The past few days have been oddly lucky. Now that I am writing my luck down, I wonder if I should buy a lottery ticket...
As you know, this past Sunday was Mother's Day. And as good daughters do, my sister and I planned to travel to our parent's house and cook brunch on Sunday morning. We had planned to arrive Saturday afternoon/evening for a full family visit-fun-time.
Saturday morning, I planned to take a yoga class and had put in my research and was excited about the one that fit my schedule. Then I would return home, have lunch, do some apartment cleaning and head to Shrewsbury.
All on schedule, I grabbed my mat, headed out the door, turned the key and click, click, click, click. Did I leave the lights on? No. And battery was replaced last year. Google was very helpful and told me that the rapid clicking was still likely the battery although I didn't think this was the case.
Roommate comes home, "Oh yeah, I have jumper cables." Nope. He doesn't. Sam is free from work at 11 and she definitely does. We hook the car up and it doesn't start. Let it run a bit and make sure that the connection is good. Still doesn't start. She lectures me that it is probably because I let my oil get too dirty. I know that is definitely not why it wasn't starting. She leaves. I call AAA. Tow truck will be at my house in an hour. Tow truck arrives. Tries a jump pack just in case. Nope. He thinks its the starter. Now we're talking! We put my car in neutral and roll it down the driveway to the truck. Load it. He asks me what I'd like to do with it. Long story short: he convinces me to have the car towed to the auto shop he works out (which is right down the street), says he can fix it now as long as he has the parts, and will change my oil too.
Now while waiting for the tow truck, I assumed since it was a Saturday and most car mechanics are closed, that I am stuck until Monday if not Tuesday without a car. So I had called my parents to share that I had no car. They offered to come get me and loan me one of theirs in the meantime. I thought, no, I will have a friend from home now living in Easthampton who is also headed to Shrewsbury pick me up. He agrees. Also have a friend visiting from Boston on the burner to drop me off when she heads home.
Again, long story short: car is fixed by 5. When I pick it up, mechanic suggests that I get new tires and gives me a quote for them. My dad had told me a month or so ago that one of the tires was at 60% but that the rest looked good so I didn't think anything of the mechanics comment but relayed the info to my dad anyway when I got home.
We have a great weekend.
Before I am set to drive back, Dad goes out and looks at car and returns to the kitchen saying that my back tires are unsafe to drive with. (Now mind you it poured all weekend and I drive the pike home at 65-70 mph thus could have hydroplaned but didn't).
I end up finding tires, already mounted (which means at least half the time and labor to switch them), in my town for half the price the mechanic quoted me. Dad picks them up, we switch them, and I'm off! Well, we got burritos first.
The luck was that so many things had the potential of getting in the way of our family plans and they didn't. Each challenge was met with an easy-to-reach solution. I am still riding high that everything worked out this way. And we got quite a bit planted at work this afternoon so I am pleased about that as well.
Happy Momma's Day y'all.
5.15.2017
5.07.2017
I am drawing a picture of a lynx and I just. cannot. finish it! I'm really procrastinating! And I was just thinking of you peeps and how I miss you all. Antonio and I are going to the bank tomorrow to talk mortgages eeeeeeeeeeeeeee! We're narrowing down our land/house searches to areas in Vermont and Maine. We may buy something and stay out here another year or so to save up more money for building and moving, but this is getting more and more real every day! Nina, I hope you guys are having luck with your searches! My parents are moving back to MA in June which will be good for them I think. And I'm happy to have the family start reconcentrating (apparently that's not a word?) back in New England.
I got a new job working for a tree and garden company, and I get to dig around in the dirt and saw stuff off of trees and it's so much better than my old job! I'm learning so much and it's awesome. Antonio is still at his same job but is now writing and photographing for a local paper on the side, so he's pretty happy. And he got a baby blue Prius after his accident, and is carpooling with someone else, so no danger of falling asleep thankfully. And we're saving a butt-ton on gas. Dougie and Puff are still adorable and snuggly.
I hope you all are doing swell and we miss you lots! We'll probably plan a visit back to New England around Thanksgiving or the late fall, so we'll keep you posted.
Lot's of <3's!
Alanna
I got a new job working for a tree and garden company, and I get to dig around in the dirt and saw stuff off of trees and it's so much better than my old job! I'm learning so much and it's awesome. Antonio is still at his same job but is now writing and photographing for a local paper on the side, so he's pretty happy. And he got a baby blue Prius after his accident, and is carpooling with someone else, so no danger of falling asleep thankfully. And we're saving a butt-ton on gas. Dougie and Puff are still adorable and snuggly.
I hope you all are doing swell and we miss you lots! We'll probably plan a visit back to New England around Thanksgiving or the late fall, so we'll keep you posted.
Lot's of <3's!
