May you live as long as you want and never want as long as you live.

My grandmother, Isabelle Mae Verretta, passed away peacefully in Arvada, Colorado on August 9, 2015.  She lived a long and good life.  Much better than her meager beginnings would have implied.  I could give you the facts about her life. Such as, she was born the only child to Cecil and Minnie Glaviano on July 3, 1925 in Trinidad, Colorado.  She was raised in North Denver and eventually made her home of 56 years in Arvada.  She worked nearly all her life, primarily in the financial industry, and was the first woman in Colorado to sell municipal bonds.  She worked her way from a lowly bookkeeper in 1952 to become Vice President of a half dozen financial institutions beginning in the 1970’s.  She retired at the ripe old age of 88.

I could tell you all this and more. But then I wouldn’t be telling you much about the woman who touched countless lives, making them laugh, cry (often from too much laughing) and who lived her life with a gusto and tenaciousness that few encounter these days.  To get to the true tale of Isabelle Verretta, you have to know how she saw herself and thus overcame the biggest obstacle of all – self-perception.  She would always tell people that she was born a poor fat child who couldn’t say boo to a ghost.  How then did this waif become a powerhouse in the banking world?  Determination and grit.  Widowed with two young children at the age of 29, Isabelle had no time for pity or victimhood.  She had work to do.  And she did it.

She excelled at breaking down barriers in an era and industry that was famous for the good old boys network.  From staying long nights at the bank during their computerization period, to accompanying the men for after work drinks to prove that a woman could find a place in the boy’s club, she poured her heart, sweat and tears in to providing for herself and her young family.  She was forced to sacrifice time spent with her children to make sure they had food to eat and eventually move to the suburb of Arvada.  She would buy one dress every paycheck to have something nice for work because she knew the value of appearances and that all too often, it wasn’t about how smart you were as a woman, but how well you looked and comported yourself that mattered.

Her struggles eventually paid off and she moved up in the bank to lead the savings department as Vice President.  At this point, her personal life also improved by meeting the companion of her heart, Don Arnold.  He taught her not only to appreciate golf and football but also how to not take life so seriously.  Don and Isabelle would go on to spend over 30 years together, dancing, bickering, laughing and generally having a grand ol’ time (often getting into some trouble or another).

She was a woman of grace (though not physically, she was actually quite clumsy in that regard) and style.  To make up for her depression era childhood, she insisted on buying one of every color of shoes or blouses or whatever it was.  QVC will miss her patronage greatly.  When she wasn’t “telling you something” about life, she was enjoying movies and going “up the hill” to gamble until the wee hours of the night or ranting about politics, but the key was she was always learning, laughing and leaving the world a better place.

While she was doing that, there was often food involved.  As part of a large Italian family, two things were priorities in her life – family and food.  (Not always in that order.)  Isabelle may have had a rough beginning but she certainly made up for it in the last half of her life.

She will be missed but never forgotten.  

10 Years

It was ten years ago in September that I moved away from my life-long home for the first time ever. Where did I go? Why, to London of course! No, I’m not some English country girl, looking to make my mark on my country’s capital. Rather, I’m a mountain girl from the far off Wild West looking to find myself in a world where I often feel more at home among British culture and history than my native culture and land. This was of course long before the Downton Abbey craze, and possibly before The Office even made its trek over the ocean.  Lately, I can’t help but to think about my first time out on my own, without the safety net of family and familiar surroundings. It was a time of wonder and adventure. It was when I first started this blog to record all my near-daily discoveries. About myself, about the world outside all that I’d grown up with. It was the best of times.

               I also can’t help but think lately about all that has changed since then… I’m no longer traveling or exploring anything. I ended up back in Colorado, after another long stint in the UK. In some ways, I feel like nothing has changed. That all those years of traveling and adventuring were not my “real life” and now I’m back to where I started. But I am at least wise enough to know that’s not true. I have changed, in many ways for the better and some not so much. I hate that I’m more cautious and cynical now. (As cynical as anyone with an Aquarius sun sign can be.) I hate that I’m not out in the world, visiting new lands and learning about new cultures. On the other hand, I have learned that it’s much easier and sometimes more fun to travel when you have money then when you don’t. I like all the comforts I’ve built up for myself. I love my non-beater car and adore my cat companion. I love living alone and being able to do whatever I want when I want.

                Although I’m not the fresh-faced youth ready to take on the world now, I’m still not some old wizened crone (no matter how much of a “crazy cat lady” I may seem). I don’t want to hang up my adventurer’s hat and call it quits after only scratching the surface of what is out there to be learned and discovered. (And I’m not talking about new lands that no human foot has touched, that’s obviously not possibly these days, unless I go to another planet and I’m definitely no astronaut). I’m talking about my own self-discovery through the lens of a world much bigger than my small corner of metro Denver suburb. My current journey may be less grand than trapesing across another continent, but it is no less important. Therefore, I declare that the blog “The Next Great Adventure” is back in business after a much too-long sojourn. May I find adventures in my own backyard and discover what I could not while abroad. I can’t guarantee I’ll write often, but I’ll try to write well when I do and I hope that whoever will read this enjoys the ride.

