You know what’s wacky? Reflecting on the past 6 months.
I spent yesterday putting pen to paper on a lot of thoughts. But that doesn’t even begin to cover everything I’ve learned since March 17th. Simply put, every emotion privy to the human experience has been checked off by yours truly. But this post isn’t about that. Maybe I’ll write a reflection about the struggles later– but not today. Because today is the end of a decade and tomorrow, the start of an age.
At this very moment I’m sitting in front of a window at a coffee shop, looking out onto the porch and watching 5 kittens chase each other around. There’s a small pumpkin sitting atop a coffee table that the calico kitten spent some time sniffing and pawing at a few minutes ago. The sky is completely overcast and when I got out of the car about an hour ago, it read 67 degrees. (It’s been in the 90s for awhile now and this break is truly miraculous). I even drove through a rain cloud on my way here. Sheer magic!
One of the cats tipped over a man’s coffee cup earlier so the ground is now doused with the water used to rinse that away. I’ve watched a girl put up strands of lights around the porch and window frames. These are the signs of cozy season.
I’ve read 19 books so far this year. The goal is 32 and I’ve really been able to crank a bunch out over the past weeks. But I’m excited for the chilly days to come where I can curl up with a hot drink by a window and get lost in the stories even more so. There’s just something magical about the -ber months that cannot be matched the other 9 months of the year.
So I raise my coffee to new chapters– both literally and figuratively. And I pray that the next few weeks bring us all some good news and peace.
I’m sorry, the old Colleen can’t come to the phone right now.
It has been difficult emancipating the control I thought I had on my life.
I’ve spent 10 years becoming the professional I am today. Before that I spent 18 years in school doing my best to learn how to be an adult. Every step was leading me somewhere and I was always working towards something.
Over these past four months I’ve been honing in new skills and exercising relationships and connections in new ways. I’ve been vulnerable and uncomfortable.
Honestly it began as desperation. It started with confusion and anger. But then I told myself I had to work hard to solve this puzzle and find a job.
I have never known what I want to be when I grow up. No job I’ve had was ever a “dream job” but I did my best to work hard at whatever it entailed. And honestly, with my most recent one, I felt like I had truly found a home and something I was good at. I thought I’d be there for a long time.
But it was quite literally ripped out from under me.
I had another meltdown this morning. I was supposed to meet a friend for coffee and my alarm didn’t go off. When I woke up and realized what happened, I called her… crying. Of course that spiraled and I had many many things to say to Jesus… Eventually I picked myself back up with an iced coffee in a cute glass. Metaphorically I’m on a little boat at sea that keeps shooting out flares: still afloat but trying to get someone to hear my cries.
I wrote in my journal for a bit and realized I should maybe turn it into a blog post; I can’t be the only human feeling this way. In this “season of picking ourselves up,” maybe it would help someone feel less alone.
I find I am happiest when I’m reading a good book or when I’m immersed in drawing or writing.
I’ve spent hours sketching cozy scenes and writing novels in coffee shops and libraries. I’m at peace in the moments where I can freely create and ink my heart on paper in some way. I am, perhaps, in love with the feeling of squeezing my soul out in some unconventional manner.
And it is times like these where I am reminded I am not alone.
When beautiful music plays in the background and my hands press the swirls of my mind into letters and shapes, I know that I was made for something (or many “somethings”) greater than a job.
I am reminded that the present moment is all I am guaranteed. And at the end of my life, I will not be remembered for the emails I sent or the money I made— but for how I loved others and shared myself with them.
I was sitting in the corner of one of our local coffee shops this morning, sipping on a caramel latte and trying to figure out how to take a screenshot on my Chromebook. (I’ve been a MacBook user for the past nine years so it’s been a bit of a learning season).
Let me preface this with: I like being around people who are doing things– working, chatting, collaborating, etc. I like making co-workers laugh and talking out problems with them. But I also thrive sitting in the corner, ears plugged with some lo-fi tune/rainstorm mashup responding to emails, answering client calls, and scheduling meetings. I’m happier when I’m accomplishing multiple things and knocking things off a to-do list.
I started my job in March 2020. It was March 25th, to be precise– I remember random dates like that. But I also remember it because it was at the very beginning of the Covid stuff. I was the first person in our company to be on-boarded during lock down. I remember taking a call with my soon-to-be supervisor in a room at Dillard’s and having so much anxiety about what was going to happen.
