Just found my copy of the journal entry I entered in the guestbook from the cabin at Christmas...
December 26 - January 1, 2011
Brought in from North Carolina, Tennessee and Utah, the Minton family validated the phrase: Distance makes the heart grow fonder . . . Also the quote, " The hardest things in life are usually the most worthwhile." It has been a headache, but every minute has been cherished. Ok, minus the wee hours of the morning when beating Mom with my pillow for snoring wouldn't evade my mind. The sense of place affirmed by your family is such an important part of life. . . Knowing that you are exactly where you're supposed to be . . . for some reason!
-The Mintons
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Rewind...Filling in the blanks.
My desire to meet passionate local Irishmen was fulfilled the very first day in Dublin. We had spent all afternoon in the heart of the city and were heading back to The Maldron Hotel on the outskirts; by irish standards it was in the middle of nowhere; first lesson learned, but we found getting away from the hustle and bustle of the city centre was the serrenity we needed our first day.
We were packed on the amtrak like mice in a pet store, no room to sit, so I obviously took the opportune time to people watch. Two irishmen we later knew as Tony and Donal stood nearly five feet away swapping stories I was trying terribly hard to listen in on. The functional beanie I wore all day to shield my ears from the cold in part and hide my terrible travel hair was preventing me from enjoying this free public entertainment. I noticed Tony's beanie was covering all but his ears, and was caught making this observation... probably because it seems to defeat the point to me, so I joking commented. He enthusiastically shared his reasoning for this technique, concluding that its the only way to converse properly, ears revealed. I admitted to already having to turn and give the speaker my good ear. Soon we were all laughing and they had inquired about our travels after hearing our accents. Tony excitedly ratted Donal out for being a tour guide and volunteered him to share his knowledge on the stipulation that we accompany them to a local pub/karaoke bar. They announce their approaching stop and give the no big deal if you don't come speech. The door opens, they hop out, Katie, Matthew and I glance at them, then at each other, and pounceu like children that just got approval from mom to play.
Our destination was Fannigans, but the midnight walk to it was just as enjoyable alongside a beautiful canal and weaving through intimate Irish neighborhoods. We were undoubtably the youngest group there by thirty years so we found a quiet corner by an open door to compensate for the congestion of warm bodies and the excitement began. Opening topics consisted of occupation, origins, destinations, family, hobbies, etc. and slowly transitioned from Irish expansion to worldwide American influence bringing us to the inevitable: American Politics. So far I've validated that europeans love to talk about American politics. But however different you think the subject might be a few thousand miles away, still no one ever wins. Halfway in, after noticing that Donal and I shared the same outlook, I moved and was finally able to pick his brain apart.
He made us an itinerary for our stay in Ireland, and I cannot remember a time I've listened so intently as when spoken to by a perfectly handsome, proper Irishman. We all parted at nearly two a.m. and were deemed "by far the most interesting American's" they had ever met. Curiously enough, our cab driver got lost taking us back to our hotel, giving me time to replay the nights end: long drawn out hug, I hop in the cab and Donal smiles and shuts my door. The whole night he was ecstatic give us direction and had extended and invitation for us to come take his tour, his treat. I looked down at the list and he had marked that as the first thing we should do he following day... yes, please.