Let the adventures begin!!

Rocks on the Sand

For a long time now I've been seeing images in my mind... of Derry, of Clare, of streets I used to walk down and places I used to go. I know I didn't write much when I was in Ireland. The pressure of getting a master's degree and other rather trying situations at that time prevented me from indulging in the usual retrospection I enjoy while traveling or living abroad. So now it is long past time I tell of my life in "Nor'n Ireland" and hope that the memories will do justice to the moments. Here is the first of my "Tales of an Irish Life".....

One of the last days I spent in Ireland, I drove to Malin Head point in Co. Donegal to say my goodbyes to the Island that had been my home and my hardship for almost two years. As I wandered around the hills and former watch tower, I did some watching of my own. Families and couples braved the chill and wind to visit this little spit of land, from which, on a clear day one could glimpse the next island eastward – Scotland. It had been my dream and goal to continue my European life and get a job in Edinburgh. However, some dreams, regardless of how dreamy just don’t come true and so instead of saying Hello to a new home, I was saying farewell to my hopes and dreams. It was the second time the UK had the final word in my life, forcing me to reevaluate myself and to reform my plans.

While I was staring out to sea and envisioning Scotland out there just beyond my reach, I looked down from the little cliff I was standing on and saw on the land below written in stones placed together, Eire. There it was, like a primitive signpost announcing to any travelers where they were. There I was and there I had been for two winters, in a land that one small word could never encompass. A land of wonder and history, of blood and music, a land where the past continued to invade the present and where the people had old souls but murky futures. Ireland had indeed been a trial but it’d also been a journey that taught me as much as it tested. Through my writing I wish to relive the life that now seems so distant. To recapture the joy of discovering a new city, a new language. These may be memories, but they’re also the building blocks of a heart and soul that yearns for more than the ordinary.

Blasts from the Past

This weekend I finally made my way to the international food store. It was Fabulous! Not as huge a place as the Asian markets I frequented in Denver but they had a nice variety from several regions, including Europe and the Middle East. My purchases this time included: Bounty candy (the British version of Mounds, but way better!), Japanese Soba noddles, Kasugai roasted hot green peas - or as the packages calls them "A happy present from the Earth" - and Russian Baltika beer (номер семь for those who have experienced this goodness). I was SO estatic walking out of the store and vowed then and there to be back for some Chinese dumplings, other world beers, and somen noddles (as soon as I figure out/remember what sauce I should use for that - 日本人の友達助けてください！) Anyways, this is a short blog but one that makes me happy as it reminds me of all the fun international food and drink I've enjoyed in the past (perhaps sometimes too much, as in the case of the Baltika). And now I can relive the moments any time I want! :D Life is good.

Radio Silence

You may have noticed the lack of posting again recently. I have been a wee bit busy with the new job. Figuring out how to teach at a university level ESL program with little to no-prep time takes some getting used to, to say the least. However, now that things are winding down (and there is a cool breeze on the air again) I find some time to write for myself. It’s been quite a rollercoaster-y few weeks. (You could even say months, but let’s stick to the immediate for a moment.) Phrases like “hitting the ground running” and “trial by fire” spring to mind when I think of how to describe my time so far at the LCI. After 5 weeks of teaching, learning, grading and not a little bit of stress over my classes I am looking at the last four teaching days and a week-long break from all things academic-y. After about 2 days of utter comatose sleeping and recouping, I hope to head to Richmond for a catch up with Melanie and her mom and to gather the rest of my things to return once again to Blacksburg.

As for the town itself, it can only be described as ironic that this small town America holds more interest for me than the second largest city in Northern Ireland. Of course, I’m thinking a large part of that interest is due to the nearby Target and a variety of restaurants and cafes. I’ve made up amply for my lack of Japanese cuisine in Ulster by having sushi no less than 5 times in as many weeks! It is also highly ironic that I feel I’ve seen more greenery here than during my time in the Emerald Isle. That is helped by what I like to call the “fuzzy mountains” of the Blue Ridge range. They at least have satisfied my need to be nearer mountains again, though they still look funny to me in all their tree-covered-peak-less way. I simply can’t get over how many trees are in Virginia!!! It’s astounding to me. Pete’s backyard along makes me feel like I’m in a forest. And just driving from Blacksburg to Roanoke (which I had to do to get a new social security card) made me wonder at the strength of will the native Americans and first settlers must have had in order to carve a livelihood out this place. I guess growing up in a pretty arid and tree-less place makes one wary of being surrounded by these silent giants. And yet silence is the last way I would describe Virginia (at least the two places I’ve lived so far). I can’t remember hearing so many different kinds of insects – or seeing them! – and the birds are just show-offs plain and simple. There’s a musicality to this place that I’ve not experienced before and it makes all the stresses of the day vanish quite quickly, if only I had the time or presence of mind to let them.

