| Blind Date
- Ireland Page2 |
| by Lori
Alexander |
| Usually
car-less, I soon learned to sling the canvas grocery bags over the
handles of the baby's stroller. I also learned to stay near the
stroller. If the ballast stood up, the stroller would capsize, taking him
and the groceries down with it. Sometimes he escapes from the wreckage,
sometimes he flails like a turtle. Despite looking ridiculous, and
making a huge racket, I learned to plan ahead and drag along
the boys' plastic wagon if I was out for anything heavy like apple trees,
loads of peat for the fire, or five liter containers of paint.
The days of 40 pound bags of dog food and diapers by the gross were gone!
Even in my
close-to-home travels, I rapidly realized that before you leave, even armed
with a map, it was essential to remain oriented to the compass points. |
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| Irish
road signs are few and far between, but the cross-roads are not. Roundabouts,
which apparently exist on the East coast of America, sent me for a literal
loop. Again, I used the method of slowing down and observing, and
discovered it didn't much matter if you kept going in circles until you
figured out which lane to aim for. The Irish are more than used to tourists,
and are fairly tolerant of total confusion on their roads. Along
with farm animals, and very slow-going tractors. Locals are generous
with directions, if they can figure out where you are shooting for from
the description provided by the guide books. I still have my reservations
that the pile of stones in the farmer's cabbage field had anything to do
with Stella's Tower.
Our first Irish
winter was the stuff nervous breakdowns are made of. During the early
fall I couldn't believe how long the weather stayed reasonably mild, and
how warm the sea was. Soon after we arrived, I met someone who had lived
in San Francisco, and he assured me it was going to be getting a lot colder
here than what I was used to (I secretly thought he was exaggerating).
By mid-October The Weather confirmed his predictions, and made up for my
false securities. It was the worst winter Ireland has seen in "donkey's
years". |
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| It was
the first time our house had flooded in 30 winters. We had our first white
Christmas (and no insulation besides the blanket of snow).
Ireland is
listed as a "temperate climate, lacking in extremes of heat or cold".
Right. There was nothing extreme about the storm that swept my eldest
away on his scooter, like a cow in a tornado, bringing him to a crashing
halt a full block away! Strangely, I find the natives broach the
subject of weather more than I do, although it may not dominate them
quite the way it does me. I do know, in my heart of hearts, they
don't like getting wet, either.
I did have
had to learn to do mental gymnastics on occasion. It turned out
not to be the metric system I had to learn, as miles are more common here
than kilometers, but to exchange American pound weights for the Irish stone. |
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Offshore
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| I have had
to exchange the American grading system of kindergarten through high school
for the Junior Infants, transitional year, and sixth year system. I have
yet to figure out precisely how our good old high school diplomas correlate
to the Irish Leaving Certificates, or what the real difference between
Protestant schools, Catholic schools, and Gaeltacht schools is. All
I am sure of is that the Junior Infant year aims at "socialization",
yet my son is already a proficient reader. I know that
my sometimes wayward child respects his teachers. I know that while he
still likes his Headmistress, he felt that the day he was "sent up"
for discipline was the "worst in his life". Still, he feels relaxed
enough to greet me in the afternoon with his shoes off, and no one seems
to mind!
Our first
year's anniversary in Ireland was 8 September. We have run the adjustment
gauntlet. I lack even the faintest hint of an Irish accent, and remain
something of a recognizably sore thumb. My eldest is becoming more Irish
by the day, and my baby is growing up referring to me as,"Mum". I
do know what they're talking about most of the time now, though, and have
even appropriated a few slang terms, my favorites being 'mancky'
and 'knackered'. I will shout at my children to "mind" what
they're doing, and at some point started to look at the early evening meal
as tea rather than dinner. |
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| I can
get a trolley out of the locks in my sleep, and now swivel my head the
right way to check for traffic before crossing, purely on instinct.
I hope as
time passes, Ireland will begin to feel more like "home". I have
begun to feel as though I have a place here,some idea of what is
expected of me, and where I fit in. I want to stay who I am, hang
onto what was instilled in me my first thirty years, and now Ireland is
becoming a part of that tapestry. |
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