Blackberries Again!

For the second year now, my mother and I went out blackberry picking. We picked 12 pounds this year, between the two of us! Most of them went into the freezer.

The lovely blackberry bushes!

Berries, some not quite ready yet.

My basket: 5.15 pounds. We also filled a 1qt basket as a joint effort.

My mom was ashamed by my fuller basket and hurried to top hers off.

Culinary Musings

Meditation on an onion... or is it a metaphor? You decide.


Always start at recipe with the onion. Onion, in a little bit of oil, until it softens up. This is what I learned from watching my mother cook, all those years.

You have to peel off the outer layers, as they are too tough to cook properly. When you have access to the tender white rings, dice them up. Don't worry if there are some tears.

However, if you keep the onion submerged in water or chilled, only the smallest amount of onion vapor will irritate your tear ducts.

At first the cooking onions smell very sharp. Some people find this offensive, but don't worry. The onions will become more mellow as they continue to cook. Sometimes they also get a bit wrinkled, but this is normal.

When this process is done you may add whatever other ingredients you like and consume them with great enjoyment.

Remember that old saying?

Bush accuses Russia of 'bullying and intimidation'

Flow

Let it flow: tears flow, blood flows. Love flows too. Words don't flow perfectly; little barbs catch and stick. Don't let them flow too much, either, or they'll flow right off the page, from my head or hand or heart. Can't take them back.

I Am So Artistic

Well, sometimes I am :)

Actually, it's because every time I start to clean my room, I turn up the beginnings of some project I once had in mind, and then I decide to settle down and do it. So, back in December I'd made one pretty cloth flower and found a good button for it, but had nothing to sew it on-- and into my little tub of scrap fabric and needles and thread it went.

Likewise, I was pretty sure I had some jeans fabric lying around, and remembering the cute purses I've seen made out of old jeans, I reflected that I might try making one, myself.

I discovered two back pockets in my little container, pleased that my vague recollections proved accurate. I had two matching buttons, so I made another flower and, well... one thing led to another!

The two pockets, which I will eventually sew together into a pouch. It might be a good little thing to hang in my closet, filled with a nicely scented sachet. I did some beading on the backside mostly because I found my thin beading needle, and because it's fun.

The Bistro

The Bistro: Coming Soon!
Through blank windows I see
Tables,
Painter's tape.
Tired air.
My day is at an end;
evening sets in, thickly.
Also inside:
a lone woman,
working late but
still for a moment,
musing
on the potential of a dream.

A Random Pickup Line

(...for nerdy English majors and sympathisers only.)

"Baby, you must be Hamlet, 'cause you look as tasty as a Danish."

Summertime

"Summertime, when the living is easy..."

The yard is lovely and verdant now... I did miss the greenery in Belfast.

Dad's visiting, and has a nice furry placemat.

My bromeliad finally blossomed... after four years.

Kittens lie around in the sun all day and enjoy the new flooring in the back room.

The garden in blossom!

My Neighbors

They sat out on the patio together, a rare early morning sight. They sat in silence, hunched over their plates with characteristic single-minded concentration, chewing with dull satisfaction. They exchanged condiments more than words, and yet there was a bond between them, all the same. An aging couple, enjoying a rare cool summer morning together. Their son, perhaps five years my senior, still lives at home; his father works an overnight shift for a shipping company and the mother’s at the mercy of Walmart’s exploitative hours. Their drive to make money seemed matched only by the size of their cars, not to mention their mission to deforest their yard and disfigure the landscape. And yet, this moment of tenderness, in a morning that was unusually still… almost poetic.

Then the man lifted the bag that had held their breakfast, and the glaring red and yellow McDonald’s logo shattered the moment.

Strangely close to the truth

toothpastefordinner.com

Safely Home

So here I am, home again...

It's a bit easier adjusting to the time zone difference; I just get up earlier and snack for most of the day (which I might do anyway, in the summer!)

The Pennsylvania heat isn't at its worst yet but the humidity is certainly noticeable. We went for a morning walk and then there was an afternoon thunderstorm. Everything is green when I look out the window and I can hear the birds chirping as a nice cool breeze clears the post-storm air.

Yes, this feels like home. But yesterday, it also felt like I was leaving home.