Some reoccurring advice we had received before our travels was not to sleep the first day until nighttime. Well, we were unable to sleep on our red eye, lost four hours in time zones, and had been awake for almost forty-two hours... that alone would make anyone fail a sobriety test. We pass out, seven thirty rolls around and I awake in an erie haze to an irishwoman, in pajamas going through our stuff. I sat up and politely asked her what she was doing only to be bombarded with some bogus explanation of how the hotel had double booked that room. When I attempted to reason with her she moved to her theory that Irish hotels were booked for twelve hours at a time and since we had checked in at two we were supposed to be out already. She claimed to have been trying to wake Matthew for ten hours since he was in her bed, even though we had been there for no more than five. I immediately jumped up, threw on my jeans which had my pepper spray and headed back towards Matt to wake him, but before I did she kicked him in the lats, causing a very abrupt awakening. Now the two of us were agitated trying to reason with this irrational woman, Katie was awake, in awe, and Matt quickly went to get a worker to straighten out the misunderstanding. She kept attempting to go through our bags saying she needed to find her phone to call her boyfriend. I kept assuring her the bags were ours and asked her to stay away and have a seat until we had it sorted, after all hadn't she been trying to wake Matt for a bed? A voice echoed down the hallway and she announced her boyfriend had found her. My heart raced with anticipation, were they in this together, had there scheme gone wrong and he was there to bail her out?. Luckily, he stood at the door an explained that he had been looking for her, they were on the second floor and she had run off. Matthew arrived for his apology and the two staggered off together. We went back in our room, triple locked our door and tried to calm down before re-attempting to cure our sleep deprivation. Our money, passports, and electronics were all present so that eased our worries and when we got up for the day... at eleven... our bathroom was permeated with throw-up. A drunken Irishwoman had somehow found herself in the wrong room we told ourselves. However, she wouldn't ever tell us how she got in our room, so we resolved to triple lock our hotel rooms every night before bed.. Lesson learned.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Perfectly unplanned...
Three weeks after departure I find myself drinking peppermint tea beside my father and brother, recuperating from an absolutely epic Thanksgiving dinner. Yes, I am home . . . not in Europe. Surprisingly, however, I can say that with absolute contentment.
After three weeks of history, foreign friends, food, airplanes and architecture I was able to make it back for one of the most reliable days of the year: Thanksgiving Day. Thanks to my ability to sleep on Que, I acclimated back to east coast time quite nicely. Matthew, Dad and I kicked the day off by buying the best coconut pie in Wilkes county, and yes, devoured it... at Biscuitville before they brought our breakfast out. We learned that the restaurant actually buys the pies from an eighty-year-old woman which explains its excellence. It was great preparation for the yummy goodness that awaited us in Grandmas kitchen.
There was only five of us gathered: Grandma, Grandma Swaim (great grandma, 100!), Dad, Matthew and myself, making the whole day feel so intimate. After eating the stories began, we recited poems, and shortly switched over to singing old gospel songs with Grandma Swaim. A few words into every song, and she was already singing along, slowly clapping her hands, and left foot tapping down by her mini heater. She must have asked Grandma four times tonight when the man was supposed to come and fix the furnace.
Grandma and I ran to town for a newspaper so we could plot out our black Friday shopping route and it turned out to be an adventure. We went to the nearest grocer and found nothing. The next two gas stations were both dry, also. Last hope: the actual newspaper office downtown. Grandma was certain we would find nothing and deemed the Thanksgiving day print the biggest one of the year. All you could hear when we pulled up was the faint sound of passing cars suddenly broken by a roar of laughter when we saw one paper waiting for us in the dispenser. We road home with perfect grins and Grandma began the hour long venture of clipping coupons.
Matthew was enjoying story time with Grandma Swaim when we walked in the door. A hundred years under ones belt should make you great, but I still am astounded by how unbelievably witty she is. It's absolutely arguable who was having more fun out of the two of them. Both glowing, Matthew was capturing her stories on video, each divided with a sweet smile and silence.
Somehow I switched Matthew seats. He moved to the living room joining Grandma sifting through newspapers, and Dad steadfast asleep on the couch. Grandma Swaim and I played two rounds of clubfist ending in a score of two: zip. Her favor, of course. I've actually never beat her. Yes, I've tried. Only my siblings would understand fully, but to gain empathy... the game ends by announcing that the first person to simply grin or show teeth gets nine pinches. To anyone who has seen a hundred-year-old put on their "serious face"; it's in my top ten mental photo bank of images that instantly make you laugh. God knows I love loosing to her.
