. Thats how it gets in there, right?

But even if we didnt have a tree, or a turkey dinner, we will have family. And thats the absolute most important thing to us, no matter what holiday it is. Hope yours is just as awesome!

Is it still a pumpkin if it doesnt come from a patch?

Jon & I really love Halloween. Like really love it. After Christmas, its the one holiday we most look forward to every year! When we were dating, October 30th was our "anniversary", and we loved to throw a party to celebrate. Ask anyone whose been to one of our parties over the years - we go all out. We had an extensive Halloween decoration and costume collection that could have supplied a small store. Every year the collection grew, and got bigger and better. One year we made a life-sized witch for the lawn, made of particle board and black paint. She stood in our "graveyard" stirring her cauldron. A stuffed figure of a man sat eerily silent at the front door, hands in pockets, hat down. A giant black spider crawled over the doorbell, and footsteps and screams came from behind you, playing from a hidden stereo. Even the food was scary, and sometimes gross: green slime to drink, and goblin fingers to eat. We love Halloween for no other reason than it is the perfectly themed party night, where even the guests become a part of the decoration, filling the house with laughter and color. Its hard to not have a good time if you get to dress up.

But even without the blow-out Halloween party, October is the color of love. Theres maize mazes, hay-bale mazes, pumpkin patches, Autumn fairs, roasted corn-on-the-cob and farmed lilac honey and strings of garlic bulbs. Driving to Half-Moon Bay for the Annual Pumpkin Festival was a ruthless trip, and took hours on the weekends, but everyone does it because everyone knows itll be a great time. Walking through Santana Row on the actual Halloween night was an experience to remember. Adults in every costume, some funny, some weird, some really disturbing. But every person having a blast being someone (or something) else for just one night.

But moving to Ireland mean that we had to rid ourselves of most of our earthly possessions. We kept only the non-replaceable and very sentimental things: wedding albums, scrap books, favorite blankets, and a crock pot. Things that we just couldnt part with, or were not worth having to buy again when we moved back. Everything we kept, is graciously stored underneath our parents' houses, so there was limited room. Sadly, our Halloween collection of a lifetime was donated. Sentimental? Yes. Non-replaceable? No. Its just stuff.

So when I wanted to have a small Halloween-themed get-together this month, it was just a little sad to think about the awesome Halloweens of our past. This was the first year in a long time that we havent had our barrels of spooky stuff to choose from. And while Halloween is a pretty big deal to Americans, its a small thing to people here. At our party, one of our new friends carved the very first pumpkin of his life! Hes Jons age, and had never once stuck his hands into the slimy goodness that is a freshly butchered jack-o-lantern! Another friend there said he'd carved pumpkins at his grandparents' farm before, but in the summer, and not even for Halloween. I couldnt locate one pumpkin patch on this side of Ireland at all. I had my five little pumpkins delivered to me from a local fruit&veg seller. They're all the exact same size, and perfectly round and uniform. I miss the freakish oblong ones, the icky warty ones, the Cinderella carriage ones, and the pretty fairy-white ones.

But no matter. We celebrated Halloween Ireland style, and have the baked pumpkin seeds to prove it! It may not have had all the earmarks of what we have come to know and love about Halloween, but it was just another awesome night in our new country. We are constantly learning new things, but it was really great being the teachers for once. Happy October my fellow Americans! Enjoy every second of it for us!

Mussels in Brussels

Belgium answered that longing in my heart to visit exotic places. I always fantasize about traveling to far-reaching lands with sexy-cool names like Istanbul, Vienna, or Cairo. Places that steam with street food while you walk hand in hand with your lover down the narrow cobbled streets at night; gazing at the twinkling stars gracing the velvet sky peeking over dilapidated clay-tiled roofs. Wild, untamed places that feel dangerous and dreamy, teeming with people, some like you: seeking the same adventure of a different kind.

We were only in Brussels for two night and one full day. We were excited to have to learn how to say "Thank you" in Dutch, but turns out that the most common language in the capitol is actually French. Having spent a long weekend in Paris last month, we felt confidant enough about our "Merci"s that we even left the cheat-sheet at home. It was complete with Please & Thank You, but also had such gems as, "Leave me alone, Im not a tourist!" It was also the first trip that we both packed everything we needed for the weekend in to ONE backpack! And it wasnt even full!