On the other hand, I’m told that Blacksburg is quite a different place in the summertime and I’m experiencing it at its best (according to some). It will definitely be interesting to see the shift when all the students return for the year, but I’m hoping my time in Boulder will have prepared me somewhat for what is to come. Though I still need to learn to say Hokie without cracking a mocking smile. ;)

And so it begins....

Two days ago I began my first day of work. It was mostly paperwork on my part and assessment of the students' English levels. The unexciting yet necessary aspects of a new job/school. The most interesting part of my day however began with a guy, as these stories often do. He's a large, sweet gentleman who gave me quite the wild ride yesterday and today. And his name is Kurt.

Kurt is a 1986 Ford F150 XL, with sky blue coloring and a rough and tumbled look. He's a good truck and my fast friend. (Not that fast as he's a little bit long in the tooth, though he's still younger than me.) Pete let me borrow his truck to get to work until I got the bus pass to let me ride the public transport. Considering my most extensive driving experience has been in a broken down old Honda Civic CRX (Love you Baby!!) Kurt is a whole other beast!

Me and my baby car

First and foremost is getting into the truck. That presents a slight issue for someone who's waist comes up to about the same height as the pedals. With no "oh shit" bar to hand I have to do a little jump and try to propel myself into the cab. Wanting to impress on my first day I decided to wear a cute little skirt... hmmm.. great plan. I managed to find my way to school, getting in and out of the truck without flashing anyone. Once I got myself into the cab I realized sadly that I was too short to reach the pedals comfortably and though I found the lever and tried to adjust the seat, I couldn't and so thinking it was stuck I scooted to the edge of the seat and drove the best I good.

Next was backing the the monster of a car down a long-ass graveled driveway to get to the street. Negotiating that little bit of 'threading the needle' was fun as I worried alternatively about smashing Pete's car, trampling the bushes or the crashing into the shed on the side of the house. But I prevailed through that challenge and celebrated my arrival on the street with a sigh of relief and burst of laughter at the thought of if only my brother or grandpa (big truck enthusiasts themselves) could see me now. This tiny girl in the Big truck.

I started to drive off to school using the handy map Pete drew for me the night before. Focusing on not taking out any of the construction cones or workers on the main road I slowly made my way to school. Throughout the drive I found myself occasionally laughing in a slightly panicked yet amazed manner at my ability to actually drive the biggest car I've encountered before. Arriving at school I put Kurt into park and pushed as hard as I could on the emergency break. Then I kind of shook myself off and went to get a latte at the Starbucks gloriously close to my school to shake of the bit of nerves I'd worked up during the drive.

After my first day at work - spent filling out forms and assessing the students - it was time to get back in the big boy and go home. At this point in time I was not aware that the truck had a name at all, so I decided to call it something in order to be less afraid of driving him. (As we all know, you'll be less afraid of something when you know it's name.)



So on the ride home I called him Sammie and talked soothingly to him, telling him to go easy on me as it was my first time driving something so big. Well that must have worked because I didn't demolish any mailboxes or fences or run over any children. When I got home again I just chuckled to myself and thanked Sammie for the wild ride. It was later that day when I asked Pete if the truck and been named already and thus discovered his true identity of Kurt.

The next day I went out to Kurt again for round 2. This time I wasn't as frightened and took the bull (or ford rather) by the horns. Now he and I have a good working relationship and I only sometimes still chuckle of the sight of me driving this big ol' working vehicle. Perhaps its not as funny to anyone else, but he's a picture of me and my new best friend.....

Me and Kurt

A crab-filled 4th

Another new town, more strange-faces soon to be familiar. An exciting time indeed on any adventure. And this new adventure happily began on a national holiday. For me, New Years’ are always filled with high hopes and low jubilation; Christmas is usually a hit or miss on overall enjoyment and Halloween I could take or leave. However, the 4th of July is possibly one of my favorite holidays, with the exception of Valentine’s Day (my personal favorite, due to my take on it being a loved-filled day for all and not just for couples). I like the 4th not so much because of its historical and patriotic significance, though I do ponder the meaning of the day at some point during the festivities. I like the 4th because of a fabulous tradition of going to the Arvada soccer fields with Melissa and her family to watch fireworks, usually preceded by a yummy barbeque. I was very disappointed the few years I wasn’t able to indulge in this fun familial gathering, and though this year I wasn’t in Colorado I did at least have another fabulous experience – at Pete’s Annual Crabtacular!

As you may guess from its name, this is a celebration of life, liberty and… crab. Don’t ask me why exactly, it’s an east coast thing I haven’t quite figured out yet. It was definitely a night of firsts for me. First time cracking open and eating crab (most likely to be my last), first time to see and catch fireflies (they are fun little buggies!) and my first night in the Blue Ridge mountain town of Blacksburg. I have to say, with possible exception of the first ‘first’, I loved them every minute of it all. Unfortunately I have no pictures to prove that, yes I did indeed mallet a poor – but flavorful! – crab in a rather barbaric-land-locked-city-girl fashion. So you’ll just have to take my word for it. After the cleanup of tiny mutilated bodies, we all wandered to a cemetery to watch fireworks. It’s a far cry from the soccer fields of suburban Colorado but the mood was the same and had me reflecting on the paradox that is America and its people. (For more on my thoughts on this, see my post from the 2008 elections.)

