Southern Composure

I’m sitting in my almost empty and dark office.  The powerful luminance coming from the laptop bounces off windows illuminating wee droplets of dew clinging to the bare panes like lacquer to freshly milled wood.  The air is heavy with dust and drifting pollen sparkling in the moonlight.  Tiny zephyr’s hauntingly whir round the sharp corners of the house leaving me with a sense of urgency.

As most of you may know, I was supposed to leave for Dublin on Wednesday.  I was scheduled to leave my local airport at 3:51PM on that grand day, when I’d say goodbye to the family and start a new life.  All of that changed almost two weeks ago, when I realised that when I secured a job I’d have to prove that I had enough money to live off of for the six month visa.  I think it is a grand rule that I wish we had in the states.  I only have enough green backs to last for three or four months, if I live conservatively. 

A little over two months ago I sold a valuable piece of property.  I thought that I would have enough money left after paying off all of my debts to live for six months if needed.  However, it seems that every creditor that I’ve ever owed had their hands out.  And, friends and family started using me like a bank.  My large chunk of change dwindled in an expedient manner.  I still have a bit left but not enough for a six month venture.  It doesn’t help matters that the American dollar isn’t worth crap at the moment…  Thanks Mr. Bush!  :)

I mindlessly drifted for two or three days.  I stopped eating and walked a lot.  Walking puts me in a state of serenity.  After three days of not speaking to my family and not taking calls, I came out of the fog fighting.  “Since I’m going to be stuck here for a few more months, I might as well be illuminating myself”, I cerebrated whilst standing on the edge of a precipice looking over Raven Cliff Falls. 

I signed up for a few classes at the local University.  I’m taking Early Art History and Design.  I am supposed to start Friday, if I can get all of my paperwork sorted out.  I’m going to go to school, work on my photography, and work on computers on the side.  I helped my Uncle do some landscaping jobs last week.  We have a few flowerbeds to install in an elderly lady’s garden tomorrow.  Landscaping may be laborious, but I do so enjoy the outdoors. 

Truthfully, I was very anxious about the move to Ireland, yet very excited of the notion of a new beginning.  Many people have enquired as to why I love Ireland and speak of it with such veneration.   Ireland has a certain mystique about it that I can’t quite explain.  My love of Ireland started when I was a lad in school.

Throughout my youth, my mothers family had spoke of Ireland with the same reverence.  On occasion, my grandmother would pull antique papers and pictures out of the attic and show me and my cousins our ancestors.  She’d tell us of where we came from and how proud we should be to be who we are.  She’d talk of America and all of the great people that make up the nation from all nationalities. 

When I was ten, I had a social studies class that I excelled at.  I was the teachers pet in every class I had.  Teachers and professors alike still keep in touch with me.  On one particular brisk winter morn she asked me to help her bring in a bunch of books from her car.  We brought in about thirty small hardback books filled with vibrant pictures and words from numerous countries.  She asked us all to take one from the pile.  When I went to get mine, she pulled one out of her desk drawer that she had saved for me. 

My eyes lit up with delight as the fluorescent lights illuminated the glittering green letters that scribed, Ireland.  She smiled and whispered that she expected a good report.  We took our books home to read.  I stared at the pictures hoping to hop into this magical world depicted in the lines.  I had to read what I could while my parents were still at work.  At the time, it was a form of escapism for me.  It is not that anymore, but at that time, I desperately needed some form of escape. 

The older I got, the more I realised that we live on a small planet.  Every culture is unique in its own way, but we are also so similar. 

I’d like to thank all of my friends for all of the advice, help, and kind words.  I am supposed to get my internet back on Wednesday.  I hope to be back to regular blogging ASAP.   :)

P.S.:  Do you know what the up shot is to going back to University?  Illumination!  And, new skirts to chase…   ;)

Thank you all. 

Best

jd

“American”

Some of you may know that I am planning to leave for Dublin on September 5th.  I have diligently contacted over a dozen potential landlords and roommates over the last few weeks.  In these emails, I’ve honestly stated that I’m an American coming over for three months, possibly longer if all goes well.  Of these almost twenty personal emails, I’ve received zero replies.  So, this morning I started calling them via Skype.  One said that the slot was filled (Strange that it still says available on daft.ie..)and the other said they were looking for long term.  I respect that they want long term, but some do say short term, yet I have not been contacted.

Perhaps it is just my perception, but it’s like I automatically have a strike against me because I’m an “American”.  The American government has done a lot of bad things over the years, but so has Germany, Italy, Spain, Austria, Slovakia, and a number of other EU countries.  Yet, they are given a free pass.  Come on in, they say. 

I’m not asking for a red carpet welcome, just to be judged by my character not where I came from.  I’m not coming to leech off of the Irish Health Care System, nor am I coming to meddle in their business.  I’m hopefully coming because I love Ireland and Irish culture.  And, most importantly, I’m coming for illumination. 

Dublin Tourist

Those that know me, know that I’m a gentleman.  I’ve always thought of myself as a “Human Being”, not an American.  Perhaps this stems from a multi-religious upbringing.  I’m not ashamed of being American, but I’m not a believer in labels.  I absolutely hate labels.  Regardless of whether we like them or not, labels are an intricate part of society today.  We are labeled rich if in a certain tax bracket, poor if in another bracket, stupid if below a certain number on a test, or a genius if above another number. 

