The Portal to the Past

I'm careful not to write about work here for all the world to read. It would be very easy to, of course, and even though I don't flatter myself enough to believe that I have that wide a readership that I could actually really incriminate myself too much, just as soon as I take that for granted, I could actually turn into one of those people who gets fired for airing their place of business's dirty laundry out on the internet.

However, as this is such a fun and cute story, I don't think I risk getting myself into any trouble here by sharing it. As you know, I work in a medieval castle entertaining and serving at banquets. We welcome people into the castle and have a bit of a show to give the night some framework as we serve their dinner and perform music, all the while dressed up in costume for the medieval theme.

It's usually quite fun when kids come to visit. They're often so excited about being a knight or princess for the evening. Some even come dressed up for the occasion. Just a couple nights ago, we had a very inquisitive young man pass through our doors. As loads of people were filing in, he insisted on staying back so that he could ask "a very important question." Fortunately, his dad was accompanying him who explained that his son is convinced that we travel through a portal in order to go back in time to be a part of the castle. So, the little lad, who couldn't have been more than 5, managed to get out (although his brain was so actively going, his mouth could hardly keep up to articulate the words for him!) "Um, um, um, is there a door to the portal?" Thankfully, our seasoned, talented and ever so sweet butler didn't miss a beat. He replied that a gatekeeper lets us in every night.

Of course, if the little guy knew that the portal was a very boring dressing room where we shed our 21st century gear to don our velvet frocks, he could be disappointed. No need. He was so off in his own element that I don't think a) anything could've spoiled it for him, or b)that anyone could actually be allowed into his own little world to actually ruin it for him. I think a lot of very magical things happen up there!

Just a little fun tidbit. I hope the gatekeeper lets you into your magic portal today, too!

I Do Not Heart The Beckhams

A bit of a departure from my normal ramblings of observation today to use this medium in order to vent. I don't know how you feel, but I for one am so sick and tired of David and Victoria Beckham that it pains me to give them the validation of even more internet space, not to mention my energy. I probably have to endure more reports about them on this side of the pond than my American friends and family, due to the dominance of British media (of which they are the darlings, miles before the Royal Fam) over here, but I have a feeling that the Beckhams will have worn out their welcome in America before David has the chance to don a Galaxy jersey.

I was sick of hearing about this famed couple shortly after I moved here. They were living in Spain, David Beckham playing for Real Madrid. Victoria "Posh" Beckham is plastered over every magazine in print over here as if she actually contributes something to society by wearing a different Gucci ski suit in every snap of their weekend ski trip. Her Spice Girls past and marriage to the soccer hero seem to have earned her some sort of invinceablity status. Barf. Then David Beckham announced he was signing a contract with the LA Galaxy and the couple were on their way to the Hills. Yay for them. This dominated news here for the few weeks surrounding the announcement. I'm not kidding. It was the headline, the lead story and the biggest use of ink. Part of David's announcement included his excitement to "bring football to the kids in America." Double barf.

This is probably the reason I'm the most irritated by this whole saga. It's not the obvious cry for attention by yet more rich people who aren't content enough with their current riches and fame. It's not the fact that I speculate this was more so that Victoria Beckham could rub noses with the Hollywood elite and have better shopping than a career move for her husband. It's all those things under the thin veil of martyrdom David Beckham uses by pretending to be some sort of soccer missionary. Reporters glommed onto this idea that David Beckham would be "educating" the American public by putting a more recognizable face on soccer, which is, outside America, the most popular sport in the world. The thing is, what they failed to distinguish in any of these "news" reports was that probably more American children play soccer than in any other country in the world. It's professional soccer that never took off. I'm pretty sure the infamous title of "Soccer Mom" wasn't an arbitrary moniker, and it doesn't refer to the likes of Victoria Beckham. And after watching enough scenes of how professional soccer fans act like gangs and delight in beating the crap out of each other just because of who they support, it's no wonder the fervor hasn't spread to the states. (And thank goodness, in a country where the president of the NRA may as well be a cabinet position.)

I recognize David Beckham's (I refuse to refer to him by his cutesy nickname of "Becks") athletic ability. But I really don't want to hear him wax philosophical about his move. If there's anything that obviously motivates this family, it's money. Moving back to his partner, my cynicism tells me that the latest announcement that the Spice Girls are reuniting is conveniently timed with Victoria "Posh Spice" Beckham's move to a place that has evolved from 1996 far enough that they would need a reminder as to who she is. That's right, America, if you didn't already know, the Spice Girls are getting back together! Contain your excitement!!

Did I mention "barf" yet?