Brussels is the perfect spontaneous getaway. To say its beautiful there is something of an understatement. The buildings that surround the Grand Place square loom like trolls in the sun, frozen in time forever while life around them grows and dies, and grows anew. Walking down the corridors of chocolate shops is a treat in itself! The large glass windows shine from within, sparkle with every color imagined, and promise the secret of happiness in a bonbon. Every store has a different ambiance too, like so many sisters lined up in a row: Related, but each having its own unique flavour.

At night, the streets dont really sleep for the night, but are awake with a new crowd. White linen clad tables spill out of every door lining the uneven stone walkways, a romantic flickering candle on every one. The maitre d' is as well-dressed as the tables, and if you catch his eye he will show you a menu and sell you the dish of the evening before you even sit down. Many of the menus feel the same, all sporting mussels and other shellfish by the bucket. We chose a less formal restaurant, and got the last table of the night, the waiter giving us a chastising glare while setting the table and taking our order. The food was hot, the wine was cold, and the street we sat on glistened with all the exciting charms I had hoped it would. And it was perfect.

The Trouble with Islands, and Other Anomalies

I've been thinking about islands. Let me tell you how an island works. I always figured an island was a small sandy thing that sits around on the water, unattached to anything, usually inhabited by a lone palm tree & perhaps a really hairy man. This lost island floats about aimlessly on the calm sea, going where it will, or maybe staying where it is. The palm tree survives because it's roots go thru the sand to the ocean, to drink all it needs. The hairy man isn't so lucky, since there's no way of controlling this teeny meandering plot of land, and he won't ever be found. So he will die of exposure, if not first dehydration. That's an "island". Absolutely everyone knows this is how islands work. I even found a video, filmed in Ireland (even on our own River Liffey) that proves I'm not the only one who knows these things are facts.

So if you take a place like Ireland or Manhattan, that are both islands, and apply to them what you now know about islands, you'll get really confused. Like I did. I thought, "How can there be metros on Manhattan?" Then I thought, "Well obviously there can't be, since when the metro-guys were digging the tunnels, they would have run into the water under the island." Like when you're 6 years old and at the beach, and you're happily digging a pit to stick your little sister in, but the hole you're trying to throw dirt out of keeps slowly filling with salt water and ruining all your plans of being an only child. Because when you're that close to the water, your hole has obviously been dug too far down, and you've actually broken thru the Earth's crust to the ocean underneath it. But since there are in fact metros on Manhattan, I then decided that Manhattan as an island was just a really deep island, and the earth/sand it was located on top of was just thicker (it has to be because they definitely have more than one palm tree there). And those metro-diggers better not dig their magical spaceship transporter tubes TOO far down, or else just like at the beach, they'll open that one hole to the ocean, and then ALL the previous tunnels will fill up with salt water and kill everyone and possibly even sink the island of Manhattan.

Well. Usually, I tend to think of these kinds of things entirely in my own head, and naturally assume it's a correct thought that everyone else thinks & knows about, and only when I happen to voice these thoughts to someone else, out loud, do I become aware of the flaws in these assumptions. For example, when I asked Jon how Ireland stays where it is and why it doesn't just float off further into the ocean, the look on his face was enough to make me second-guess my previously assumed solid lines of logic. I have to give him my thanks for setting me straight. Thanks babe! Your literally uncontrollable laughter is so great for my self-esteem!

But in the end, there is good news, concerned family & friends! Jon & I won't probably die of exposure! If anything, we'll be drowned in rainfall, or stabbed in the face one too many times by rabid inside-out umbrellas in the wind. Hooray!

Bonjour et Au Revoir!

As I rolled up my skinny jeans and shoved them to the bottom of my camping backpack for our trip to Paris, I was suddenly struck by that prickly feeling they call excitement. I was just as excited to add another awesome stamp to my passport as I was to see the Eiffel Tower! And eat real croissants! And meander the romantic streets that so inspired the likes of Van Gogh! It was the night before our 4am flight, and I was finally allowing myself to get keyed up for our 3rd Anniversary weekend away.

But look up "excited" in a thesaurus, and you will simultaneously find "upset". Because as we know, there's good stress and bad stress, but it's all stress. I knew we were in for a memory of a lifetime, but I was getting nervous about the small stuff. Will the metros be as scary as the ones in New York? Can we get by on 6 phrases of French? Will everyone recognize us as Americans, and immediately pull out their angry eyes? Happily, 99% of the French stereotypes we found to be unjustified. People were very polite when we were polite to them, we spoke some French and they spoke some English, and we didn't feel unsafe anywhere. The 1% truth, that may as well be the 200% truth, was that the food was awesome!

