Failte!

I'm excited to share my adventures with all of you! I want your first taste of my life in Ireland to be this poem that I wrote very late one night when I was a Junior in College. Its meaning seems eerily prophetic now. More than anything, I've created this blog to make the actualization of this life-long dream of mine visible to those I love: my friends who are my foundation, my endlessly supportive family, my mentors and co-workers who inspire me, and my former students who have given me enough satisfaction and fulfillment to last two lifetimes... Have the courage to believe that your wildest dreams can come true.

Is fhearr fheuchainn na bhith san duil, (It is better to try than to hope)

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Mourn (A Seaside Peak in Southern Ireland)

The dark, earthen sod saturates her fair feet,
but briefly since she frolics fast in knee high
blades of greenest grass that blow dizzily in the Celtic-sea air.

Her wool skirt, stiffened by ware of evenings past
is splashed by cresting waves that break
against a beach blacker than her hair.
Those once stiffer fibers were loosed by nights upon nights
of hanging perfectly on his line before being wildly blown dry
by the crisp Hibernian salt air.

The pair sits to rest a while instead of dodging
breakers or skipping paler stones.

"Indian summer's here," he says softly,
but all of summer here feels like the edge
of autumn to her, even though she grins in agreement
as she dangles her pale, soft feet off Achilles' peak,
where Erin's vermillion-gold sky meets
an ocean that is grey with years.

She sleeps with her eyes closed tight most nights.
He asks her if she believes in Tier-Nan-Og,
and she asks him if he believes in anything eternal.
Outside the tide is rising, or it's receding—
She never can tell but for the strengthened smell of
salty freshness strained through his light, lace curtains.
She thinks to herself that he is like trying to hold the sea 
and she imagines the water running between her fingers--
clenched so tight.

And so, the night calls her out of her sleeping,
like daytime chides her into dreaming.
She slips her white fingers through the holes of an old loose scarf
that affords her more company than warmth
on these newborn autumn evenings. She is off-- 
Night clouds reflect emerald from land to sea,
And the tara that she never eyes from long hours of
staring too far into star blanketed skies,
feels cool against the thickening pads of her pallid feet.

Elisabeth Lewis (2005)

05 October 2011

Happy List Wednesday!

The following things made me happy today.
Lizzie's List
10. Candace. Look at her. She's precious and she rubbed my shoulder muscles this morning even though they feel like scary rocks-bone things. Aaand she's currently singing a "happy song."
9. Scrooging my change. (stacking coins)
8. My Dad. Never underestimate how lucky you are if you have two living parents 
who love you more than they love themselves. It's something to be so very thankful for.
7. My other Dad, our landlord Gerry, who always stays for tea and a 2 hour chat when he "calls."
6. Sending secret love texts to people in America who can't reply :)
5. My laundry being blown dry in the "crisp hibernian air." Just like I wrote in my poem.
3.The Earl Grey that C and I are about to take with our tea biscuits like The Holy Communion.
2. Italian Vogue and its Voluptuous -with a capital V- models
1. MY NEW RED PANTS! --You can't see this, but there are zippers at the bottom!

Your happy list for a special prize! Go, Compete! Win my love!

Yep. Never gonna dry. Still makes me happy though.

You can't even tell this is on my counter.

No modeling in my future :(

She's like Christmas morning!

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