Am I still getting this job? How am I supposed to work if we have to go home?
Keep in mind, this was three years ago and a lot of things have changed technology-wise.
So there I am, pacing around this tiny call room (it was really just a glorified closet they stuck a tiny desk and chair in for people to make personal phone calls). A few days prior, I was excited to start this new job– it was a new adventure, a next step in my education (even though I’m out of school I still refer to every opportunity as a learning experience), a change to try something different! But what I didn’t sign up for was 18 months alone in my apartment teaching myself how to do this.
On May 10th of 2021, we were allowed to physically come into the office. This was back when we were told to Clorox wipe the heck out of every surface before and after using a desk. Nothing was very personal; we had to keep stuff sterile. And let me tell you, it was so strange meeting people in-person. For a year and a half, I’d interacted with everyone on a screen. And slowly some of them started trickling into this big room and it was lowkey like watching celebrities from your t.v. screen come to life and be real people.
I chose a desk by the window for that day and one of our project managers I had be-friended sat beside me. (She had also joined our team during the lock down and was new to the office). Neither one of us had never worked in this space before. Some of our co-workers who had been working in the building years before lock down came back like it was a class reunion. But for us covid-hires, it was a whole new world. In a sense, it was like being a freshman stepping into high school.
For the next 22 months I really grew to like everyone on our floor. I slowly made friends with not only my team, but also with people in every other department in the company. Eventually a sort of hybrid schedule was established where my team would come in on Mondays and Wednesdays. Most others came on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I came in every day.
Eventually we started walking over to the food trucks that’d park in the lot next door and get lunch together. We’d have trips to our local ice cream parlor and lunches out on the patio by the river. Co-workers would take Starbucks orders from one another and we’d Venmo our favorite on-site developer for yet another Jimmy John’s order. Things were good.
In January of 2022, our team branched out to become its own company. We took on our own branding and even welcomed a furry intern named Winston. Pugs really boost office morale. I suggest you look into getting one. I was promoted to a senior account executive at my 2-year review and took on more clients and responsibilities. It felt really good to finally have a normal routine and a strong understanding of what I was doing. I even had one of those “wow” moments where you look back at how far you’ve come since graduating college and think, “Man, I’ve made it. I really like my job and what I’m doing and I love the people I work with.” I really thought I’d be there for a long time.
For a minute, let’s step back into the coffee shop setting. It’s been a couple of hours now since I started writing this. Actually, I need to change the tense because I am still sitting in the corner. Earlier I watched a guy walk over to another guy, shake hands with him and then bring over an entire chess board. I guess they’re friends now. A third guy walked over to observe halfway through and eventually took his turn playing guy #2. There was also an array of spectators. It was a really wholesome human experience moment that wasn’t happening three years ago here.
I just want to think about what is good in this moment. I had a dentist appointment this morning where I talked to my hygienist about how I’m going to Taylor Swift’s Eras concert next month. It was decided my tooth (that was initially scheduled to get a filling) was okay to wait until next time. The weather is simply gorgeous today. Like, I’m wearing a sweatshirt and jeans and the doors are open and I’m not too cold or too hot.
The humidity is very low but the sun is very bright and present. The sky is blue and the windows surrounding me are massive. There’s two women about my age that have either been studying or writing some kind of paper/project together for the past hour seated at the table by the door. There’s a guy sitting in one of the chairs to my left reading a book. He’s actually pulling off the long-sleeve t-shirt with khaki shorts look AND a mustache. It almost feels like home. To be surrounded by people is such a gift. Not everyone understands it, and that’s okay. But for those who do, you’re my people. If you ever want a work buddy, hit me up.
The reason I am here in this moment to witness these things is part of some larger plan that God has for my life. That’s the way I’m looking at things lately. Because two weeks ago, I got laid off my job.
It was abrupt. It was a Friday morning. It was really unexplained. Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll ever know the real reasons but it’s one of those things that is absolutely out of my control.
So now what?
I really dislike the term/phrase “starting over” when it comes to career shifts because it sounds so detrimental and final. I think “starting over” is what you do when you want to wipe things out of your life and move across the country for a change in scenery. “Starting over” has more of a negative connotation in my mind. It doesn’t pair with “fresh start” or “new beginnings.” (While I also find those cliché, they’re a little more positive). So I’m going to adapt Taylor Swift’s “Invisible String” lyric about a “single thread of gold.”
