While I was growing up, I liked nothing more than curling up with a good book. Any book; mythological tales, teen horror, childhood classics. Every so often, within the first few sentences, I became aware that something was amiss. "U"s where they didn't belong. Transposed "r"s and "e"s in words like "theater." Children who drank
I wake up. I write. I go to class. I write. I watch the swans. I salute the magpies. I write. I eat. I write. Sometimes I watch TV. X Factor. QI with Stephen Fry. Only Fools and Horses. Endless Scrubs reruns. The commercials come on and I'm pointing at the screen. "That. I want that."
The cold competes with the rain. The Christmas lights in City Centre are still up, but aren't lit at night anymore so they loom above the streets like sad skeletons. Mince pies are no longer advertised in the markets. Snow no longer blankets the sidewalks, ice no longer covers the Canal or the pond at St.
My friends and family all want to know how the food is here in Ireland. "How is it?" they ask. "How is it really?" They want to know if I'm suffering, if I'm hiding in bed each morning, frozen by the thought of enduring yet another day of gray meat boiled without salt. Straight away,
The Big Chill of 2010 appears to be over, and I am very pleased to announce that the swans are back in the Canal. Not quite ready for their close up. Ah, Jaysus, I hate the human-razzi. I never really bird-watched before I moved to Ireland. I suppose I took the thick bird life for
Last April, while Sean and I were touring South East Asia, he asked if I had any book recommendations. We were in Times Square Berjaya in Kuala Lumpur, wandering around the giant Border's bookstore, and my eyes lit upon a copy of Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma. I hadn't read it myself, but every one
Last weekend, there was snow, snow, everywhere. Snowmen dotted the streets and we became jealous, desperate to feed the kid within us. So we stomped into a park and started making a snowman of our own. Then we realized it was hard work making a snowman, and changed the design to a wedding cake. We
So, apparently, it never snows in Ireland.
So much for the holidays. Back from Cork, back to Dublin, which has somehow been transformed into a Winter Blunderland. The rain turns to stinging hail turns to rain turns to hail again. And now we have snow, too - covering the rooftops and the sidewalks. It falls gently in the mornings and afterwards, the
I never drank tea before I moved to Japan. There, it came in shades of green and black and barley; iced in the summer, steaming in the winter. Tea straight up, sometimes with bitter leaves or bright green powder swimming about in the smooth ceramic cup. Dozens of varieties in the store - loose, bagged,