Section E: Overall reflection on the experience

When I stepped on the plane to Dublin, I could still hardly believe that I was actually going to be spending a whole 5 months in a different country. My fall semester at Millersville seems so far away, but at the same time, I can still remember when “spring 2008” was immeasurably distant. Now it seems unreal that I will soon be leaving Belfast.
Ever since I started studying at university, I wanted to spend some time studying abroad. I chose the UK because I'm interested in British and medieval literature. Celtic studies also interested me, although I had never gotten a chance to really study much Celtic literature or culture at my home university. When I learned about an exchange program to Belfast, it seemed like the perfect fit.
I wasn't expecting such a small college, and at first I felt a bit out of place, because I'm not an education major. I had been hoping for a broader range of literature and history classes where I could learn more about Ireland, but in the end, following the liberal arts course was equally enriching-- and of course, this included Anglo-Irish literature, which was a great introduction to some modern Irish and Northern Irish poets and writers.
In general, though, I tried not to have too many expectations. This was easy enough partly because I'd never done anything like this before, and simply didn't know what to expect. My study abroad coordinator at my home university made sure that we knew that we would be living in an urban environment and that we were aware of the politics of Belfast, so I didn't have images of rolling green fields and little thatched-roof cottages. Admittedly, I have always romanticized Ireland to a certain degree, but I wasn't unaware of its reality, either. I told myself that I would just have to wait and see what it would be like, and keep my mind open
My biggest expectation in coming here and my other reason for studying abroad was that I would be able to experience a different culture. I wanted to gain some insight into how people from a country other than America think, and feel, and see the world. In retrospect, I couldn't have ended up in a better place than Belfast. So many people here have in some way been affected by the Troubles, and before I came here, I couldn't even begin to imagine what that was like. Now that I have been here for this seemingly short time, although it is 'safe' now, I think that I have begun to understand.
Northern Ireland's past has also led to a nation that is still trying to establish a sense of national identity-- indeed, there is one of the roots of sectarianism-- and oddly enough, I found that I identified with this. America, after all, is a wholly constructed nation; it's difficult to point to a single characteristic shared by every single American and say that it defines America as a country. Paradoxically, America's unity is in its diversity, held together by patriotic sentiments that are instilled practically at birth in children raised in the American school system and society. (But then, one wonders, what about immigrants? A question that is also beginning to arise here in Belfast.)
This is not to question the validity of America, or Ireland, or Northern Ireland as countries. Ties that bind people together to form a nation need not be immediately obvious. Since I came here, I have often pondered the question, “What is Irish? Or perhaps more tellingly, what is Northern Irish?” The people around me might all have their own answers, but I find all of the possible responses equally interesting. I can see how sectarianism has risen out of the “Northern Irish question,” and I wonder if it can ever fade into the background fabric of society. I wonder if, with the increasing immigration, my own country is heading towards some kind of societal divide. I also wonder if other divided areas, like Israel and Palestine, will someday achieve at least the level of peace that exists now in Northern Ireland, and I wonder how long it will take...
Traveling to Belfast, living here for five months, and experiencing the new culture around me through dialog and observation, has in some way changed the way I perceive the world. I will never be able to take things like growing up in a peaceful environment or national identity for granted again, and I would like to continue my explorations of the complexities of other cultures. I feel that I have grown greatly in my time here, and the intercultural experience I expected from studying abroad has played a large part in this. It is something I will always remember, and I am so grateful to have had the opportunity to come here.

Bluebells on Cavehill

A sign of spring: the bluebells growing in the glens of Cavehill! Brittany and I went for an early evening bluebell hike with one of the St. Mary's staff, who guides a walk every year. It stays light so much later here-- sunset time is already just around 9:00! The carpet of flowers was lovely in the slanting light through the trees.

Some of our walking companions.

The other thing growing in profusion was wild garlic!

Magpies

One for sorrow, two for joy
Three for a girl, four for a boy
Five for silver, six for gold,
Seven for a secret, never to be told.
Eight for a wish, nine for a kiss,
Ten for a time of joyous bliss

or

One for sorrow, two for mirth,
Three for a wedding, four for a birth,
Five for silver, six for gold,
Seven for a secret not to be told.
Eight for heaven, nine for hell,
And ten for the devil, his own sel'.

Black and White and Shades of Grey

There's just something special about shooting in black and white, even if it's in digital format (I can change the settings on my camera). I see little bits of the world differently, and focus more on composition, shape, texture and shadow.

Belfast City Hall, and the ferris wheel.

Trees at the base of Cavehill.

A view of the city from Cavehill.

Radiating lines on Nansen St.

The walls of Derry.

I love a webcomic that can use the term "meme" in all seriousness

bunny

(the original meme)

St. Patrick's Day

Well... so.... nearly one month later... here you are. What can I say? I've been busy with all my free time! Enjoy.

What Have I Been Doing?

...other than not blogging ;)

During International Week, there was a talent contest between each nation represented by students and teachers. My fellow Americans and I sang 'Ring of Fire' (Johnny Cash).

Lots of goodbye parties for some of the German and Dutch students who have to leave early. (Bas, on the right, is staying longer.)

Some silliness!

Discovering a charming little Boglands meadow preserve just off the Falls road.

Taking in the view.

Giant's Causeway

A beautiful, inexplicable volcanic feature of the Northern Irish coast. Here's a summary of the legend, which I pulled from wikipedia. Enjoy :)

Legend has it that the Irish giant Fionn mac Cumhaill (Finn McCool) built the causeway to walk to Scotland to fight his Scottish counterpart Benandonner. One version of the legend tells that Fionn fell asleep before he got to Scotland. When he did not arrive, the much larger Benandonner crossed the bridge looking for him. To protect Fionn, his wife Oonagh laid a blanket over him so he could pretend that he was actually their baby son. In a variation, Fionn fled after seeing Benandonner's great bulk, and asked his wife to disguise him as the baby. In both versions, when Benandonner saw the size of the 'infant', he assumed the alleged father, Fionn, must be gigantic indeed. Therefore, Benandonner fled home in terror, ripping up the Causeway in case he was followed by Fionn.

Tara

Finally, on our way back to Dublin, we stopped by the Hill of Tara, the place where ancient kings were once crowned. It had gotten colder and a mist was falling, but it was still beautiful.

One remaining bit of an old church that once stood at the foot of Tara.

The stone of Tara, immeasurably ancient.

A view of the hill.

Some sheep; also, you can see the way the landscape has been sculpted.

The Hill of Hostages, with Tara in the background.