Do you ever sit and try to hone in the feelings of a specific time in your life you want to reflect on? But you realize you can’t quite get back to that place because you’re a different version of yourself presently? I started this post thinking I could capture who I was three years ago when I started a new job at a new company and was anxious about all the changes. But I really can’t put into words who that Colleen was because I’m someone different now. I was 29 and now I’m 32 and I am a full advocate for the “things change when you turn 30” thing. Not only did I turn 30 in the middle of the pandemic, but I had to do a lot of self-teaching and discipline to get to where I am now.
I have more skills now. I have a deeper understanding of how the world works– not only in digital advertising (my job), but in watching restaurants and other businesses adapt to lock down with creative alternatives. I’ve made personal connections with clients where we’ve worked through site issues together and passed celebratory emojis over email. I’ve become an expert at scheduling and tracking calendars of multiple co-workers. I can honestly say “cat wrangler” is the most accurate term selected for what I was doing– it just doesn’t sound as pretty of a title as “account executive.”
I’m currently reading this book that’s moving at an incredibly slow pace. It has way too many flourishing details and as much as I enjoy some of them, they’re taking away too much plot time. I’m sitting here, enjoying the actual storyline, wanting it to progress, and that’s the problem.
I used to write poetry. I actually spent an entire year taking poetry classes in college. I also used to write elaborate short stories. I’d embellish the details of a character’s features and the world around them. And then I remember getting my stories back and seeing the peer reviews petitioning for more depth and backstory– less materialistic fluff.
See, we don’t even like small talk in our literature. When we read, we like to be entertained and/or educated. We want to escape the nonsense of real life and discover something else. No one wants to waste their time reading about things that don’t matter to us.
What’s worse than talking to someone about the weather? Reading about characters talking to one another about the weather.
Don’t get me wrong, some people take to heart the specifics of how delicately a brown speckled feather dances in the wind on a warm April morning. And there are circumstances that allow for this type of art. I’m just making a conscientious goal to have stronger purpose in my writing. I want to get my point across as clearly and effortlessly as possible. And if I’ve learned anything over the past year, it’s how important clear communication is when your only medium is a keyboard. (more on that in a future post)
That’s not to say, I’ll stop decorating words. I’m still capable of sappy journal entries and poetic lyrics. But some of it needs to be left up to the reader’s imagination.
Reading is just as much a creation exercise as writing. When you read a story, your mind builds a world all on its own simply based on a handful of letters. 100 people can read the same book and 100 different versions of the story are created. That’s pretty neat.
But anyway, I am determined to finish reading this book. I’m halfway through it and I do like two of the main characters. Maybe 23-year-old Colleen would have enjoyed the slow, fluffy, pace of it more than 30-year-old Colleen though.
Today (January 17th) I’m twenty-nine years + two months old. One of those Instagram filter things tells me I look fifteen and another says I’m Minerva McGonagall. I did name my Honda after her last year, so I guess there’s some relevance there. The universe is amusing; God has a sense of humor. I’m visually floating somewhere between the ages of twelve and fifteen. Physically and mentally, however, I’m probably much older. So it looks like Instagram is at least headcanon.
Aging is an interesting thing. For the most part, we attribute it to physical appearance. No surprise there. But in another sense, aging is a parallel of living. If you’re not changing and growing, you’re not living. And if those around you aren’t also changing and growing, they’re killing your buzz.
I think the best and worst thing about life is how people change. One minute you can be super close to someone and the next, they become a stranger. And this happens in every sort of relationship. It happens with friends. It happens with romantic partners. And it happens in families. And all the while everyone is changing around you, you’re changing too. And I think what’s difficult about relationships with family members is that they want to subconsciously keep you in this box of who you were as a child.
And we have a tendency to return that sentiment. Our relationships with our parents change. They become more like colleagues than people we look to to direct our every move. We form our own opinions and beliefs about things and learn our parents may not agree. Our sibling relationships change. We go from fighting over the hot water in the shower and door-slamming to questioning the sanity of our parents and sharing dog videos and recipes. And while it’s all a good reflection of growth, I still think there’s an internal struggle to reclaim how it used to be.
During the holidays, some people cling to traditions because they are little snippets of simpler times. And as family dinners and friend brunches become rare, we worry about how everyone’s getting older and the potential illnesses that come along with age. If we live in another state or country, there’s always an underlying fear of missing out on the lives of the people in our past. If we stay where we are, there’s a subtle emptiness of longing for those who have left.