America needs the Beckhams like they need a few more Paris Hiltons. For the first time, in one of the lead stories about the couple's move, the reporter actually acknowledged that Americans do enjoy a number of their own professional sports already. Wow! What an epiphany! Too bad the story (which included nothing new) had to take top billing instead of the actual world events that had taken place that day (the plane crash in Brazil among them). So much for priorities. I only hope that maybe the move means I'll have to hear less about them over here. However, given that one of the favorite story angles over here is how "so-and-so" went to LA and made it, I have a feeling this is just the beginning...

Welcome Summer(?)

It's the last week of June and our third week of solid rain. Outside it's overcast every day. We got a brief glimpse at the sun Sunday afternoon, but I commented on it, thereby jinxing it and sending another deluge of showers. My poor flowers out front are now actually too waterlogged and cold to bloom.

The first week of the month was toasty. Low 80's every day and very sunny. I remember commenting that it was going to be a long summer. Even though the low 80's doesn't sound very warm, the fact that the days here are so long in the summer and virtually no place has air conditioning can make one long for a cool breeze. I even said I might have to invest in a fan for the house. Ha! Global climate change went and smacked us in the face once more and we've been bundling up ever since.

Actually, if truth be told, I don't really mind this weather. This time of year makes me slightly homesick because it was two years ago that I moved. It's a bittersweet thing, really. And one thing that I'll always remember about the move is the weather. We were having one of those classic Midwest heat waves - you know, mid 90's with air so heavy you could scoop it up and put it in a jar. My parents' air conditioning conked out just a couple days before my move, which added to the experience. And the day before I moved, as I was racing in and out of places like the BMV to get my new driver's license in my married name, we were bombarded by a massive summer thunderstorm. It was one of those that was so strong you couldn't hear the radio in the car because the rain was so hard on the roof.

Weather is a funny thing. We really do mark our days by it. The Irish are quite accustomed to summers like we're having now, minus that week of sun and warmth at the beginning of the month. When I would comment during our warm spell that we could be in a for quite a warm summer here, my tone was twinged with a bit of whininess. But the response I'd get was almost always the same: "Please God!" Global warming is both a concern and a delight to the Irish who are experiencing and clinging onto warm, sunny summers quite often now, unlike the colder, overcast summers of the past. Hot, sticky summers were one thing I was happy to leave behind, however.

They say the weather will break. In some ways I hope it does. The air is heavy with all this humidity and it really does make nearly everyone a bit sluggish. And a few weeks of flip-flop wearing weather are always welcome. I hope that it doesn't break into a full-blown Midwestern America-style summer, though. Watermelon and corn on the cob are far too expensive here for that!!!

More Vocabulary Lessons

Here are a few more words to insert in your Irish-speak vocabulary, complete with definition and proper usage:

BANJAXED (ban'-jaxed): when one truly messes something up. "After getting his hand twisted around a drill while it was on, Tristan's hand was banjaxed for a week. It was so swollen, it looked like he was wearing a glove."

KNACKERED (nack'-erd): to be exhausted beyond recognition. "I was knackered after driving for several hours on country roads, the majority of the time spent behind a tractor."

CRAIC (krak): (Irish) good times, fun, enjoyment. "There was great craic in the pub last night - there was jokes and singing all night."

SESSION (seh'-shun): a period of entertainment or enjoyment; a period of music playing in a social setting. "There was a great ol' session on - an accordion, two guitars and a banjo played until the placed closed down."

BOG STANDARD (bahg stan'-derd): average, basic, plain. "There's nothing fancy about that restaurant, just bog standard bacon and cabbage."

Well, that concludes this edition of Irish vocabulary. I hope you enjoyed this bog standard entry and will go out an enjoy the craic this weekend. Don't get too knackered or banjaxed at the session!

Another turn of the life cycle

I have been missing in action lately, largely because the one thing that's been on the tip of fingers to write about I've been resisting. However, I'm going to attempt it now, with as much delicacy as possible.

It's spring now, and a beautiful one at that in Ireland. We've had flowers, sun, longer days and baby animals springing up along the countryside. For all its metaphors, spring truly is a breath of new life and a continuation of the life cycle as we know it.

On the flipside of the life cycle, I experienced my first Irish funeral - funerals, actually - in March. They were very different from what I'd grown accustomed to in the states. I think these rituals are probably largely very community-oriented. Traditions probably vary from one zipcode to the next. Needless to say the subdued traditions of my religiously non-descript Protestant family in Indianapolis to that of the Catholic community of Sixmilebridge presented a wide gap.