After living in California, the fruit basket of America, living in Ireland has been something of an adjustment when it comes to buying fresh produce. It's just not readily available like we're used to. You have to trek out to random streets on the weekends to find good cheese, or a bag of tender baby greens. Pineapples and artichokes are a rare sight. People tell me that you have to know where to go. Well it's a sad world to me, in which grocery stores don't sell avocados year-round. BUT in France, I found figs forever, gallons of grapes, and lovely lettuces, on all the streets of Montmartre. And I fell in totally in love with that enchanting village-city. Montmartre was the dreamy older sister slowly morphing into a relic of existence, locked in a time capsule of yellow tree-lined streets and sleepy corner bistros glowing from within; not quite the sinful lady she started life as, mellowed with age. In contrast, Paris was the spicy hip sibling gushing with energy and zest, ready to swallow up her eager, camera-strapped visitors; boasting her venerable beauty like a child.

Far from my initial fears about this wonderful place, France was incredible. It turned out to be a place that we now hope to re-visit someday. It was the perfect date: extravagantly alluring, shining vistas galore, and everything bewitchingly candle-lit. Definitely an experience we'll remember for the rest of our lives.

Surfing in Ireland

When our friends Jordan & Sarah first told us about it, we thought it was a crazy idea. Allow total random persons into our home? For multiple days? AND give them a key? Are you nuts? Our friends told us there was nothing to worry about when participating in Couch Surfing, and that the people you meet are always really awesome. To be truthful, in my mind the best case scenario was a weird smelly traveler who would be hard to communicate with, and who would eat all our food and be loud and make our neighbors hate us. Worst case scenario was that they would kill us in our sleep.

But we have such a great location for tourists, and an entire room and bed to spare, so we couldn't not share. We also both truly enjoy having friends and family in our home. So we went for it. As I was filling out our profile on the Couch Surfing website, I tried to think what people would think of us by reading it. Theres a lot to answer! They ask you about everything from weekend hobbies to favorite things. Because who doesnt like to read about a total stranger's addiction to Colgate toothpaste? BROMG I use Colgate too! ilubesties4eva!!1

Anyway. My profile was updated (aka - novel completed), and my couch icon was set to 'Available'. We were ready to set out on an untried trail. Five minutes later, my 'Couch Request' inbox had 5 requests. An hour later, I had 3 more. The next day I woke up to 4 more bolded mails. I was suddenly drowning. I was trying to figure out everyone's requested dates and arrival times to see if they worked with our upcoming schedules, and having to read EVERY surfer's complete (or not so complete) profile, looking out for signs of crazy. I turned my couch icon to 'Coffee & a Drink' which is a polite way of saying, 'dont ask to stay with me and I will also ignore your emails'. Not really, it just seemed nicer to have an image of a coffee cup, rather than a big X, on my profile. So after sifting through every request, we had to deny some, but accepted a few others. We replied back and made plans. It was happening.

A week later, our very first Surfers were taxiing on the runway! I straightened the duvet one last time, and before I knew it they were texting us from right outside. They were a very nice young couple from Germany, over here for a 10-day trip starting in Dublin with us. It was both their first time Couch Surfing, and our first time hosting. They even showed up bearing gifts: two (freshly imported) German beers, and their favorite German salami are cooling in my fridge as I write! We took them to Porterhouse for dinner one night, which is one of the only two pubs me and Jon have actually been to. We ended up having a lot in common, and they were so polite and courteous the whole time, it was great talking with them and sharing stories. It was not a thing like my previous scenarios at all. It went so well, we are now actually very excited to host again! Because our friends Jordan & Sarah were right about this whole Couch Surfing thing. The people are awesome!

Domestic-er and Domestic-er

Its a common conversational question: "And what do YOU do?" Ive been asked this question when meeting people in our apartment building, while at lunch with new friends from church, and while at a work event with Jon's associates. What people really mean by that question varies with every asker. They mean: What do you do? What fills your days? What gets you up in the morning? What kind of person are you? Will we get along? How do you fit in to our social social-economical surroundings? But most commonly, they just want to know what my job is. You should see their faces when I smile and tell them Im a housewife.

They sometimes laugh and make a "kept-woman" joke. Both men and women, who are otherwise unsure of how to respond, say this. I laugh along tell them its the good life, but inside Im usually pretty unsure how to take it, as the dictionary defines a "kept-woman" as "someone who does not work and who is given money and a place to live by the person who they are having an intimate relationship with". While this is technically true, I resent the implied uselessness in reference to me and my position in the household. I know they only mean to break the ice, but to me it is a reminder of how little society in general thinks of the housewife anymore. If you are a woman who would like to stay at home to cook dinner and raise children, rather than put on a suit and work in a traditional business company, you are somehow less of a person.