Even with our phones and social media to keep track of everyone’s lives, there’s still things you miss. There’s little moments you’ll never be a part of. And all these unique moments an individual experiences collect and construct who they are. It’s scary for some of us to imagine not being included in them– especially if we used to spend every day together. And it’s even scarier when someone leaves, experiences things, and returns with different values and opinions. In a sense, you feel like you’ve lost the person you once knew. Deep down, they’re still there but they’ve grown in ways you haven’t. And you’ve grown in ways they haven’t. And now you have to figure out how you’re supposed to work together again.
So what do we do with all this? We really have no say in the matter. People are going to learn more about themselves and the world we live in and that’s going to make them alter their way of life. As we long for the past, we romanticize it, replaying memories that probably weren’t as glorious as we make them out to be. It’s okay to reminisce, look at old pictures and videos, and appreciate what the past has given you. I think it’s a good way to express gratitude for life and how far you’ve come.
But don’t let yourself stay there. You aren’t the same person you were, even last week. So how could you expect your best friend to be the same person they were in high school? How could you compare your dad at age 60 to who he was at age 30? Once upon a time, the past was the present. And soon the present will be our future’s past. So all you can really do is be where you are right now and learn how to be kind to the people in your life as they are at any given moment.
Back in 1759 a man by the name of Arthur Guinness created a dark Irish dry stout at St. James’s Gate Brewery in Dublin. I was introduced to this beer as a child via my parents– who would make black and tan cocktails on Saturdays after mass. Dad taught my sister and I how to use a spoon to pour one beer over another. The way the Guinness rose on top of the ale was like magic to us. Every now and then he’d let us take a sip and I always found it disgusting. Even as I grew into adulthood and could legally order alcohol, I still found no draw to the stuff. But at the ripe age of twenty-six, I was going to Ireland so I told myself I’d drink a glass of Guinness to say I did it.
“You still need that Irish pub experience while you’re here,” Claire says while we’re sitting in the family room. She’s at the desk working on her laptop and having an off-and-on conversation with me about dinner. I’m staring past her, looking out the huge front window at a misty scene. Teddy’s lying on the couch next to me taking a nap.
“Maybe we should go somewhere around the city center. I do still need to get my Guinness. I’ve got to drink one for Gerry!” (Gerry is one of my co-workers– an Ireland native). Claire nods in agreement and looks back at her MacBook. I give Teddy a scratch behind the ear and head upstairs to change clothes. “I’m going to take a walk around and grab some breakfast. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
There’s a bright green building I’ve walked past many times over the past week and I’m curious to check it out. I take a left out of the driveway and head into the neighborhood past the Morton’s grocery store where Claire and I bought lunch the other day.
I step in to Peperina Garden Bistro and look around to see if it’s an order-at-the-counter or sit-down sort of place. One of the ladies bustling around with a high chair tells me to take a seat wherever so I plop down near the front of the bistro. It goes back further than expected but the back of the restaurant looks to be full of moms having brunch with their mom friends and babies. (There’s a plethora of strollers and high chairs about the tables).
After a brief look at the menu, I order an iced latte and a sandwich. I watch more mothers pop in to the shop, pushing their kiddos along in strollers. A man comes in and picks up a to-go order. Some older children come in and get some bags of chips to-go. If anything, the people-watching is worth it.
When the coffee arrives it looks like a milkshake. It’s creamy and sweet but a little more milky than I would have liked. The sandwich is a bit more green than I expected (to put it nicely). I eat it all up but it’s not really what I was looking for.
the iced latte was okay
a lot of green stuff and not much else
Honestly still a little hungry, I leave the restaurant and continue my walk through the Rathmines neighborhood. Thankfully there’s no sign of rain yet and the temperature is a little warmer. I trace the streets I’ve come to know over the past week and simply soak in the views.
I don’t exactly know why but I’m drawn to a particular yellow door every time I walk by it. It makes me think of my mom because yellow is her favorite color. Also, I’m 26 years old.
I eventually wander back to the house to warm up and have some tea. Claire has me hooked on the Bengal spice stuff with the tiger on the box. Then I take a walk in the garden. The leaves of all the plants outside the greenhouse are covered with raindrops. Pretty pink rose buds have blossomed and the apple tree is producing a few fruits. The greenhouse is flourishing with all kinds of herbs. I hear the occasional chirp of a bird or a rustle in the bushes from a squirrel. The LUAS tram can be heard passing by beyond the wall.