Tomorrow will begin the next stage of this new escapade, as I will begin work tomorrow at Virginia Tech’s Language and Culture Institute. I’m excited for this new opportunity to help students improve their English and look forward to meeting my new colleagues. With that in mind, I should best get to bed for a full night’s sleep, I got a busy day ahead of me! I am hoping that this jaunt in the Appalachians will be full of new experiences such as my first night here (though perhaps with a bit less carnage) and have high hopes for all that lies ahead of me here.

P.S. Thanks to Pete for the fantastic celebrations and keep on rocking out the crab-fest!! I’ll just hang by the grill next time… :)

Virginia Update

It has been a week and a half since I arrived in Richmond, Virginia. So far I’ve spent the time adjusting to the time difference (finished that within a few days) and the heat (don’t think I’ll ever adjust to that). Also, there’s the ol’ job hunt thing… I almost with the ‘hunt’ part of that phrase was more literal. Right now I feel like I’m sending applications out into a void and whether they are read or not, who the hell knows? I’d feel more productive if I had like a bow and arrow (boy, I miss my archery days!) and could go around to offices and organizations and.. well maybe not shoot people, as I’m sure that wouldn’t be a great first impression (though perhaps a very memorable one), but just… meet them in person I guess. My personality does Not come through well in cover letters or resumes. But then a

gain, whose does really? Ah well, I’m sure at some point some employer will find my ramblings interesting and call me in for an interview where I can really wow them.

In the meantime, at least I have been having some good quality time with the three resident cats here (for instance, Melanie’s cat Hope is sitting on the couch cushion next to me making sure I do my work, i.e. purring contentedly and occasionally give me the eye). Damn, I wish I was a cat myself. What a good life, eh? Maybe in my next incarnation I’ll be lucky enough to be house cat spoiled by those silly human creatures. Until then, I’ll continue to do all those silly human things, like applying to jobs.

P.S. I do actually have a goodbye to Derry blog half-started which I will try to finish soon and publish. For now though, enjoy my lolcats ode to the Bible Belt…..

The Surreal Life - Tales of multi-culturalism

Through all my travels I've had certain time where I thought to myself "How did I end up here? How I am learning Irish dancing in Ukraine or bathing in an Japanese onsen with my boyfriend's (at the time) mother and sister with nothing covering me but a tea towel, and no mutually understandable language between us?" Well the past few weeks have given me further proof of the uniqueness and commonality of our incredible shrinking globe.

I guess you could say it all started on St. Patrick's Day, when I was hijacked by one of the students from my school while I was shopping in the new 24-hour convenience store (actually open the literal 24 hours a day - a miracle here). The store is run by some Saudi Arabians living here and the student is a Chinese girl who has been studying here for a long while. Anyways, I went to this party where I was greeted by another ESL teacher from the school. As the crowd filled up I noticed it was an interesting mix of Iranians, Chinese and Irish folk. I chatted with my student, met another girl from Scotland and then conversed with an Iranian woman and pondered the multitude of tiny moments in one’s life that led each one of us to this point. How did we all come to be hundreds or thousands of miles from home at a St. Patrick’s Day party in the middle of Derry? I know of course my own path but I was intrigued to hear about theirs. However, conversations were cut short as the hostess tried to teach us some traditional Irish dancing much to her dismay (we were not quick studies) and everyone else’s enjoyment. After that the party disintegrated in to laughter and traditional Iranian dancing (which most of the guests had a better grasp on) and I headed back to my house, smiling to myself at the most unique Paddy’s Day experience I’ve had yet.

Then… last Thursday kicked off another round of crazy multi-cultural experiences when I met some former Spanish students of mine for a goodbye drink before they returned to Spain. A drink or two later they had to go to a dinner with the other students from their program. Graciously they asked if I would join them and touched by this (and already enjoying myself tremendously), I did. We went to the Chinese buffet in town, where of course I met with a few more students from my school. All in all me and about 15 Spanish students sat down to dinner. The conversation was lively and though I didn’t have a clue as to what was said most of the time I was having a great time. It felt so good to me to be a minority again, very reminiscent of my “Japanese groupie” days at DU. Strange, you say? Possibly. But nonetheless true. Of course some of them did talk with me in English but that wasn’t so necessary for me, as often the actual language spoken simply covers the mood and deeper sense of communication. Again, I left this occasion feeling buffeted by the inter-cultural experience.