But forget Mars, EARTH needs Moms. I want my kids to grow up with homemade bread (my new obsession). I want to be the one who welcomes them into the house after school. I want Jon to walk in the house after work, and be comfortable relaxing in a well-kept roost. I want to be that crazy mom on the block who has the time to bake (and fully decorate!) 100 cupcakes for the party. I dont want to be too tired in the evening to spend time making a healthy meal. At night I want to have enough energy to read and cuddle with them. I want to spend my day making sure the house my family lives in is clean, safe, and beautiful. If this all makes me less than useful to society, society can suck it. Now you'll have to excuse me, I have some fresh peaches that need to be made into jam for our breakfast tomorrow.

Story Time

Once there lived an Irish giant. He was the biggest giant that ever lived, and he loved nothing more than to have a good fight now and again to prove his skill and prowess in combat. One day, word comes to him of a Scottish Giant who lives across the water. The Irish Giant thinks that no man could possibly be bigger or stronger than he is, and decides he must fight this other giant to prove it. So he shouts across the water to this other giant, challenging him to a fight. But the Scottish Giant thinks HE is the biggest and strongest man in the world, and this other giant in Ireland isnt worth his time. So every day the Irish Giant bellows challenges across the sea to the Scottish Giant, who every day refuses.

Day by day, the Irish Giant gets angrier and angrier, and finally he thinks up a plan to fight this Scottish Giant once and for all. He decides to build a bridge from Ireland to Scotlad, and hunt down this other giant and beat him in a fight. Every day, his bridge gets closer and closer, and he gets more and more ready for the coming fight. The Scottish Giant sees this bridge being built, and finally agrees to meet and have it out, and starts to make his way across the bridge. The Irish Giant, having never before seen this enemy with his own eyes, sees the other man coming out of the mist over the bridge. His eyes grow wide with fear, for the Scottish Giant is far greater in size that himself. He sees his rival's great arms and huge legs, and knows he will never be able to best him in a duel.

The Irish Giant runs back to his house as quickly as he can. "Wife, Wife!" he shouts. "Help me, Wife!" She sees how scared her poor husband is, and how huge the Scottish Giant is coming over the bridge. She tells him not to worry. She has a plan. She dresses her giant husband up like a giant baby, and puts him in a giant crib in the house by the fire. She tells him to just sit, and not make a sound.

The Scottish Giant storms over the bridge and comes to Ireland, ready for a fight. He is met by the Irish wife. Towering over her he bellows, "Where is this giant fellow Im supposed to fight?" The wife keeps her cool, and says, "Hes out with the sheep, but Im sure he will be back any minute now. Wont you have some tea and wait?" He agrees, and comes into the house with her. While she gets the tea ready, he sits and looks about the room. In the corner by the hearth he sees there a giant crib, and in this crib he sees a giant baby. He gets to thinking that if this Irish Giant's BABY is this huge and ugly, he doesnt want to stick around and meet the FATHER in a fight! Before the wife can bring out the tea, he makes up an excuse and high-tails it out of that house. He ran back across the bridge to Scotland, tearing out the bridge behind him so the Irish giant could never follow.

And now you know the REAL history of how the Giant's Causeway came to be. Some people will tell you something about lava heating and cooling over a period of time, and geological formations, but thats obviously utter nonsense.

My Favorite Time of the Year is not Christmas

 Just kidding, of COURSE Christmas is my favorite! My SECOND favorite is September 6th, our anniversary.

On our very first anniversary, I wanted to do something really special and our of the ordinary for us. So I surprised Jon with a giant road trip that spanned the Californian coastline, from Trinidad to San Fransisco. I had it all planned out, from the maps and directions to/from every stop, to having a hotel booked for every town we landed in at night, in advance. We spent four days in a two-seater convertible, with our two small dogs on our laps, and sometimes at our feet. We slept in smelly, shady, (but dog-friendly!) Motel 6s every night. We survived out of a tiny blue cooler shoved behind my seat, and ate the cheese, crackers, and salami that we had bought the morning we left. It lasted nearly the entire trip! We saw 14 Northern Californian lighthouses (in various working order), 3 small-town museums, 2 Blue Whales from a boat in Monterey Bay, and drove through 1 Giant Sequoia tree. Among countless other weird and crazy adventures, including stumbling upon a road-side Spanish-only circus.