After half an hour of Grandma insisting we eat more food she announced her hunger and came back to the kitchen. Horrified at the prospect of having to oblige her by consuming even more food, we silently and unanimously decided to leave. Dad and I were giving Grandma a group hug when we were hushed by an amplified Grandma Swaim's voice with the announcement of Matthew offering a prayer.
Suddenly there was an overwhelming sense of peace, the prayer ended, and Grandma Swaim was crying. The reverence subsided as we exchanged hugs and confirmed plans for tomorrow in our normal voices: loud.
As always, I stepped through Grandma's big blue door and turned around to an absolutely perfect picture: Grandma seeing us out, excited, and Grandma Swaim in her little brown rocking chair, blue cushion, faded peach hair knit, and sweater over her lap. I watched her faded blue eyes follow our dark silhouettes dissolve into the distance. I knew she couldn't see or hear us, but her eyes smiled, and I wished for a second that I could see the world through her eyes. Her world where "beauty is as beauty does."
We made it back just in time.
I'm so thankful for family.
After three weeks of history, foreign friends, food, airplanes and architecture I was able to make it back for one of the most reliable days of the year: Thanksgiving Day. Thanks to my ability to sleep on Que, I acclimated back to east coast time quite nicely. Matthew, Dad and I kicked the day off by buying the best coconut pie in Wilkes county, and yes, devoured it... at Biscuitville before they brought our breakfast out. We learned that the restaurant actually buys the pies from an eighty-year-old woman which explains its excellence. It was great preparation for the yummy goodness that awaited us in Grandmas kitchen.
There was only five of us gathered: Grandma, Grandma Swaim (great grandma, 100!), Dad, Matthew and myself, making the whole day feel so intimate. After eating the stories began, we recited poems, and shortly switched over to singing old gospel songs with Grandma Swaim. A few words into every song, and she was already singing along, slowly clapping her hands, and left foot tapping down by her mini heater. She must have asked Grandma four times tonight when the man was supposed to come and fix the furnace.
Grandma and I ran to town for a newspaper so we could plot out our black Friday shopping route and it turned out to be an adventure. We went to the nearest grocer and found nothing. The next two gas stations were both dry, also. Last hope: the actual newspaper office downtown. Grandma was certain we would find nothing and deemed the Thanksgiving day print the biggest one of the year. All you could hear when we pulled up was the faint sound of passing cars suddenly broken by a roar of laughter when we saw one paper waiting for us in the dispenser. We road home with perfect grins and Grandma began the hour long venture of clipping coupons.
Matthew was enjoying story time with Grandma Swaim when we walked in the door. A hundred years under ones belt should make you great, but I still am astounded by how unbelievably witty she is. It's absolutely arguable who was having more fun out of the two of them. Both glowing, Matthew was capturing her stories on video, each divided with a sweet smile and silence.
Somehow I switched Matthew seats. He moved to the living room joining Grandma sifting through newspapers, and Dad steadfast asleep on the couch. Grandma Swaim and I played two rounds of clubfist ending in a score of two: zip. Her favor, of course. I've actually never beat her. Yes, I've tried. Only my siblings would understand fully, but to gain empathy... the game ends by announcing that the first person to simply grin or show teeth gets nine pinches. To anyone who has seen a hundred-year-old put on their "serious face"; it's in my top ten mental photo bank of images that instantly make you laugh. God knows I love loosing to her.
After half an hour of Grandma insisting we eat more food she announced her hunger and came back to the kitchen. Horrified at the prospect of having to oblige her by consuming even more food, we silently and unanimously decided to leave. Dad and I were giving Grandma a group hug when we were hushed by an amplified Grandma Swaim's voice with the announcement of Matthew offering a prayer.
Suddenly there was an overwhelming sense of peace, the prayer ended, and Grandma Swaim was crying. The reverence subsided as we exchanged hugs and confirmed plans for tomorrow in our normal voices: loud.