Alanna
4.03.2017
Lisa and the no good, very bad day
Today was one of those days. Nothing horrible happened - just a bunch of little things.
It started off good. I woke up on time and was able to mop my kitchen floor with ample time to sit and enjoy my breakfast and tea.
The morning at work was pretty good too.
And then not enough people showed up for my after lunch Monday meeting so I thought I would get a jump on afternoon work.
"Ah! The buggy (the 4WD vehicle we use in addition to our truck) is free and right in front of the vegetable garden's greenhouses! I will use it to grab our flats of eggplant and tomatoes so we can pot them up this afternoon!" I thought.
I struggled to get the buggy to drive to the greenhouse door. Put eight flats of plants in the back and on the front seat. I struggled again to get it started. Made it to the bottom of the road up to our greenhouse. Dead.
Ok. Check it for gas. Yes, it has gas. "At least I am on an incline and can put it in neutral and turn the wheel and push it backward so that it is off the road."
Walk up to the workshop. Our truck has a tiller in the back so I grab our car and fill up the back with four flats. Drive up to the workshop. Now it is time for afternoon work. Oliver comes to me - "Lisa! Someone took my seed work! There is nothing there!" Me: "Oliver, is there another way you can ask me for seed work?" Which he does and while I am setting it up for him still act incredulously. I snapped at him.
Everybody else is piling into the workshop and waiting to find out what their afternoon work is as well including a brand new woman to the village who is visiting on trial hoping to become a resident of the community. Some are more patient than others.
From there it is ok - everyone is happily at work and I put a call in about the buggy.
The reason I was in a rush was because I was hoping for a window to do some rototilling to prepare beds for pea planting on Wednesday. I find the tiller in the vegetable garden and bring it down to one of the gardens. One and a half beds in. Dead.
Check it. Out of gas. Ok - this has a solution. Thankfully one of the herb gardeners is driving their buggy down the road and offers to bring me to get some diesel.
I can't figure out how the diesel gas can works. I ask one of the herb gardeners to help me as she is working in the greenhouse next to the garden I am in. She can't figure out either and gets the most beautiful glass funnel I've ever seen to help pour the gas into the machine however by then I have figured out the friggen can. Back in business! (It is 4:30 by now).
Finish tilling the row and look at how wet the next row is. "Nah. Since these are raised beds and I am going down the center of them the middle will be dry enough and this will work" say I to myself.
Get halfway down. "Shit. Fuck." It is definitely too wet. I try to shut off the tiller but the automatic shutoff keeps getting jammed and of course it jams now. "Ok, just reverse it out" I think. But no, it is too deep at this point. I get it shut off finally and look at it. It has sunk halfway into the mud.
I ask the herb gardeners for help again. We think to dig it out but the mud is so wet, where we dig just fills with water with each shovel full. Well, time to ask for more help. I call the estate shed where the machine fixer-uppers work. "Yes, they would know how to get the tiller out!" No answer.
Well, I will call Ian - my 63 year old supervisor. He is very level headed and we talk about the best way to get it out. "So you think it would be too wet to get a truck in there?" "Yes," I respond. "So what do we need?" He's a good coach. Doesn't give you the answers. "I think 3 or 4 strong folks could muscle it out." "Ok," he says, "you stay in the garden and I'll see who I can find and we will meet you in the garden as soon as well can."
Sure enough, within 5-8 minutes a car full of guys is ready to help pull out the tiller, not a one looking ready to be in mud. In the meantime I've planted a chestnut that sprouted in the middle of the garden.
Indeed, the four of us are able to spend the last 20 minutes of work hauling this machine out of the mud. Being the one wearing calf high wellies, I placed myself in the muddiest areas and actually had to get pulled out at one point as one foot got stuck too.
Brought the tiller back to the vegetable shed, both it and I covered in mud, myself also covered in diesel and shame. Also, not much work done.
I am my worst critic and when I fail, I take it hard. I wanted to cry at multiple points even though they were little frustrations and not catastrophic events. By the end of my car ride back to my apartment I felt better. And after I took the dog my flat mate is watching for a run I had shed almost all of my frustration and shame from the day.
It started off good. I woke up on time and was able to mop my kitchen floor with ample time to sit and enjoy my breakfast and tea.
The morning at work was pretty good too.
And then not enough people showed up for my after lunch Monday meeting so I thought I would get a jump on afternoon work.
"Ah! The buggy (the 4WD vehicle we use in addition to our truck) is free and right in front of the vegetable garden's greenhouses! I will use it to grab our flats of eggplant and tomatoes so we can pot them up this afternoon!" I thought.
I struggled to get the buggy to drive to the greenhouse door. Put eight flats of plants in the back and on the front seat. I struggled again to get it started. Made it to the bottom of the road up to our greenhouse. Dead.
Ok. Check it for gas. Yes, it has gas. "At least I am on an incline and can put it in neutral and turn the wheel and push it backward so that it is off the road."