CLICK HERE to see more pictures from the lighthouse trip!

We planned out second anniversary together. Our Lighthouse trip was so fun, we wanted to do it again, but this time see the Southern half. Well, the further south in California you go, the more populated it becomes. Long story short, there arent enough lighthouses in working order to make it road-trip worthy for us. So back to the Northern we went! We drove through countless adorable small towns the previous year, but one stole both of our hearts: Ferndale. Imagine driving for hours on a heavily wooded 2-lane highway. You drive up and up and up! Youre the only car on the road, and its quiet. Its foggy, and the air that whips your hair in the open-top car smells like the sea. The car turns a corner, and suddenly you are transported back in time to the Victorian era, and the building that loom from the clouds are statuesque. Youve made it to Ferndale! We stayed in the Shaw House B&B for a glorious four days! The town is so small and quaint, not one place is open past 4pm and the only shower in your room is a claw-foot tub. It was magical. Oh! And Ferndale is on the Lost Coast, so we managed to see one last lighthouse.

CLICK HERE to see more pictures from the Ferndale trip!

For us, every anniversary is really special, and we love to celebrate our lives together, in a way that is meaningful to us both. We want to spend our lives creating stories and memories that we will never forget. So because our third anniversary is coming up this September 6th, we started to think about how we wanted to celebrate. We are in a pretty cool country already, and could easily spend it here, and could legitimately stay in arguably the coolest B&B ever (its in a real castle, no joke). But nah. We're going to Paris, baby!

This May Offend Pet-Haters

I have always thought people who do not own animals by choice are weird. How could you NOT want something fluffy and cute (or even scaled and sleek) to call your own? Another life form to take care of, dote on, and cuddle with? A little pile of fur that bounces up and down whenever they see you walk in the door? And by the way, husbands just dont count; mines not much of a bouncer anyway. I tend to think that people who have the ability, room, and time to have even a small animal, and STILL choose to stay pet-less, are often people I dont really get along with. They're generally very tidy and (dare I say) neurotic. They are the white couch lovers, the no-shoes-allowed rulers, the dry-clean-only buyers.

And now Im worried Im one of them, by way of a pet-hating landlord. I bet his wife only buys Organic lettuce, too. The all-white dinnerware and Crate & Barrel color scheme should have tipped me off. When I found out I couldnt have so much as a hamster, it made me want to install carpet over the sterile wood floors, just so I could spill something on it.

But Im starting to like the way the square white plates make even a PB&J look like a work of art. Im beginning to love the simple black fireplace (electric of course, no soot here thanks) against the sand-colored walls. I am actually having a hard time deciding whether or not to hang a piece of art I bought in the living room, because it wont really match. I do my dishes like, as soon as I dirty them, because who wants a dirty dish in an otherwise clutter-free kitchen space? I sweep the hardwood daily, sometimes twice. I do laundry almost as much. Its a hairless, petless, LOVELESS apartment. Not even the candles Jon got for me make it much warmer. They're white.

To help stave off the neurosis creeping up on me, Ive volunteered my time at the Dublin SPCA. Im really excited to get some much-needed cuddle time in with some cute little hairballs! Dog, cat, goat, Ill take anything non-human at this point. I hope they email me back before I feel the need to cover the couch in plastic!

Maybe I Can Get Some Illegal Ones...

Happy Fourth of July, people of the USofA!
I think The Fourth is about as American as it gets. Just the words bring to mind tanning on the blanket-strewn grass, smelling the clouds of sweet smoke from the pit, and floating in the algae-green lake till fingers are prunes. Women in bright dresses, getting reverse-raccoon suntan lines from wearing huge glasses all day. Some men wearing far too little. All in the name of their patriotic love of country, and Doritos.

While it isnt raining where I am, its not exactly a hot summer either. Nobody's in a sundress, and I dont know anyone who owns a barbeque. I thought about having a big American BBQ here for all my friends, to give them a good taste of what our great holiday is all about! Then I remembered I dont have friends within a BBQ-sharing distance. Sad. Then my Mom asked me where Id put a barbeque even if I did have one. Out of my pure American Spirit and American-like unwillingness to back down when faced with a challenge, I told her Id balance it on the windowsill, since its the closest Ive got to a porch. I havent spotted a smoke detector in my apartment, so I wouldnt have to worry about setting one of those pesky things off either. Perfect!