For dinner we decide to go to Arthur’s Jazz & Blues Pubfor a hearty meal. We make the usual walk down to the tram station in the McGuire’s neighborhood and journey out to Thomas Street. The air is damp and chilly but perfect for the good long walk it takes down the cement sidewalk to the pub. After passing blocks of shops and restaurants wafting delicious scents (like a pizzeria) we arrive at a black-paneled building.
It’s actually pretty busy for a Tuesday night but I chalk it up to city life. The hostess writes our name down and we spend a little time waiting by the door for a table to open up. The bar is pretty packed already so that’s not really an option. A couple nearby finishes leaves so we take their places. My back’s to the entrance and Claire’s is to the bar.
When the waitress comes, I order a pint of Guinness and a hamburger. Claire orders a shepherd’s pie. Although she’s been cutting out a lot of animal products in her diet, she had made a previous decision to get meat tonight as a treat.
My Guinness comes in an icy glass and the first sip is cool and smooth. I make a toast to Gerry and take a gulp. Maybe it’s because we’re in Ireland, but it tastes better than anything my dad ever passed across the kitchen island. Claire tries a little bit too so we can both say we’ve experienced it.
I make it about 1/4 of the way through the pint when our food arrives. The waitress refills our water glasses and we thank her as the scents of food waft into our noses. I’m hungrier than I realized and dive right in to the beef patty before me. Claire offers me a bite of what looks like a pot of potatoes; I pass over some fries. She devours her shepherd’s pie and I alternate between my burger and beer.
With our tummies full of carbs, we’re growing sleepy and look forward to an evening cozied up by the fireplace. We pay our bill and take a last sip of water before heading to the door. A light rain begins as we step out into the dark night and head in the direction of a LUAS station. And then we get lost. Up and down the streets we go as the rain drizzle grows more steady. We stumble back through some alleyways, turn around a time or two, and make it to a station that (turns out) is not going the direction we need.
We eventually find our way back to a main street and follow the river to a different bus stop. And about an hour later we shuffle up the rocky driveway, laughing about our random city adventure as Teddy’s notorious bark greets us.
Monday afternoon when Claire finishes up her work for the day she elects to take me on a trip to Howth. Brian offers to drive us to the train station so we can bypass the LUAS commute. Schools are letting out around this time so bundles of uniformed children and teens swipe their transit cards, run through the turnstiles, and cluster up in various spots on the platform. We purchase our tickets and climb up the stairs after them.
Across the tracks, I watch a group of teenage boys hanging out and teasing one another. It makes me reminiscent of high school. A few musicians carrying instrument cases and commuters with their noses in books join us and the students as we wait for the trains. Eventually our fast train to Howth arrives and we hop on for a scenic ride.
The train station in Howth is surrounded by shops and restaurants that line the path to the water. We stop into a quaint souvenir shop that features unique woodwork pieces. I find some little wooden magnets carved in the shape of pine trees and shamrocks. Claire picks out some homemade baby booties for her nephew.
We continue down the paved sidewalk all the way to the end where the road meets the Irish Sea. I pace the wall for a little bit, soaking in the view before continuing up the road to the cliff walk.
Up the road we pass various styles of homes stacked along the cliff. Some are apartments and condos. Some are actual houses whose yards are fenced and pour off to the literal cliff. I don’t think I could actually live in any of these houses. The hill becomes steeper the higher we walk and I’d be afraid to drive a car up it.
With the Irish Sea to our left we continue up the paved road until it breaks off to a dirt path. A slightly sharper climb takes us to a hilltop where we look out to an astounding view of the water.
Claire takes a phone-call from Joe about him resigning from a current position to focus on school. I hear her squeal a bit with joy as I wander around in some of the bushes up the hill.
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Claire insists on taking some pictures of me wandering in the miscellaneous greenery (and even points out the names of some of the leaves– which I cannot remember because I am not a horticulturist like her). I grow little weary from the walk and we decide to head back down to find some dinner.
“You have to have some real fish and chips by the sea while you’re in Ireland.” Claire has been insisting on throughout my trip. Now seems like a good opportunity. Walking up and down the restaurants, we turn back to a teal-tiled building. We fumble our way into Beshoff Bros and each order a cod. They’re made fresh and are piping hot. My mouth is salivating as I watch the lady at the counter make my box of fries and fish.
