This is how I know

Someone asked me this evening, not unkindly, how I know you're proud of me...and the answer slipped out easily, as easily as my own name or a weary sigh at the close of the day.  With some answers, you don't have to think - you just know.

"Because she told me so.  All the time."

Will you forgive me for using the past tense?  I had to, although it feels wrong; people give me strange looks when I use the present tense.  Won't you just come back?  This is so complicated; I've never had to think about my verb tenses before.

The North, Part III: legen...wait for it...

2 pm: A week has passed.

The wound is yet so fresh.  How is it that an entire week has passed?

Four hours to Galway, friends.  Thus ends the last class trip.  This morning began with a tour of Derry City, the longest continuously inhabited city in all of Ireland.  (People have been here since the 600s.)  It bears many names, including Londonderry, Doire (“DEW-ruh”), The Maiden City, and – perhaps most obviously – The Walled City.

A view from atop the wall.

Just over a mile long, this formidable barricade extends around the entire settlement.

Ferryquay Gate is one of the four original entrances to the city.  In December 1688, James II was met here with a famous stonewall (beg your pardon) when his troops tried to lay siege to Derry.  The Irish, being Irish, refused to budge.

The North, Part I: think of the sauna.

Friday evening, around 6 pm: Hello, friends, from the coach bus I’ve gotten to know quite well over the past few weeks.  I write as the bus trundles up a hill, on the last leg of a journey up to Co. Derry.  This will be the North – yes, the bit that’s part of the UK and prefers sterling to the euro.  My itinerary boasts accommodation in a Best Western, and rumor has it that a pool and sauna are there, just waiting for this overtired girl.  (Since there hasn’t been any hot water in the apartment for a week, I hope this sauna actually exists.  It might just be what my shoulders need.)

Cork, Part IV: Moher and Moher cliffs

It's a little Hallmark (which I'm normally not attracted to), but I couldn't resist.

Our last stop on this trip was the Cliffs of Moher.  They're one of the more popular tourist attractions near Galway (at this point, we were about 90 minutes away from Gort.)

The view, just moments after I alighted from the bus.

And yes, that is real.

Cork, Part III: in which I crouch, climb, and dangle

I probably wasn't supposed to do this, but it felt necessary at the time.

As you can see, the Blarney Castle gardens brought out my inner child.  And yes, that's Blarney as in the Blarney Stone.

Kerry, Part II: the quaintest little town...and some more churches

On Saturday, a few lone seagulls joined me as I watched the buoys bobbing at sunset.

Back when I was looking at colleges, my mum took me on most of the campus visits.  (Ironically, I ended up at one of the three schools that I visited with my dad...and the first time my mother saw Union was the day I moved in.)  We had a joke, Mum and I, that grew out of the similarities between all of the Connecticut colleges.  (When I say "all"...I should explain that I applied to eighteen schools, and visited more like twenty-five.  I've since become a lot less insecure.)  One afternoon as we drove through central Connecticut, it occurred to us that our experiences were all beginning to blur together.  Each college town seemed to have cobblestone streets and vintage streetlights.  Each campus seemed to have identical sets of verdant lawns and an easygoing, peaceful vibe.  One, in fact, called its academic requirements "General Education Expectations", as if it would be just fine if a student didn't finish all of his coursework before graduating.

And then I ended up in a program choc-a-bloc with requirements and limitations and rules.  Figures.

Kerry, Part I: lime trees and turrets

That's right - they added a door at Bunratty Castle just for me.

I'm back in Galway again, friends, after another weekend trip.  Pardon my absence, if you would; there were many moments this past week when I wanted to write, but sensed that what I needed was to be still.  Indeed, I've been wondering lately whether, in fact, I should be spending these months (i.e. this time away from friends and family) learning how to be still...how to be silent...how to rest.  I am easily overwhelmed by the loudness in silence, but press on nonetheless.