Not so much, actually. I dont want to be responsible for a fiery mass of red-hot coals falling from under my grilling tongs onto some poor random stranger's bike. Or face. Glorious, big, street-facing window Setback #5: Witnesses. HOWEVER, my good American friends, I WILL be serving the all-American Fourth of July favorite, hamburgers! They'll be broiled (not grilled), on toast (not buns), with sauteed potatoes (not fries) and apples (not watermelon), but they will be burgers, darnit, and they'll be great! SO great in fact, that I plan on making them for everyone I know here! So the job'll be easy, Ill set the table for two.

Enjoy your firework show, ya jerks!

My Neighbor is a Castle

Before we moved cross the ocean to a little green island, the first thing others would tell us about Ireland is how nice the people here were. And they so are! They cant stop throwing us parties wherever we go! We spent our first week in Clontarf, which is a charming seaside village with things to boast like a bird sanctuary, a dazzling rose garden, and parks that sprawl for ages. And they must have heard we were there, because on that Saturday they held their yearly food festival! Just for us, Ive decided. The zoo was there with crocodiles, someone was juggling fire, and there was even a car show for Jon.

When we moved into Dublin on the next Friday, we were greeted by one of the biggest parades we'd ever seen in person! Because our windows face a main street, we got the best seats in the house! Rather than throng on the streets with thousands people, we made coffee and sat on our sill to watch it all go by. It was Dublin's Pride Week, and it was a MAJOR party that lasted all night. I can personally tell you it lasted all night (and into the morning too), because our main-street-facing windows have their setbacks. They may be double-paned to keep heat in, but they dont do much to keep the sound out. Lets just say our sleepless night was fitfully filled with club music and sparkles, and wing-wearing men who apply their makeup with way more skill than I ever could. I bought earplugs today, just in case Dublin decides to throw us any more welcome-home parties this Saturday.

And it really does feel like Home. We made it all the way here, and I can honestly say I love my city. I cross the street with a quick sure pace, because I know where Im going. But look both ways twice because I keep forgetting just what side the cars will come from. I call the bathroom The Toilet, but it still sounds weird. I do my laundry in the kitchen, and keep the softener next to the sugar. But I moved it to the closet because it made my potatoes floral-scented. I buy food for just one day at a time, but its better that way because my fridge is only 3ft high with no freezer in sight. When its time to cook, I switch on the power to the range so the burners will heat up. Then I switch the outlet off again. When we talk about the weather, Ill tell you it got to a glorious 20 degrees! Celsius, meters, and grams are becoming normal parts of my speech now. I spend 5-ers and 10-ers, not 5 bucks or 10 bucks. Wording here is more proper, and Jon has adopted the word 'quite'. Dinner was QUITE good. The weather is QUITE nice. Even a tv ad for toilet paper seems prim when you say 'O-wer tooy-lett pay-pa is new soof-ta than eva'. When I go out, I wear full leggings and a skirt, with flip-flops and a scarf. I tuck sunglasses next to my umbrella in my messenger-bag purse, because the weather changes every fifteen minutes, and I am prepared. The TV is a Telly, the cops are the Gardai. I dont say 'parking lot', I say 'car park'. I love the rain, but I cant say so without strange looks. And you cant call us tourists anymore.

Because we totally live here.

What Time Is It Again?

I sat at the huge glass window, watching the lightning-filled sky over our plane to Ireland. I sent out my last goodbyes over text message as our last flight to our new life was delayed. I wasnt nervous as much as tired. I just wanted to leave already, and I knew there was a 6-hour flight ahead of me. We were finally boarded, only to taxi around for two hours. Luckily, we got seated by possibly the most annoying lady in the airport. She made the whole row (ours) take a picture together (while the seat-belt sign was on) and give each other our emails so we could later Facebook each other (I lied when it was my turn). Everyone in hearing range now knows extremely personal things about this lady, including every detail about her ex-husband and their divorce, and her very graphic 9-11 memories. Anyway, the 2-hr taxi and the 6-hr flight were awesome (when I had my headphones on High volume).


We finally landed in Dublin, Ireland, our new country. A random idea that formed one night on our tiny American kitchen floor after a dinner with good friends. A moonstruck dream come to reality in a few short months' time. The self-crazed lady, to her credit, was the first person to say, "Welcome Home!" to us when the plane landed. And it wasnt even raining! Well it rained later that day, but it was light so I guess here it doesnt count as rain. On a cool note, here they have "Dry Days" and every other day you can expect rain. And Dry doesnt mean Sun, just that the clouds wont drop their rains.