On Friday I mingled with a culture a bit closer to home (quite literally), when I attended an Irish ceili at the new Irish Cultural Centre in town, Cultúrlann Uí Chanáin. Now, I thought it would be like a traditional music jam session. It turned out much to my horror, it was traditional set dancing! (Think the original square dancing kind of thing…) Rarely before have I wished so fervently to have the ground open up before me and be swallowed whole by it. (Un)Fortunately (depending on the outlook) that didn't happen and in the end I danced the night away with a friend I'd luckily invited before I knew what it was. The following day brought more surprises in the form of two women who came into the little shop I work in part-time. In extremely broken English they proceeded to ask me for help to find a certain rare crystal. Taking a stab in the dark I started to speak Russian to them only to discover they came from Latvia. We then had a fairly long conversation, this time in broken Russian (on my part). It felt so good to speak Russian again despite the poverty of my vocabulary and complete disregard for grammatical structure. Flying high on a wave of renewed love of Russian, the afternoon in the shop passed quickly.

Since then I have had occasion to listen to a rock band/drum circle at the school with students from all over. Spain, China, Saudi Arabia, Germany, (and of course our Irish hosts) etc., we all gathered together to enjoy the spring night and the universal language – music. It’s true that music can breach the language divide, I reflected, as the whole group joined together to sing U2’s classic, “One”. If ever there is hope to be found for mutual understanding across continents and cultures it can be found within rhythms and melodies. Though we may look different on the outside there is an inner commonality that can never be removed, though it of course can be tarnished and abused. So next the time you find yourself amongst strangers remember that “a stranger is just a friend you haven’t met yet."

Dios Mio! It's the end...

Tonight I watched the latest episode of Ugly Betty, a favorite tv show of mine since its inception four years ago. As the final credits began to roll, I suddenly got a sinking suspicion... I searched frantically online for a moment to realize that the brilliant series about a young woman coming into her own in New York city was finally coming to a close. For the last time. Oddly this episode was strangely reminiscent for me in particular. As Betty strolled through the streets of London I relived my own early adventures there. The newness of life in a different place. The excitement of learning something every day, either about your adopted home or yourself. Ahhh... it was an interesting time. One filled with possibilities (as well as pitfalls). Where anything seemed not only within reach but almost inevitable. After all, I had managed to move myself from Colorado, USA to London, UK at the fairly tender (for a sheltered suburban girl) age of 23. How could the world not be my oyster?

It's easy to be fearless when you are young. By the very nature of youth, you feel invincible to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. As time goes on however those arrows begin to pierce through that invincibility until you are left feeling vulnerable and exposed to the world that was once a treasure. But it doesn't have to be that way. As Betty Saurez shows us with her indefatigable bravery and strength of character, the world of mischance and missed opportunities doesn't always get the upper hand. There are always more risks to take and adventures to pursue. Just because things haven't turned out as expected or life throws you a curve ball doesn't mean that the quest is finished. It's only a new path to follow. The world is a treasure not because it is inherently so, but because we make it so. Therefore...

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Rest in Peace Grandma Bert

Last Sunday night (March 7^th) about 10:30pm Denver time, Bertha Buckner (Bert to her friends and family) passed away at the age of 85. Survived by her three children, three grandchildren and three great-grandchildren, she will be missed by all. She lived a long and good life, sharing most of it with her beloved husband Jerry (Buck) Buckner (who also departed this world six years ago). Bert grew up in North Dakota but made her home in Arvada, Colorado where she raised her family, tended her gardens and kept herself busy as her farming life background had taught her. In between ironing for others and babysitting grandchildren and friend’s children she also quilted and canned foods. Never idle to the last she taught the lesson of hard work. Now her work on this plane is finished and she goes to be reunited with Buck in the world beyond. Rest now and know that you loved and were loved in return.

Chasing Windmills

For those of you who have followed my blog for a while you will notice the sudden and rather drastic cosmetic makeover. This last year and a half has been quite sparse on postings, therefore I believe an overhaul of content and style was called for to rejuvenate the site. The first and perhaps biggest change is the title of said blog site. Over the course of my time in Northern Ireland I have been following a path not so much of adventure and discovery of the outside world as much as an exploration of the mind, both mine and those around me. I don’t mean to suggest I have been psychoanalyzing myself and others, only that I have been constantly pondering what it is within humanity that makes us fight, flee and in general act the way we do. This propensity towards the philosophical has led me to modify the original purpose of this blog. Rather than it being a log of my travels and new experiences (which sadly seem to be declining in recent years), I will instead expound upon the larger questions swirling inside my mind, topics ranging from the banal “why don’t people in Derry share the sidewalk?” to the more abstract discussions of identity formation (the very topic of my master’s dissertation here). Perchance interspersed within these, I hope, sagacious thoughts there might slip in a few humorous travel stories. However, for now “The Next Great Adventure” will be superseded by finding the silver lining in life, those moments of light within the vast dark. Or as Don Quixote would have us do – chasing windmills.

Don Quixote: Dost thou not see?

Sancho Panza: What?