I’m not a logical person in the normal sense of the word.  I’m a spiritual person.  I reckon that has to do with going through deaths door more than once and being able to return.  In college, I took all of the regular Algebra, Statistical, and Calculus classes.  I made really good grades, but it really was not my cup of tea.  There are so many things in this world that will never be explained with equations.  We think we are so smart, yet we know so little. 

Back to the subject at hand:

So, yeah, I’m an American, so what? 

I had figured that the easiest thing to do would be getting a place to stay.  I’m not really keen to the idea of sleeping on a bench at Stephen’s Green.  If I don’t find something by the end of this week, my plans will be knocked out of whack. 

Saint Stephen's Green Duckies

So, I’m irritated.

I’m ill.

And, I’m downright pissed.

Excuse me, while I go for a walk to soothe my soul.

Waltzing to Molly’s Dew

Early one morn whilst in Dublin, I arose before the sun.  I grabbed my camera gear and headed out on an adventure.  I headed down a very empty O’Connell street absent of the usual hustle and bustle that is Dublin.  The air was crisp and still as I crossed the Liffey river.  I made my way up Westmoreland street and onto Grafton Street.  The clickety-clack of a slender woman’s high heels was the only sound reverberating round the shops that morn.  The rising sun peering through the clouds was illuminating the dew laden upon Molly Malone, as I made my way towards her sculpture.

The dawning dew was ever so slightly running down her elegantly arranged coiffure, collecting in the rim of her ears, and cascading down to the nape of her neck.  It flowed along the curvature of her breast and pooled in the fabric of her dress.

I stood there for a moment and cerebrated about what I’d say to such a resplendent woman.  It was at this point that I realised that I must be British, because I over analyse everything.  :)

Molly Malone Sunrise

Seriously, I need everyone’s help.  When and if you have time, please have a look at my photos from my travels to Ireland and the UK.  I’m trying to figure out which photos to put in my portfolio.

Click this link.

Thanks…

Numbers Game

Credit card companies have had a love affair with me for a long time. I pay my dues on time and usually add in a bit extra. I called two of my credit card companies today to close out the accounts. Below you’ll find the gist of the conversation:

“Hello, how are you today, Mr. Davis?” A cheerful bloke asks on the other end of the long wire that crosses the Rubicon.

“I’m grand, and yourself?” I ask him whilst putting my tea on.

“I’m great…thanks for asking”, says he with a bit of surprise.

“I need to close out the two credit cards that I have with your bank.”

“Might I ask why?”

“Because, I will no longer be under the grip of large corporations spreading their vile commercialization of everything I hold dear…”

“………………………………………………………………………………………………………….O……….kay’, he mutters during a long pause.

“That, and your interest rates are through the roof and I’m leaving the states for an indefinite amount of time”, says I whilst laughing.

“Interest rates, I can understand”, he jokingly replies

“By the way, what is your mother’s maiden name so I can access your accounts…?”

“Oh my God, don’t get me started….That question is a direct invasion of my privacy (pri-va-see)”, says I, whilst leaping from my desk chair.

“Sorry, we cannot access your account without it…Anyway, do you not mean privacy (pry-va-see)?”

“No, I mean Privacy (Pri-va-see).”

“May I have the maiden name, sir”, says he in a cheesed off tone.

“You’ve already got my DNA, so you might as well have me Mum’s maiden name, right?”

“Yep”, says he while snickering.

“If you don’t mind me inquiring, where are you going?”

“Here we go again…Ah, who am I kidding, they’ll find out anyway…I’m moving to Ireland for a minimum of three months but hopefully more, if I can secure a job and a visa.”

“Ah dude, that’s awesome…I’ve always wanted to go”, says the rep whilst getting excited.

“Save your money and come on over…I’ve got a friend that loves to show around sunglass wearing tourist…he’d even show you the bogs”, says I, as I started setting this poor chap up for a fall.

“Give me your email and I’ll email you some traveling tips and suggestions on places to stay”, sneakingly says I.

“That would be awesome…I’ve always wanted to go. My dad’s mother is from there”, says he as though we were making a brotherly bond.

“All right, I’ll give you your fist tip….”

“….Dude, go ahead…I’m psyched…I can’t wait to tell the wife”, says he while papers ruffle in the background.

“Okay, when you go into a pub in Ireland and you order your first pint of Guinness from the barkeep – make sure you call the bartenders, barkeeps…they will be insulted if you don’t – grab it as soon as he sets it down the first time…If he tries to take it from you, just wave him off and turn it up, froth and all”, says I whilst trying not to laugh.

“Thanks dude!”

I am mean and debt free! ;)

Genius Pint

Apple A Day

It was gorgeous outside this afternoon. I walked 10 km (That’s a wee bit over six miles for the rest of you Merkans out there.) this afternoon. The temperature got up to a balmy 18°C (64°F), which was excellent weather for walking. I observed squirrels playing in the jungle gym of sun bleached bare branches and neighbours coming out to bathe in the sunlight. Over the fall, I really let myself get out of shape, but I’m back on the road to a washboard stomach.

Heck, I’ve got four months to get in shape and scrounge every penny I can. I am hoping to leave GSP on April 15th at 10:50AM and land in Dublin at 7:45AM the following morning. I shall keep you informed as to where I’ll be and when. I have found out the hard way that nothing is written in stone. Last time I stood in queue to leave, I got into a huge kerfuffle with my family.

Welp, I am yet again headed to work with an apple in my pocket. I went back to my beloved salads and fruits, instead of the greasy hamburgers I was hooked on for a while. Have a grand week all.

P.S.: I’m working on several post, so please bare with me. :)
Apple A Day