Walk up to the workshop. Our truck has a tiller in the back so I grab our car and fill up the back with four flats. Drive up to the workshop. Now it is time for afternoon work. Oliver comes to me - "Lisa! Someone took my seed work! There is nothing there!" Me: "Oliver, is there another way you can ask me for seed work?" Which he does and while I am setting it up for him still act incredulously. I snapped at him.
Everybody else is piling into the workshop and waiting to find out what their afternoon work is as well including a brand new woman to the village who is visiting on trial hoping to become a resident of the community. Some are more patient than others.
From there it is ok - everyone is happily at work and I put a call in about the buggy.
The reason I was in a rush was because I was hoping for a window to do some rototilling to prepare beds for pea planting on Wednesday. I find the tiller in the vegetable garden and bring it down to one of the gardens. One and a half beds in. Dead.
Check it. Out of gas. Ok - this has a solution. Thankfully one of the herb gardeners is driving their buggy down the road and offers to bring me to get some diesel.
I can't figure out how the diesel gas can works. I ask one of the herb gardeners to help me as she is working in the greenhouse next to the garden I am in. She can't figure out either and gets the most beautiful glass funnel I've ever seen to help pour the gas into the machine however by then I have figured out the friggen can. Back in business! (It is 4:30 by now).
Finish tilling the row and look at how wet the next row is. "Nah. Since these are raised beds and I am going down the center of them the middle will be dry enough and this will work" say I to myself.
Get halfway down. "Shit. Fuck." It is definitely too wet. I try to shut off the tiller but the automatic shutoff keeps getting jammed and of course it jams now. "Ok, just reverse it out" I think. But no, it is too deep at this point. I get it shut off finally and look at it. It has sunk halfway into the mud.
I ask the herb gardeners for help again. We think to dig it out but the mud is so wet, where we dig just fills with water with each shovel full. Well, time to ask for more help. I call the estate shed where the machine fixer-uppers work. "Yes, they would know how to get the tiller out!" No answer.
Well, I will call Ian - my 63 year old supervisor. He is very level headed and we talk about the best way to get it out. "So you think it would be too wet to get a truck in there?" "Yes," I respond. "So what do we need?" He's a good coach. Doesn't give you the answers. "I think 3 or 4 strong folks could muscle it out." "Ok," he says, "you stay in the garden and I'll see who I can find and we will meet you in the garden as soon as well can."
Sure enough, within 5-8 minutes a car full of guys is ready to help pull out the tiller, not a one looking ready to be in mud. In the meantime I've planted a chestnut that sprouted in the middle of the garden.
Indeed, the four of us are able to spend the last 20 minutes of work hauling this machine out of the mud. Being the one wearing calf high wellies, I placed myself in the muddiest areas and actually had to get pulled out at one point as one foot got stuck too.
Brought the tiller back to the vegetable shed, both it and I covered in mud, myself also covered in diesel and shame. Also, not much work done.
I am my worst critic and when I fail, I take it hard. I wanted to cry at multiple points even though they were little frustrations and not catastrophic events. By the end of my car ride back to my apartment I felt better. And after I took the dog my flat mate is watching for a run I had shed almost all of my frustration and shame from the day.
3.25.2017
Blossom Evolution
Hello loves,
After reading your posts, I have been thinking about all of this, all of us, being in this phase of life together. Being the elder of the group (ha, I am so wise and old!), I have identified so completely with everything you guys have been saying. That grasping of deeper purpose and direction that comes with this moment in life, and for me, a definite need to ground in and take root in a place to call home. ...That could of course be due to our extreme nomadic nature of the last few years, but I think it is also due to the phase that Pat and I have entered in life. I never thought I would be at a place where settling down was as exciting as backpacking foreign countries. But whoa! We have arrived! And yes, we still want to backpack and roam, but we need a friggin' root system that is strong and stable.
In moving back to the area that was home as a child, I have been so comforted. It has all the things we love-- ocean, mountains, and friendly, bright folks that are into things like raising chickens, collecting sap and raising goats, not for milk or cheese, but merely because of the fact that they are cute...which I find extremely valid. Pat and I just kind of looked at each other one day and said "Oh my gosh! We're home!" That has led us to put an offer on a house, (for which we are currently under contract!! you guys omg!!) and made us look at our lives and our dreams in a magnified way. It's the sifting through that is tricky-- the sampling of jobs, the experimenting with interests, finding that thing that makes your heart expand and makes joy erupt in your bones. For a long time, I thought that thing for me was teaching. And the process of finding out that teaching school might not be what I thought it was for me has been hard and disappointing, but illuminating in a big way. The thing is, I have realized that while I adore kiddos and have a knack for teaching, that doesn't mean that I have to love it as a practice or that I have to continue to do it. Because unless it feeds me in a deeper way, what the hell is the point?