Don Quixote: A monstrous giant of infamous repute! Whom I intend to encounter.

Sancho Panza: It's a windmill.

Don Quixote: A giant. Canst thou not see... the four great arms whirling at his back?

Sancho Panza: A giant?

Don Quixote: Exactly.

A frozen new year

Russia, Ukraine, Alaska, Colorado… these are but a few of the cold places I have lived in or visited. Snow and ice for months on end in each location. And though I did not stay through a whole winter in the first three, I have nonetheless tasted their winters which alone would be enough to chase out many a warmer blooded traveler. Yet through all those experiences of cold and chill, it is two tiny little islands that have bested me in my ability to cope. The wee isles off the European continent, known worldwide as rainy cloudy climes, when the mood strikes can compete with any on the mainland in the depths of wintery freeze. Right now for instance, I sit at my kitchen table in two pairs of socks and pants each, a t-shirt under a turtleneck under a fleece sweater with gloves, hat and earmuffs. And am I warmed yet? Oh no. I’m only now not shaking with the cold. A vast improvement and one I hope will be enough to allow me to continue working on my dissertation. Let’s give it a try and see what happens…. in the meantime, enjoy this poem that puts me in mind of a possible solution to my chills. (Although I'm definitely not at this point yet!)

The Cremation of Sam McGee

by Robert W. Service

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ’round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that he’d “sooner live in hell.”

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! Through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan,
“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet ’taint being dead - it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”

A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! He looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate these last remains.”

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows - O God! How I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the Alice May.
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then “Here,” said I with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum!”

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared - such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near:
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked”... then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door.
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm -
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Daughter of Darkness

When asked why I chose to move to Northern Ireland from a land of sun and warm weather, I usually jokingly reply that I was exiled from Colorado due to my predilection for cloudy and rainy weather. There is then the obligatory aghast looks and the reply "Well then, you've come to the right place!" But more often than not I feel my statement really doesn't sink in to the questioner's view of the world (that in fact everyone loves the sun and heat and no one could actually possibly prefer the rain compared to that). This week in Stockholm and reconfirmed for me (and confirmed very emphatically from Melanie's point of view) that I not only to I prefer rain and cloud cover but I actually have a very deep antagonistic relationship to the sun. It annoys me intensely. Most often I loathe it. I try to hide/run/cover from it but it seems to seek me out to induce more pain and anguish upon me. Melodramatic much? No. Ask Mel. Really, there are no words for this relationship so I will end with a picture (worth a thousand, I hear...)

This is how I feel when I venture out into the sunlight:

Men, Cafes, and Mexican food

One of the best things about living abroad is seeing new places and people. I realize just how little of that everyday adventure I receive in Derry. Not to say that there are not interesting moments there still, like trying to understand the pedestrian chicken game everyone seems to play on the streets (personal space doesn't appear to exist there) or the always fun times of trying to find equivalent food items such as tortilla chips and sour (aka soured) cream. But having lived in Derry for nearly 10 months, I've been rather starved for newness. All that has turned around with Melanie's and my Scandinavian journey. In one day, we've seen more eye candy than we have in the past 10 months, and sat in several cafes for a quick break from sightseeing to have some ice cream and needed caffeine (Derry is distinctly lacking in this important aspect; its a beer drinking culture, not a cafe culture). Best of all experiences so far has definitely been – the Taco Bar. Neither of us realized just how desperately we missed Mexican fair (any to be had in N. Ireland must be homemade, and let's face it, that's just not the same..) therefore our enjoyment of the Mex Mix combo plate was beyond our imagining. And now its time to pull away from the computer and get back out into this teeming metropolis full of new sights, sounds and tastes all awaiting our deprived palates.

Endings and Beginnings..

Another semester has past and though I can't recount all that must needs be said on that right now (as it is much past my bedtime), I will reflect briefly on my time in the 'village' - that is, the Duncreggan Student Village. As with anything in life there were good times and bad. Luckily for me, the former outweighed the latter. From lucky meetings blossoming into good friendships to just watching the footballers do their stuff on the pitch (yes, our kitchen overlooked the field and it was often a gooooood site). Movie nights, impromptu karaoke and apple tarts were some of the excellent highlights. Then there was the ever balancing nasty all-nighters and super-humanly loud cleaning crew bright and early at 9am every week, not to mention the fire drills at 2am on the coldest nights of the year (a trend not only carried out in Northern Ireland as my stint at DU will attest).

I can't say I'll miss the dryers that never really dry or the continuous racket from the kids first time away from mommy and daddy who insist upon drinking themselves to oblivion every night of the week, then return home yelling and screaming loud enough to wake the dead - or at least all of us who were already asleep in the dorms. But I will miss the good times with the friends I've made. And in case words alone do not cover it, here are some pictures of just such ocassions as I'm referring to....

What better way to get to know someone than we sharp objects in your hands?


Just a regular night out on the town for us girls in Derry!


Prepping their debut...


...as the rest of the crew get in the zone.