I'm used to the calling (or removal, as it is here) being a fairly relaxed affair - a quiet reception in a funeral parlor where close friends and family can call to pay their respects to the family of the deceased. Here, we waited in line with everyone who had ever met the family of the deceased, which sometimes stretched two city blocks. Once inside, you shake the hands of everyone sitting inside, who are all sitting or standing in a row. After the removal is over, everyone returns to the bottom of the hill where the funeral home is to follow the family and hearse up the street to the church. It is here where the outpouring of community support really overwhelmed me. In one case, there were hundreds following behind the family, all in a reverent silence or hushed voices.

At the top of the hill, the congregation assembles briefly in the church for a few words from the priest. Afterward, many went next door to the pub where refreshments were served, which are usually provided by extended family or friends. The next morning is the funeral mass. In most respects, this was familiar to me. One aspect that stood out to me, however was the presentation of the gifts to the deceased. A few family or friends are selected to present gifts that are of significance to the character and life of the departed to be buried with them. I don't know if this is a Catholic tradition, or just an Irish tradition, but it put a poignant, personal mark on the service as a whole.

After the mass, the family carries the casket out to the hearse and once again, everyone follows on foot (usually) to the cemetery for the burial. I suppose all this walking is foreign to me because usually the church is a few miles and several busy streets from the funeral home and the cemetery back in Indianapolis and most other places. There's a certain reverence in it that really affected me. I suppose it's witnessing the solidarity of a community in a very tangible and visual manner. In Indy, we're accustomed to a police escorted car procession from one place to another, but walking alongside your neighbors, family and friends has a special meaning that is hard to put into words. I was reminded of images of New Orleans funerals - of families walking up the streets of the French Quarter (minus the brass instruments, of course). It was almost like a living work of art - a beautiful representation of family and togetherness at a time of difficulty and sorrow.

The burial was probably the most difficult for me. As it was, up to this point, I'd felt quite a bit more emotion than I'd ever had at the funerals I'd been to in the past - I think as every aspect presents the reality of the situation before you more vividly than the generally less emotive arrangements I'd been to before. At the cemetery, in this community, the grave is actually dug by family and/or family friends. And, after the final words are spoken at the gravesite, it is filled in again by family and friends. You watch as men of the community work away, shovel in hand. This tradition for the final farewell definitely left a lump in my throat.

I don't know which I prefer, to be honest. I was deeply moved by all of the outpouring of support for the families that I witnessed. The tears shed were shared amongst many and hugs exchanged. Part of me, and perhaps it's the part that grew up with a different tradition, wonders if maybe it's too much. Is it too painful for the mourners to go through this? Or is it more therapeutic? I felt my heart stop at the reality of seeing my husband be one of those to pick up a shovel at the gravesite, but he felt a release, as a man who works with his hands, to be able to do something for the memory of a loved one.

I think we're changed a bit every time we experience loss in our lives - whether it's someone distant or someone very close. We experience our own pain, and what is sometimes harder, the pain of wanting to take away that of the family who has lost. Maybe it brings us closer together. Maybe it puts some things into perspective. And no matter where you are and how you go about it, the process is the same and yet different for us all.

Home Sweet Home

Well, after a nice two week break over in the states, T and I have returned to reality. Back to work, and also a nice encounter with a bit of the flu, which everyone in Ireland seems to be carrying around in one form or another. I'm just lucky to have the sore throat variety and not the vomiting bug!

We had a great time seeing friends and family, catching up, eating way too much, shopping, etc. During this time and since I've returned, I catch myself referring to both Indianapolis and Sixmilebridge as home. For instance, "When I was home, before I came back, er....home, uh.." You get the idea. It makes it hard to figure out which to stick to.

Not too long after I moved here, I was having lunch in an American cafe in Limerick, owned by a Chicago couple. It's a nice place, and always very welcoming to me. (We Midwesterners find each other and stick together!!) I was chatting about my plans to go home for Christmas at the time (2005) and Ruth was quick to correct me and ask "Megan, are you staying in Ireland, or is Indy home?" I didn't know what to tell her. I said we were staying in Ireland indefinitely. Can't get much safer than that. (You can tell I used to do communications for politicians.)

Do I consider Sixmilebridge home? Yes. It's not only where I hang my hat, it's where my in-laws (who are wonderful) are, and where T is. I feel comfortable here. But am I able to transfer the label of "home" from Indy to Sixmilebridge? Not quite. And probably not ever. When I was in Indy for our visit, I was torn between wanting to kick back and do nothing but watch the snow fall from the cozy living room of my parents' house and wanting to race around and take in all the sites and sounds of the place that raised me, that has grown up with me and that will always give me a reason to go visit the states. Not only are my dearest friends and family there, Indy has a way of opening its arms up to you, no matter how long you've been away.

