doughnut!

Tomorrow I begin the journey to Berlin, Germany, and I return next Tuesday (28 October). I will take the train with Marlene to Belfast where we'll meet her friend who is putting us up for the night. Belfast is a despondent city, but I have honestly never been with someone who lives there. Perhaps it has more to boast than the Europa hotel (bombed thirty times in three decades) and the ship yard that birthed the Titanic. I hear that they have Christmas markets starting the second week in November, which makes me think of my mother.

Marlene wants to hitch hike back to Coleraine from Belfast on our return day. That will be an adventure. I have never hitch hiked, and I can't imagine that this country has the best November climate for thumbing down the road.

Time to sleep and start adventuring now...

look up paul muldoon. now.

I am tired of keeping three journals, but living one life. Okay, I don't really keep this one up so I suppose it does not count, but it's the only one accessible via clicking. If I clicked at my green suede-y beauty of a book/journal, it probably wouldn't move. However if I clicked at my Moleskine, I like to think it would click back. Today I bought tickets to see Ryan Adams in concert in Dublin. I think my life may be complete.

Claire visited last Thursday through Sunday. She is the kind of person that fits the term "lovely" in all its splendor. I took her on a supertour of the northern coast. We went to Belfast. Rain. We took the train to Derry. Rain. But, then we went to the Giant's Causeway Saturday. Sun, breeze, the softest, most pillowy grass I've ever laid my head upon, and a bluff! made for a great day.

By showing someone else the sights, I realize how truly dingey all the cities are here. They have a rugged, dirty smell and way about them, as smoky and confusing as this country's history. And the rain is constant -- the sky as grey as the car exhaust, the ever present mud puddles. But I'm quite content in the midst (and the mist) of it all. The hills are still green, like huge emeralds sprinkled around a little post apocalyptic city. Okay, it's not quite that bad. But the walls. The walls are terrible -- physical manifestations of centuries of conflict. Oh hey, here's an idea, let's just put up a ton of walls, and the violence and mutual alienation and oppression of opposing groups will disappear. Yeah! I get it. I get the reasoning, but I hate those damn walls.

That's why I'm going to see Ryan Adams. Because there are still places with walls. What are you keeping out of your garden? Wolves and Catholics?

I sat in the daffodil garden today. It's rather difficult to find on campus. Mainly, because there are actually no daffodils there for 11 months out of the year. But to its credit, there is a lovely bog, stream and waterfall. I wrote a poem about someone who only makes left turns, and gets left behind. I'm still miffed at the UNC Creative Writing Dept. They don't deserve to be capitalized. They will henceforth be known as the unc creative writing department. I wish there was something smaller and more insignificant than lower case. That's harsh, but I'm allowed to be harsh. They won't let me take the advanced poetry class, and now they are doomed forever, banished to the bog of lower case letters. It's not even that bad. I know some fine poets who live there.

hey i have an address

Molly Claire Brewer
Accommodation Service
University of Ulster Coleraine
Cromore Road
Coleraine
Co. Londonderry
Northern Ireland
BT52 1SA


Send me some love.

Giant Footsteps

After a two week, ahem, sabbatical? from this blog, I have some stories for you. And I promise not to end this one in a corny Death Cab lyric. Okay, let's go!

Our first weekend in Northern Ireland, the International Office sponsored a tour of the coast for all us foreigners. We went to the Giant's Causeway, the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge, and DunLuce Castle. Here is the story of the Giant's Causeway if you care for folk lore: http://www.thenorthernirelandguide.co.uk/giants-causeway-and-legend-finn-mccool

This was really a beautiful sight that I would compare to some of the canyon lands in the western part of the U.S. Thousands of hexagon shaped stones form stair steps out into the blustery Atlantic. They are framed by dramatic moss covered cliffs creating a little cove. The night before the trip, a bunch of internationals went out to The Anchor, our now favorite pub for gathering. An Irish guy scoffed when we told him where we were to go the next day. He said we would just waste our time marveling at these little funny shaped rocks, and we would look back at all the pictures of said little funny shaped rocks and wonder why the hell we even went. Then he had another pint.

The rope bridge was an adventure. The castle was pretty broken.

Claire comes next week! It will be so nice to see a friend I have known longer than three weeks. I'm not particularly homesick, but I am certainly missing North Carolina in the fall. I know the leaves are slipping from the trees and settling in fiery crimson and gold blankets on the ground. I also think about my friendys back in Orange, Person, and Wake County and the ones that are scattered across the globe.

Last weekend I went to Liverpool and Manchester on a solo trip. Liverpool has a lot of flavor, but the latter was tasteless, in my opinion. I emerged from the trip feeling extremely independent and secure in my abilities to survive in a strange city with little quid in my pocket. The genuine goodness of humanity at heart keeps surprising me at times when I need it. The kindness of strangers guided me home in Sydney last summer and found me again in Liverpool when I was in a bind.

"The Victorians were right about the allure of the coast..."

Today I danced with dawn,
shook the shadows, bucked the rain,
hitched a lift into the town,
with an Irish lad and dame.

Changed my money at the bank,
John Dunlop is on the five,
He reinvented rubber tires,
emancipated how we drive.

And then I spoke with China,
learned a little Cantonese,
We shared fruit and plans for this world,
'til I ventured to the breeze.

A pint with French companions,
and another with Americans,
sparked a lively chat on techno,
(nothing rhymes but Spamericans)

I saw just two stars tonight,
lonesome in the clouds,
Perhaps you see them too?
like two lovers in a crowd.

banana slugs

Yes, there are banana slugs in the grass. In fact, there are beaucoup. The slugs are large and plentiful. They seem happy in this wetland. This was a possibly the longest day I have ever experienced. Our plane was delayed, our bus was delayed, but our spirits could not be tampered with. We enjoyed a meet and greet of international students. The conclusion: the French are the best dancers!

Hunting and Gathering

I leave for Coleraine, Northern Ireland in five days. Until then, I am picking up bits and pieces from the floor -- scraps of paper, photographs, trinkets and treasures I cannot live without -- to pack away into my suitcase. I haven't done official Momma-approved packing yet, but here is what I will not leave without (for now):
-moleskine notebook and sketchbook complete with all my jumbled thoughts and doodlings from 2008
-new green journal (thanks, Kat/Cha-Cha/Aunt Tere/Uncle Matt/Andrew)
-"peace, love, and happiness" bracelet from the Momma person
-polaroid camera
-pens, oil pastels, arty stuff, blah blah
-mood ring

Okay, so I haven't got much yet.

I am also searching out old and new friends to say goodbyes. It will only be three months. Three months is a trimester. It's the estimated recovery time for ankle surgery. It's a quarter year. Really, three months is nothing at all, but considering that I've never spent more than six weeks away from home, three months is a mountain.

I welcome the climb. After a summer in Chapel Hill peppered with adventures, and a brief fall sprinkled with confusion (but mostly peppered with spilled table salt from Spanky's), I could use a change. Actually, now I could use a total transplant, and here it comes.