A little birthday breakfast goes down best with some good company


A year in grad school ain't the same without a trip to the local pub/creepy cradle-robbing club!


The girls working the dance floor!


The gang all together at last

There and back again

Finals are done, bags are packed and I've had a lovely Christmas with the family back in colorful Colorado. There is much to blog about from the class trip to Dublin (oh the fun of wandering the streets after a night at the pub!) to the mad rush to finish the two final papers for classes (shush, don't tell the prof's they were completed 30 minutes before the deadline and turned in on the first draft). There are pictures to be uploaded, videos to be made into movies and good times to be retold. But for now, I'm in my favorite airport - DIA (Denver International) and enjoying playing on my fancy new Toshiba laptop. (How's that for product placement?) The only thing missing is a gingerbread latte from Starbucks, but I'm afraid I'm all starbucksed out - never thought I'd say that! So instead I will soak up the last clear blue skies I'll see for a while and wait for my plane to board to bring me back to the emerald isle of rolling green hills and rain.

Mother Fucker I'm cold! And other fun stories...

Ok.. yes, I admit having lived both in Russian and Ukraine (even though I was in Ukraine in the spring/summer months) I have been colder than I am now, but not far off. While I was in England I realized why Colorado winters are so wonderful - no humidity. Its fabulous. Oh sure, we have snow but is the dry powdery stuff that with a few minutes of sun melts quickly. In England and now Ireland I'm confronted again with the cold and wet weather that seeps insidiously into your skin. No - not even into your skin... into your bones. Making any thoughts of warmness to come seem like crazy imaginings of a fantasy land that doesn't really exist. Where am I that I'm so cold I've decided to blog about it? In my class' private little attic office. It has all the modern conveniences - computer, printer, kettle, phone, even (as I so proudly informed my Sri Lankan classmate) - Lights! And yes, there is a heater as well. Wait, let me turn it on now. DOH! The dial is broken!! Of course, we can have high speed internet but no old-school water heater thingy. Ah... technology. Perhaps I'll just watch a youtube video of a roaring flame and psycho-semantically warm myself.

But its not all so bad, don't think I've been freezing this entire time. In actuality I love the weather here. (Yes, I'm a freak, we should have established this already.) I like the cloudy grey days and the drizzly rain. Although I'm not a fan of being caught in the heavy rainfall in a pair of jeans and a fleece that both get so soaked through I feel like I just went on one of those theme park log rides. But again, I do enjoy living in Europe and all its eccentricities. For instance, this morning I woke up to my radio alarm, set to the only station I can usually hear clearly, that is the classical music station, to hear that today is the 450th anniversary of Queen Elizabeth I's ascension to the throne. Huh. Fascinating. They threw it out there in between the weather report (you guessed it - more rain!) and the name of the next Baroque era song, in honor of good old Lizzy. And that so far has been all the learning I've done today, so I should stop playing around on the internet and get back to reading for classes.

Strangely, now I've bitched about it, I'm finding I've warmed up a bit. Nice.

What does it mean to be an American? – revisited

After graduating from Arvada West high school and the Humanities program I thought I’d never again revisit those awful seminars we endured for three years. But lately I find myself unable to stop from thinking about one in particular we did at the end of our sophomore year – What does it mean to be American?

I don’t know if tonight I have more answers than I did then, all those years ago now, but I do have a lot of thoughts I’d like to share. So in the true Humanities seminar style I will first give my brief statement followed by various quotations to back me up. It’s not going to be a full 20-pager here, I’m out of practice on that.

Responsibility vs. Big Government vs. On Your Own vs. Doing It Yourself

As I slowly wind down watching the final presidential debate* I’m left wondering about the state of America. Not its economy. Nor its health care or education. Mostly about its soul. Being now in Northern Ireland and speaking constantly of the deep-seated divisions here I think to myself – “well, we don’t have that problem back home!” Then I watch the final debate and I begin to see (possibly for the first time clearly) just how divided we are. I’m not just talking about the candidates or their parties… federalist or big government, here or there. I’m talking about the ideas they embody as they reach out to citizens around the world – not just the country there, don’t forget about us folk abroad! – and try to gain the support of like-minded voters. Before I launch into my opinions on the debate itself (which are many) I’d first like to discuss the idea of America.

Although I choose to live abroad for extended periods of time that does not mean I do not love my country. Like every place on this planet there are things I don’t like about the US but there are also things that I admire. One of the major issues I have is the rule of exceptionalism. I have no problem believe that we have uniqueness. My problem comes when that sense of uniqueness drives us to seeing all others as inferior. Or believing that we have all the answers and it is our sacred duty to push those answers on others (even and especially when they don’t want them). I have no problem in believing that we are a great country. I have a problem in believing that we have no faults. We may be great in principle but we have certainly been terrible in practice. And yes, there has always been exceptionalism in America starting from the very ideals upon which it was built. I’ve heard all to tales of how scores of people came to our shores for new life of their own choosing (that is unless they were black or native); also how you can make of yourself whatever you can (unless you are poor or a woman); and that we as a nation come together in times of crisis (unless you are Japanese in 1941 or Arab/Arab-looking in 2001).