For example, the Irish are known for being chatty. And believe me, it's true. But so are Hoosiers. I had forgotten how easy it is to find yourself conversing with a complete stranger in a long line at the grocery store or with the clerk at The Gap, or with the happy-go-lucky retiree turned sales assistant at the woodworking store that was so intrigued by Tristan I thought he might adopt him. Europeans often laugh and joke about how over-the-top polite storeworkers are to greet their customers in America. I admit it's at times overbearing (and yet I also know from working in retail that it's largely an anti-theft measure, so there!). But there are some times when it's nice, and in Indy, it's largely very genuine. I suppose Hoosiers and the Irish are somewhat alike in that way.

Yes, it was hard to leave Indy (home) and head back to Ireland (home). But I got a nice welcome (home) here, too. Back in January, the week before we left, we went down to the pub to try and catch as much of the Colts vs. Ravens game as we could. Remembering that, when we arrived at the same pub a week after we returned (and a week after the Colts won the Super Bowl!), the locals all cheered for the Colts, each mentioning to me that they watched some of it, or looked to see if the Colts made it and won. They all went out of their way, as if I were in a Colts-loving bar in Indy or something.

I can think of worse things than having two places to call home. I suppose I don't have to reserve the moniker for one or the other.

Heading Home

Saturday, Tristan and I will pack our bags to head to the states for a two week visit. Most of our time will be spent in Indy, of course, but we're spending our last weekend visiting good friends in DC. It'll be great to get home and get to see so many people and also get to show Tristan another part of the country than just Indiana!

As I was driving home from work thinking about my trip over, I felt a sense of relief. It's been just over a year since my last visit, and although I've had pretty regular contact with most people during that time, I do miss being there. Not for any one particular reason, really, but just being in the midst of things. I think this feeling probably starts to wane a bit more the longer you spend away from the place you know as home, but it's still lingering for me now. I know Indy and the people I know there have changed since I was living there myself. I'm anxious to see those changes, and also can't wait to ease into some of the comforts I grew accustomed to.

Some of those are:

*Nestling into Starbucks with a big, all-fat-inclusive Venti whatever the seasonal coffee is. Say what you want about the evil empire of coffee shops, I still crave it.

*Cafe Patachou. Again, good coffee, and the best omelettes I've ever had.

*Outlet shopping. Nothing is more frustrating than walking into Ireland's posh department store and seeing already overpriced American brands marked up another 50-80%. Every time I walk through there, I think "Gosh, I could be at the outlet in Edinburgh, IN [Note: that's pronounced ed'-in-burg, NOT ed-in-burough as in the city in Scotland] paying $30 for that sweater by that traditionally overpriced designer, as opposed to the 100 Euro they're asking for!!"

* Back to food...Mexican. There's a new "Mexican" restaurant in Limerick that does carry-out burritos and such. It's okay...well, it's not, really. It's okay if you're dying for a fix and can't be bothered doing the cooking yourself. Usually, though, I make my own fajitas and quesadillas and just look forward to a nice, affordable night out at my fave Mexican restaurant, Cancun.

*Sushi. If I mention the stuff here, most people look at me wide-eyed and immediately think "raw fish??!" No matter how I try to explain it, it never wins over any Irish who haven't been out of the country to experience it. There's only one reported sushi restaurant in Ireland and that's in Dublin. Maybe it'll catch on someday....

*Watching IU play! I'm delighted to be visiting during the throws of the Big Ten basketball season. I think I'll get to watch at least 2 games in the comforting company of loads of fellow fans. Go Hoosiers!

*Watching the Colts play. Last year, the only Colts game that was televised here on the premium sports channel (they usually televise 2 NFL games a week) was the fateful defeat that we handed over pitifully to the Steelers as they made their Super Bowl run. We canceled our subscription to that premium channel not too long after. This year, the only televised game was last Saturday's game against the Ravens. I had to find a way to watch it, but the only option was to head to our local pub and beg. It was 9:30 on a Saturday night, so getting reins of the TV wasn't easy, but I managed to catch the majority of the game. When it first came on, most people looked at each other with a bit of confusion, wondering why they were being subjected to this. Then, one of the regulars turned to me and said "I know who's responsible for this!!!" I watched it in the corner while I bit my nails along with most Colts fans that day. I can't wait to watch Sunday's AFC championship game amongst fans in Indy! Win or lose (they *better* win), it'll be such a fun day out for us.

*Fires in the fireplace at my parents' house. This is a comfort of home that makes me want to become a hibernating animal. ZZZzzzzzzzzzzz........

So, for those of you I'm going to see, I can't wait. We're really looking forward to it. For those of you we won't catch this time, hopefully it won't be too long before we see you again. You're always welcome in Sixmilebridge, of course...