We sit down at a bench and open up our dinner boxes. Claire pastes her fish with tartar sauce and I start cutting mine into sections to let the steam release. Nevertheless, we still scald our tongues due to the mix of extreme temperature and hunger. It’s delicious.
After devouring the fish we take a little walk by the water and Claire tells me about this tea room that has couches and beds and all kinds of eclectic furniture to lounge around on. I definitely want to check it out so we head that way.
The Dog House Tea Room & Restaurant is the coziest little place I’ve ever seen. Outside on the patio are an array of colorful cushions, armchairs, benches and tables. Wooden beams still in the shape of trees are wrapped in lights. And, like Claire said, there is a bed in the middle of it all.
It’s a bit too chilly to sit outside comfortably with it being October, after all. So we head into the warm, glowing house. The inside is just as lovely. It’s a cluster of design and color. Rustic furniture continues and books line the walls surrounding a variety of tables. The arched ceiling is made of brick and has crafted stars and chandeliers hanging from it.
Claire orders a pot of tea at the counter and then finds us a quiet corner to sit in by a little stove. I order a hot chocolate. The lady asks if I would like marshmallows on top. It’s a definite yes. While we wait for our drinks, we chat and admire all of the things surrounding us. To me it feels a bit like I’d imagine the Burrow to be.
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After our tummies are warmed and we feel like falling asleep in our chairs by the stove, we realize it’s time to start making the journey back to Dublin. I would have liked to have stayed there all night sipping tea and staying warm by the fire. But, alas, we raise our tired selves and head back to the train station.
It’s afternoon when the grey clouds start brightening and parting a way to a bluer sky. Claire and I are in the kitchen with the McGuire family (including Teddy, who is circling the table) discussing an afternoon trip to County Wicklow. Brian agrees to let us borrow his car so the two of us head out on a late day trip.
Claire tells me a bit about the park and monastic ruins we’ll see as she drives south of Dublin. I navigate and fiddle around with the music on her old iPhone. This is becoming a routine; it reminds me of carpooling with her back in high school. With it being Sunday plus light traffic, it only takes about an hour to get to Glendalough. After riding tiny roads up and down the country hills, we come to a tucked-away parking lot.
Not really knowing what to expect, I follow Claire out of the car and to the edge of the lot. There’s a handful of local families walking around so we follow them down one of the little paths.
The path continues on but we turn right and cross a small bridge that leads to a gravel trail up to the cemetery and old cathedral ruins. I learn how the settlement was founded in the 6th century by St. Kevin (fun fact: his feast day is June 3rd). The Round Tower is the first thing we see before crossing a little bridge that runs over a small brook. Past the stream, the trail continues into the ruins.
St. Kevin’s Kitchen (a.k.a. Church) has a bell tower that resembles a kitchen chimney. No food was ever cooked there. It was just a sort of nickname.
The gravel path splits to gravestones and other building ruins. I steer clear of the ones divided by massive puddles and hop around in the grass (because Claire says it’s okay to do this).
The Priests’ House is fascinating to wander throughout. Stone-framed archways and windows stand firm after many years of weathering.
Past the church and house we walk uphill to an area with more graves. To my delight, there’s a small fenced field next to the cemetery full of sheep! I run up the hill to get closer while Claire laughs at my excitement.
After briefly admiring the walking fluff balls, we climb down some stone steps back to the main road and parking lot area.
We pass an amusing sign near the gate.
After crossing the lot, we find our way to a scenic path overlooking hills and a great skyline. Off to the right I see the bluest sky we’ve had lately. Bundles of trees and grass fill the waves of landscape beneath the clouds.
As the open space transforms to a path fenced with soaring trees, we encounter more local folks walking their pups. A couple with a pug passes by and I smile, thinking of my parents and our late dog. Speed-walking girlfriends carrying a conversation about last night pass us on the right. A family of young boys zip by us on bicycles on our left.
A break in the trees leads us to another cemented road. This one features a cute collection of houses and leads to a large field where people are playing, relaxing, and just gathering. Some families have picnic blankets strewn about. One group is playing catch. Some couples are simply sitting on benches watching their little ones wobble around.
I think this tree looks like a rhino. I climbed up on it.
Beyond the open grassy area and down a slight hill is the Glendalough Upper Lake. ‘Tis a lovely view: rippling water that’s risen to the trees due to all the rain. Massive hills frame a scene that photographs can only capture a fragment of.
a 4’9″ (1.45m) Colleen has been inserted for scale
I stroll to the left side of the lake where trees and benches are almost covered in the water.