As always, I stepped through Grandma's big blue door and turned around to an absolutely perfect picture: Grandma seeing us out, excited, and Grandma Swaim in her little brown rocking chair, blue cushion, faded peach hair knit, and sweater over her lap. I watched her faded blue eyes follow our dark silhouettes dissolve into the distance. I knew she couldn't see or hear us, but her eyes smiled, and I wished for a second that I could see the world through her eyes. Her world where "beauty is as beauty does."
We made it back just in time.
I'm so thankful for family.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Step One!
The phone rings with exciting news of an approaching American adventure quickly followed by the opposing offer of accompaniment on a re-routed euro-trip. Months of preparation and the day of departure is finally here. Funny how a life altering adventure begins with a simple idea soon to be solidified by the quote: Our lives are defined by opportunities; even the one's we miss.
For years I have sat watching friends travel to worlds full of life, love and culture I have only dreamt about with the reassurance that I am getting ahead and building a foundation for my future. I suddenly lapsed back to a paper I had written my first semester of college in which I made the word time into an acronym: Today I'll Mean Everything.
My elementary diagram of heartfelt principle was lost to order and buried between stacks of essays I had allowed to represent a grade rather than the meaning I shared in attaining its passing approval. I had wished for myself that every word and step throughout my life would be preformed with absolute conviction and certainty, that each action would be a choice and not hazy road of pre-defined gray expectancy. Now, three years later I'm practicing my own sermon.
An unexpected delay induced by the ever so reliable weather held us in Boston for a night leaving us with forty days and forty nights to be enveloped by the european way of life. The six week endeavor to seek experience and enlightenment in a world outside my own is but six hours away. It just may head more life shaping thoughts than anything i might conjure up behind the doors of a lecture hall -- A naive shadow of myself reflects in my mind represented by the spirit of freedom and fascination for knowledge, while the wiser version I am grins by the contradicting thoughts: maybe I had more figured out than what i gave myself credit for and how lucky am I to have waited for a time where I deeply appreciate my experiences that are enabling me to embrace every step into my future with excitement. The only english word I hope to remember over my duration of travel is Perspective. For years I've been reading books about countries and culture, forming conclusions and inevitable bias's. That pallet has been cleaned so I can simply find people with enough passion to share their appreciation and help write my story. Shared joy is double joy. The countdown begins!
For years I have sat watching friends travel to worlds full of life, love and culture I have only dreamt about with the reassurance that I am getting ahead and building a foundation for my future. I suddenly lapsed back to a paper I had written my first semester of college in which I made the word time into an acronym: Today I'll Mean Everything.
My elementary diagram of heartfelt principle was lost to order and buried between stacks of essays I had allowed to represent a grade rather than the meaning I shared in attaining its passing approval. I had wished for myself that every word and step throughout my life would be preformed with absolute conviction and certainty, that each action would be a choice and not hazy road of pre-defined gray expectancy. Now, three years later I'm practicing my own sermon.
An unexpected delay induced by the ever so reliable weather held us in Boston for a night leaving us with forty days and forty nights to be enveloped by the european way of life. The six week endeavor to seek experience and enlightenment in a world outside my own is but six hours away. It just may head more life shaping thoughts than anything i might conjure up behind the doors of a lecture hall -- A naive shadow of myself reflects in my mind represented by the spirit of freedom and fascination for knowledge, while the wiser version I am grins by the contradicting thoughts: maybe I had more figured out than what i gave myself credit for and how lucky am I to have waited for a time where I deeply appreciate my experiences that are enabling me to embrace every step into my future with excitement. The only english word I hope to remember over my duration of travel is Perspective. For years I've been reading books about countries and culture, forming conclusions and inevitable bias's. That pallet has been cleaned so I can simply find people with enough passion to share their appreciation and help write my story. Shared joy is double joy. The countdown begins!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)