Our hosts, Phil & Betty, are really amazing! They have driven us around to so many cool places already, just to show us about town! They are so generous and kind. Not only do they cook three meals a day for us and let us live with them for an open-ended amount of time, they even forgive us when we butcher the foreign street names. Betty told me she will take us to tea in Clontarf Castle this week! So stoked! She said, "Americans love to have tea in a castle". Yes ma'am! We dont have them laying around in the States. Their castles here are like Starbucks there: one on every corner. (Side note: No Starbucks in Dublin, but she told me their coffee place 'Insomnia' is as plentiful and delicious as our beloved green mermaid. I will let you know).

So our first and second days have been amazing, but every once in awhile Ill catch myself in a thought and realize, "Woah. I totally live in Ireland." Which is pretty fantastic.

It's Raining Change! (in more ways than one)

Call me Frodo. The movie is Lord of the Rings III (Return of the King), near the last scene. Frodo is saying goodbye to his Hobbit buddies, about to sail off to live with elves and never see the mortal world again. He's also the only dry-eyed one in the group. Its not that Frodo isnt really sad about leaving, because he is. I think he will really miss his friends back home, and his family especially. Isnt a goodbye consistently harder for the ones left behind? It doesn't matter what kind of leaving behind is being done, if you're the one left. I'm not going to be gone forever, and my ship looks a lot more like an airplane, but there are parallels. I think Frodo cried some on the ride to his new home, even if there were elves there. So did I.

One last goodbye after another this month finally led to our departure through the Magic Portal Into Space (the quickly over, yet intrusive, full body scan). As we boarded our first tiny airplane to our Phoenix layover, I was trying to not explode with thoughts. They ranged from being kind of thirsty, to the knowledge that I will probably miss my little brother's high school graduation ceremony. And all in the name of adventure. Sometimes I wonder how much is worth sacrificing for a dream. My dog forgetting who I am? Missing literally years of my sister's life? Is it really worth the pain?

Luckily, there was a man in the seat right behind me who interrupted my thinking. He had at some point during today, decided that an entire sandwich-sized Ziploc full of change would be a good thing to have in a carry-on. Then he decided that carry-on belonged directly above my head. Well as I was staring at my coffee (Venti house brew, Coconut sweetener & nonfat milk thanksverymuch), there was a sudden onslaught of change falling onto my head! My row got a good laugh, and I think I stole half a buck.

But change is everywhere. Not just in my hair either. We are in for lots more changes before this month is through, and I can honestly say we are enjoying it. If there's one thing Jon & I are good at, its traveling together. So as sad as its been to say goodbye to our loved ones, we wake up each day ready for more. More stories, more experiences, more life. Tears, or no.

The Great Green Yonder

People say many things when we tell them we are moving to Ireland. My Mom is one of them. Over the last few months, her favorite question was "Where will you live?", to which we had no direct answer, except, "In Dublin I guess?"

See, I have a theory about the unknown. I think there's probably a law that says things have a way of working themselves out all on their own. In our house, this theory is called the 'Dont Worry, Jon Will Handle It' law. When this law is in effect, all I have to do is pack my bags and go. This law gives me the freedom as a wife to simply trust that my husband has our best interests at heart, and will take the initiative to take care of us in the future. This law also gives him the freedom to make plans he thinks are the optimum choice for us.

Sometimes, this law is seriously stupid. That's why I call it a theory, because theories always look great before real life tests them. In theory, the "Don't Worry" part of the law looks a lot more like me worrying a great deal, nagging a ton, and/or criticizing bad choices. Sometimes the "Jon Will Handle It" part of the law looks more like Jon doesn't know what the heck he's doing, forgot to remember to handle it, and/or handled it the wrong way.

For instance, our last apartment. Jon said it was smaller, but a great deal, and seemed legit. So we went and glanced at it once (in a perfunctory attitude), and told them we'd take it. Well. It was not until we had paid first (out of many) month's contractual rent, got the keys, and took pizza to our spankin' new place, that I realized: no dishwasher, cat-pee carpet, 3yr old boy living right on our heads. More like IN my head after a few months of torturous running back-and-forth across our bedroom/living room ceilings at all hours of the day/night. All things that I would have avoided had I chose our new place myself. The law had failed me! Maybe I should have taken more initiative and made more decisions!

