It’s not so bad. I’ll be back anyway for a few weeks this September to close out my lease, get the rest of my things, and publish my thesis… but Phase 1 of Operation Move to Italy goes down this Wednesday and, for all intents and purposes, this is the beginning of the end. I see an anchor in my mind’s eye – creaking and jostling in the sand, ready to float free.
A couple of days ago, I looked my new address for the first time. A German street name; zip code preceding the province, province preceding the country. I also took down the phone numbers for my new cast of blog characters mother’s family, who live in the province to the North. Seeing the new address and contact numbers always makes things that much more “real” and a bit unnerving. But, as I always tell myself, the physical symptoms for excitement and nervousness are the same. Even if said “excitement” is making me think about the things I will miss when I’m really gone. Namely:
Hiberno-English. Ah, the sweet Irish-English dialect with its sures and its ah, go ons and its Is it not you yourself there?s and Are you all right, there?s and its half-elevens and its I’m after getting home from the pubs; its grands, biccies, and thanks a millions. Hiberno-English, you’re my favorite. I’ll miss you most of all.
Signs everywhere, written in both Irish and English. Even if most of the Irish population no longer speaks Gaeilge as a native language.
Spongebob as gaeilge. From TG4, the all-Irish language channel. No, can’t understand a freaking word; I just like the fact that it’s there.
Rugged sea cliffs.
Rows of colored houses.
Thick, meaty rashers.
Hot ports in wintertime.
In and Around Dublin
My street; my tiny bedsit.
The Wicklow Mountains.
Magpies, swans, and seagulls screeching overhead.
Sundays in Howth. Forty minutes away on the DART; seals, fish chowder, farmers’ market, sailboats, the Irish sea.
Grafton Street musicians.
Irish rain from the indoors. Snuggled inside with a cup of tea.
Georgian doors. In any color you can think of.
Georgian door knockers.
The scrummy Craig Doyle UPC ads. Ridebag.
Jo Burger in Rathmines. The one. The only. The homemade pickles and crunchy Breton buns; mommy.
But, you know. New places, new things.