We walk back around and start climbing up the right side of the lake. Trees once again mark the path as we leisurely admire the greenery and find little waterfalls and creeks amidst the foliage.
“It’s time for a ninety-nine!” Claire declares as we wrap up our exploration. We head down the incline and back the way we came until finding a lot where they’re selling ice creams. I step up to the little window and order mine with chocolate sauce (although I’m sure it would have been just as delightful without).
“This is the creamiest, most delicious soft-serve ice cream I’ve ever had.”
“Right?! Isn’t it great?”
It tastes of full-fledged creamy goodness with just the right dose of sweetness. It’s nothing at all like the icy watered-down concoction we call soft-serve in the United States. This is true ice cream that even comes with a bonus bit of chocolate. I’m sold on the 99.
Tummies full of sugar and cream, we make the long(ish) walk back to the car. It probably seems long because we’re lugging cream lumps now. The sun begins to go down and one can feel the chill slowly setting in.
a quick glance behind
Claire
a last look at St. Kevin’s
Exploring Glendalough has been a good dose of fresh air. We’ll sleep well tonight!
No surprise, it’s a rainy Saturday in October. Claire and I meet up downstairs for some coffee and granola before making our way to the city for a day of museums and books.
We get off near St Stephen’s Green and walk around the common, stepping in and out of bookshops and soaking in the sights between downpours. Claire has been looking for new board games so we make our way up Dawson Street and dash into Hodges Figgis to shop around and dry off.
Our first stop is Trinity College to check out the library and the Book of Kells. Excited to see where Claire went to grad school, we take a short walk around campus (still dodging the rain) and get in line for the Long Room. As we wait, Claire tells me about the Book of Kells and the page changing and some history on the school. We discuss different areas of the campus and where she took classes and befriend a few people in line with us.
When we get to the entrance desk, Claire’s sweet social skills with the lady there slip us right in to the library. The book is in a dark room fully enclosed in a glass display. People swarm around it to get as good of a look as possible. We read some of the history plaques and I squeeze between some of the younger (shorter) guests to peek at the book. It’s basically what you think it’d be: a really thick and old book with foreign script, artistic font, and ancient drawings.
The Long Room, to me, is more exciting. Upon entering, we’re immediately surrounded by floor-to-ceiling shelves of old books. At the base of each shelf is a marble bust of a famous writer or philosopher.
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I’m told about how all the books are bound with flesh or leather from thousands of years ago. It’s incredible just to gaze up at the ladders and architecture and get full-on Beauty and the Beast and Harry Potter library feels.
After the library, Claire is excited to take me to the National Museum of Ireland to show off the bog bodies! What is a bog body, you ask? They are the bodies of people who fell into bogs (especially peat bogs in Ireland) and died. Click the link for more information.
I choose not to take pictures of the bodies but take the experience in as one to mark off the bucket list. Ah, what a day of history! The ceiling in the vestibule of the museum is really pretty though so I snap some shots of it before we head back outside.
Nothing provokes our appetites quite like some ancient mummified corpses. So off in search of lunch we go! We walk up and down the streets of the city checking out restaurants and shops until stumbling upon a colorful little place called Dolce Sicily.
It’s a little bakery and cafe a few steps down into the basement of the Design House on Dawson street. The vibrant green paint is what catches my eye and the cute home-like interior is what draws us in. When we first step in there’s a counter of lovely pastries to admire. The hostess leads us through two rooms (each with different colors of paint, mixed floral wallpapers, and a cozy eclectic collection of chairs and tables) and into the back one that reminds me of a tea room I went to as a little girl.
Behind Claire is a wall decorated with light green butterfly wallpaper. Deep pink paint covers the rest of the walls and back paneling of the shelves. To my right is a little drink area where I watch waiters and waitresses steep teas and pop bottles. Immediately behind me is a door that leads to the patio area. If the weather were a tad warmer, we may have requested a sit out there.
As most would agree, a rainy day calls for some soup and sandwiches. So that’s exactly what we order: carrot ginger soup and paninis. Claire goes veggie and I get a ham and cheese. To me, everything tastes better when it’s chilly and damp outside. Add that to all the walking and exploring and all those attributes make this the best ginger carrot soup I’ve ever had.