But just by moving there from our old (spacious, clean, upstairs) place, and washing EVERY dish we ever dirtied, we were able to pay off our credit debt and our second car, and start this awesome journey we're on now. These things and more work together for the good of those who love God, says Romans 8:28. So when I trust in Jon to do things like find us a place to live when we move to a new country, Im putting my trust in God to work things out. Thats really what my theory comes down to in the end. Jon will fail, but God will never.

PS Mom!
We found a place to live! They are a retired couple in Clontarf, Ireland, which is 6km from City Centre in Dublin, where Jon will be working. They have graciously offered us a room to stay in for our first week there, to give us a chance to find yet another (hopefully furnished!) apartment to rent.

See? My law is working again. Hopefully he finds a place on the TOP floor this time.

Unknown

Have you ever heard that phrase, "the silence was deafening"? Well its a cliche for a reason: its true.

Before bed I turn on two fans just so I can get to sleep. Its not that I cant stand to be alone with my thoughts; that I actually like. It's that we aren't living a couple blocks from the 85 anymore, but in the mountains where Jon and I did a lot of growing up. The loudest noise I can hear right now is the adorable peeping of about 30 less-than-a-week-old chicks that my Mom hatched from her own chickens out in the barn. I can go right out the front door and see nothing but grass and trees. And one sad yellow tulip among a sea of red tulips. I can go out the back door, and see mountains that sprawl out into the distance. At night, the air is so clean, that I can see more stars than I can count. Where we used to live, I sometimes forgot there were even stars to look for.

But I'm really a cloud gathering for the storm. It's quiet now because the sky is still blue, the air is still warm. But the wind will blow steadily stronger, and I will become lost in the squall. Just one more cloud in a sky of clouds. A faceless stranger in a new world. I know I will eventually turn back to this chapter of our story and exclaim,

"How Brave!"
or maybe "How Reckless!"
or even "What Were We Thinking?" 
Ill have to remind myself then, that right now all I'm thinking is, "Hurry Up!"

God has gifted me these quiet few weeks on purpose. So I embrace this interval. I am thankful for the eye of the storm, but am also thankful for the storm. Among all the red tulips, there is a single yellow one. But it doesn't look lonely anymore. I think it looks satisfied.

Wait, should I be scared?

What did you do today? I spent most of my Saturday in the company of Futurama Season 2, and a roll of duct tape. And all these strangers kept interrupting me! I didn't mind though, they all came with money and a car to haul away things like my dressers, cabinets, and shelves. Thanks Craigslist! I pulled what i could into the front "porch" area. I say "porch" because it's a term that also means "community laundry room/mailbox/carport" area.

Anyway, it's not that Im ashamed of people seeing my living space in such disarray, full of newly unearthed dust bunnies and a really fun cardboard box maze. It's my mostly groundless paranoia that the person on the other end of the computer is actually my secret stalker who is using the opportunity to "buy a couch" to get inside my house and kill me. I say mostly groundless because crap like that happens to people. Especially to those poor fools in the first five minutes of Law & Order.

Am i putting myself in danger by giving my address to someone who could be anyone? Maybe. Will that stop me from making over $200 in two days? Hasn't yet. All it's cost me so far is a bit of stress, and time out of my day to meet perfectly nice people who are probably as equally scared that I'm a serial killer luring innocents into my house with the promise of a cheap lamp. So far so good!

Jon spent his Saturday in Aptos surfing. Lucky bum.

Off to Neverland! I mean Ireland!

We have boxes! That's a major step toward moving, no matter where you're moving to. Trader Joe's flower boxes are legit! Except for all the holes. Whatever, those are for packing the stuff we are getting rid of anyway. We have waaaaay too much stuff by the way. Like more than i even thought we had. Our apartment is only 650sq ft, it's not like we have room to collect much. But today as I sat staring at my mounds of clothes, and piles of useless things like rotisserie ovens and empty baskets, I decided I should open my own thrift store. Nah. Ill just have a garage sale and post stuff on Craigslist. All the boxes beginning to overtake my already-tiny living space have brought this whole moving-to-another-country thing into the forefront of my thoughts.

In December we thought, hey wouldnt it be cool to move far away for awhile? How about Ireland? Sweet idea, let's look into it.
In January we thought, holy crap you got the job!
In February we thought, is this real life?

And it's been a roller coaster of emotions since, bringing me to today: the first day of real packing! With boxes and everything! And I made this blog for friends and family who care to check in on me and Jon during this crazy process of moving to Ireland. So with three weeks left to pack, and like three thousand boxes to fill, I better get to it. Goodbye!