Yet through all this mixed bag of history there is a redeeming quality. It is the one thing Pandora captured back in the box, which the founding fathers opened up again when they realized they could take their fate into their own hands with a declaration. It pushed suffragettes to continue fighting through insurmountable social conditions; it kept Martin Luther King, Jr. going through the constant and seemingly fruitless struggles for equality. That quality is Hope. Hope is the one thing that cannot be defeated even in the most horrendous circumstances. And now it is making a comeback in American life. After years of being afraid of what will happen next, we will revisit our tradition of looking forward rather than back and taking our future back in our hands. [Warning: Approaching Cheesy-ville via Dogma Lane, get off now if you wish to stop at Cynical Alley.]

This is not to say that we should never look back (we know what happens when we forget) and it’s not to say we shouldn’t take our lessons from the past. But just as we forged ahead with a new kind of country two centuries ago, we should forge ahead again and continue to perfect that union. We may never reach our goal but we should never stop trying to be better than ourselves, to reach out beyond our limitations and discover what can be grasped there. It must be said that Hope is not an exclusively American quality; every person on this earth has hope inside them. Our special claim holds Hope as one of the founding principles of the nation and so engrained in the minds and spirits of Americans that it can even be called an Audacious Hope.

Looking back it seems I’ve gotten away from the debate and have digressed (or perhaps progressed) along to more philosophical themes. Whatever I’ve said or left unsaid I know at least this much to be true. For me, to be an American, whether I’m in Derry or Denver, is to be hopeful. To believe that I, as one tiny part in this larger universe can make a difference in the world around me. And for perhaps the first time, I feel hopeful now for my country. I believe that we can learn from our mistakes and start to show our exceptionalism in a good light, not by excluding others from our little club, but by engaging all around to join in. It’s a good feeling and one that I’ve seen spring up from all over. Not just within the US. People from around the world are looking to America again not with fear in their eyes, but with Hope that now we’ll see our potential and live up to all the expectations of greatness. That we can once again reach out to help those in need; without preconditions or arrogance. Tomorrow that hope will be fulfilled or not. But the great thing about Hope is that it can’t be beaten for long. Sooner or later it’ll rise again and it will keep rising.

For now though, this hopeful one must rest in order to rise again. So I will leave you with some quotes to further pound my point into you as well as some new additions to the seminar repertoire – videos!


“We in America do not have government by the majority. We have government by the majority who participate.” Thomas Jefferson

“I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies. If the American people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their currency, first by inflation, then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around [the banks] will deprive the people of all property until their children wake-up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered. The issuing power should be taken from the banks and restored to the people, to whom it properly belongs.” Thomas Jefferson

“America is therefore the land of the future, where, in the ages that lie before us, the burden of the World's History shall reveal itself.” Georg W. Hegel

“What's right about America is that although we have a mess of problems, we have great capacity - intellect and resources - to do something about them.” Henry Ford II


"When life itself is lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender ones dreams--this may be madness. To seek treasure where there is only trash. Too much sanity may be madness. And maddest of all, to see life as it is and not as it should be." Man of La Mancha

“America lives in the heart of every man everywhere who wishes to find a region where he will be free to work out his destiny as he chooses.” Woodrow Wilson

“The greatness of America lies not in being more enlightened than any other nation, but rather in her ability to repair her faults.” Alexis de Tocqueville

“The American Indian Movement is then, the Warriors Class of this century, who are bound to the bond of the Drum, who vote with their bodies instead of their mouths ... THEIR BUSINESS IS HOPE.” AIM website

"We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms--to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way." Viktor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning

"They have carved a tunnel of hope through the dark mountain of disappointment.” Martin Luther King, Jr., Letter from Birmingham Jail

“Hope is a good thing. Maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies.” Shawshank Redemption

*Note: this blog was begun after the 2nd debate; it took me a full day to watch it all due to computer issues as well as distractions such as classes and eating.

**Note: first few quotes are in regards more to my thoughts on the debate than on this entry.

Now that's what you call Ironic

Very brief blog as I'm too frustrated now to even type coherently. Long story short is this - my 4 year old computer has been acting crazy lately, so I bought a new Dell to bring with me to Ireland. The Dell was shipped out to me just in time before I left but was broken. Subsequent fixing of that machine has resulted in my needing a whole new Dell (at their cost, of course). I'm still using my old Toshiba (which I will say has served me well and I probably should have just gotten another Toshiba, but hindsight... blah blah). Now however I'm running out of space on my hard drive (another long, techy story I'll not get into now) and the computer keeps telling me to delete stuff so I have space. I waited and waited (because there was really nothing I could delete) and now that I'm ready to make some sacrifices and delete shit, I can't because there is not enough space to actually delete it!!

That's irony at its best.