The rain has cleared by the time we finish our late lunch. Re-energized with some good food, we climb back up the stairs and out to the street where a bright sky and a crisp breeze get our boots walking.
One last stop of the day is to where Joe and Claire had one of their first dates: The Dead Zoo. No really, that’s what the locals call their natural history museum. The National Museum of Ireland looks pretty casual from the outside. In fact, they even trim their hedges to look like cute little creatures. But it’s what’s on the inside that counts, right?
The Dead Zoo is exactly what it sounds like. Desire rooms and rooms of stuffed animals? This is the place for you! There’s walls of birds, bunches of bunnies, and crates of otters. My favorite is definitely the giraffe.
After spending the rest of our energy on a museum of taxidermy, Claire and I start our walk back to the metro to head home and see what the boys are up to. We spend the evening sharing our adventures with Joe, Ben, and Teddy– who herds us all together by the fire.
After a day of being cooped up inside, I’m excited to explore the neighborhood with a Friday walk. Heading down to the canal, I pass by the church of Mary Immaculate and turn right to follow the road opposite the water.
Breathing in the cool air and admiring the colorful trees, I scope out the area for a coffee. The sky is brightly opaque and the buildings are a little more worn in this part of the neighborhood. I like the aged feel and find myself wondering about a particular pink building with a circular logo painted on front wall.
The thought lingers as I continue down the road– watching the locals with their prams and walk pups. Out of worry I’ll become lost if I make too many turns, I decide to swing back around and see what that pink cafe is all about. Intrigued by the purple turf on the patio, I step inside.
Immense warmth immediately overwhelms me and fogs up my glasses. I laugh as I take them off and approach the counter. A friendly young man banters with me about the glasses dilemma and I order a latte. The café is quaint and dimly lit. It’s definitely cozy and the wooden tables sprawled about are more than inviting. A group of friends carrying on at one of the tables makes me smile. The heat is too much though; I decide to sit outside. The patio area is encased with stacks of rocks and vines of greenery. There’s three large grey-painted coffee tables to sit around. A group of young college-age students are discussing gaming at one of them so I take the table closest to the entryway.
I stir some sugar in my latte and enjoy the cold air as I people-watch those on the sidewalk and listen in on the laughter at the table beside me. Being alone amidst the world is such a peaceful experience. And the bright sky and crisp weather only adds to the positive feelings.
After coffee, I head back towards the house. The “Welcome to Ranelagh” sign on the way catches my eye so I snap a picture of it for nostalgia purposes. Still delighted by all the brick housing, I slow my pace to stop and gaze– hoping most people are at work and don’t see me staring at their homes.
When I’m almost back to the main shopping center, I notice a sign for a small park off to the left side of the street. The road leads through a brick arch into a different section of the neighborhood.
All around are small apartments and in the center sits a playground. The path narrows and encircles a small pond just past the play equipment. I stop to read a sign about the ducks and swans before becoming surrounded by pigeons.
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Past the pond sits a statue of Richard Crosbie (the first Irishman to make a manned hydrogen air balloon flight and went from Ranelagh to Clontarf). And up on a little hill is a cross representing the Carmelite Nun monastery that was once where the park is.
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The other entrance to the park leads out to more brick homes decorated for Halloween. I walk through the narrow streets and eventually turn up back in the shopping area by The Natural Bakery.
Having passed by it a few times over the past few days, I decide to pop in and buy some macarons. They’re having a ten for €10 deal I can’t pass up. I get some pistachio, raspberry, and chocolate ones and head to another park where I munch and watch dogs run around before heading back to the house to see Claire.
For dinner, Claire insists I must try Lebanese food. After a worthwhile journey maneuvering through the rainy city, Claire and I step into the Cedar Tree to meet up with Joe. The restaurant has a warm glow about it and we’re instantly greeted by a friendly waiter who seats us and gets us drinks. The chairs have tall wooden backs and the walls are decorated with mosaic art. We’re seated closer to the front but I take a walk to the back to find the bathroom; come to find it’s at the top of a massive wooden flight of stairs. Such an interesting building!
Claire orders a vegetarian mezze and I order a spiced chicken dish. Trying bits of this and that, we don’t wait for Joe to get there to dive in but Claire sets some aside. When he arrives he finishes off the rest of the food. When our tummies are full and happy we head out into the chilly night amidst a discussion with Joe about starting a fire upon returning home.
In Light of Colleen 