Pat and I have been saying the phrase "Go get it!" to each other a lot these days. Go and get that thing that makes you feel freaking awesome and inspired and excited about living. He has found his thing and watching him unfold within in it has been such a treat! He comes home with work goggles forgotten on his head and sawdust in his beard after sharing a scotch with his boss at the end of the day. He looks like he is glowing! My hunt continues, but it is getting clearer and clearer everyday. I still want to help people a bunch
and think about caregiving in some way or another all the time. And other signs keep showing up and the universe keeps saying "hey idiot! you sold another big painting today! be a fucking artist!"
I had a thought the other day that I am going to start thinking of myself and other people as blossoms. Like intricately layered roses. Instead of a linear evolution, we all have these layers to ourselves-- different interests, passions, ideas, and we live them out as they unfold. So I don't need to say "I am a teacher" or "I am an artist", but rather "I'm a human!" And in being a human, we have the gift of being able to explore so many things, and to BE so many things. So now, rather than trying to define myself by my work, I am going to define myself by what I love, what feeds me and helps me grow as a person and a spirit. And that may shift over time. That's okay. It's all a part of the unfolding; the delicate and bold blossoming of becoming something beautiful.
After reading your posts, I have been thinking about all of this, all of us, being in this phase of life together. Being the elder of the group (ha, I am so wise and old!), I have identified so completely with everything you guys have been saying. That grasping of deeper purpose and direction that comes with this moment in life, and for me, a definite need to ground in and take root in a place to call home. ...That could of course be due to our extreme nomadic nature of the last few years, but I think it is also due to the phase that Pat and I have entered in life. I never thought I would be at a place where settling down was as exciting as backpacking foreign countries. But whoa! We have arrived! And yes, we still want to backpack and roam, but we need a friggin' root system that is strong and stable.
In moving back to the area that was home as a child, I have been so comforted. It has all the things we love-- ocean, mountains, and friendly, bright folks that are into things like raising chickens, collecting sap and raising goats, not for milk or cheese, but merely because of the fact that they are cute...which I find extremely valid. Pat and I just kind of looked at each other one day and said "Oh my gosh! We're home!" That has led us to put an offer on a house, (for which we are currently under contract!! you guys omg!!) and made us look at our lives and our dreams in a magnified way. It's the sifting through that is tricky-- the sampling of jobs, the experimenting with interests, finding that thing that makes your heart expand and makes joy erupt in your bones. For a long time, I thought that thing for me was teaching. And the process of finding out that teaching school might not be what I thought it was for me has been hard and disappointing, but illuminating in a big way. The thing is, I have realized that while I adore kiddos and have a knack for teaching, that doesn't mean that I have to love it as a practice or that I have to continue to do it. Because unless it feeds me in a deeper way, what the hell is the point?
Pat and I have been saying the phrase "Go get it!" to each other a lot these days. Go and get that thing that makes you feel freaking awesome and inspired and excited about living. He has found his thing and watching him unfold within in it has been such a treat! He comes home with work goggles forgotten on his head and sawdust in his beard after sharing a scotch with his boss at the end of the day. He looks like he is glowing! My hunt continues, but it is getting clearer and clearer everyday. I still want to help people a bunch
and think about caregiving in some way or another all the time. And other signs keep showing up and the universe keeps saying "hey idiot! you sold another big painting today! be a fucking artist!"
I had a thought the other day that I am going to start thinking of myself and other people as blossoms. Like intricately layered roses. Instead of a linear evolution, we all have these layers to ourselves-- different interests, passions, ideas, and we live them out as they unfold. So I don't need to say "I am a teacher" or "I am an artist", but rather "I'm a human!" And in being a human, we have the gift of being able to explore so many things, and to BE so many things. So now, rather than trying to define myself by my work, I am going to define myself by what I love, what feeds me and helps me grow as a person and a spirit. And that may shift over time. That's okay. It's all a part of the unfolding; the delicate and bold blossoming of becoming something beautiful.
3.22.2017
Life Decisions are Hard/A Very Similar Post to Lisa's
Two weekends ago Antonio fell asleep while driving home after the night shift. He was very lucky that he was on our road going slow, that he only hit a couple of parked cars, and that no one (including himself) was hurt. His car is toast. It's left us both feeling kind of shaken, and feeling that something has to change.
Between this job and the railroad he's been doing night shifts for 3 years. For 1.5 years of that I've been fighting off almost nightly panic attacks triggered by being alone at night. For some reason we just keep toiling through all this because most of the time it seems like there isn't a choice. But now it feels like something is shifting.
We love Denver and Colorado, but we're both super unhappy with our jobs. We're making more money than we used to, but feeling more stuck than we used to because of the higher cost of living in a city. We miss friends and family. Is this adulthood? At the same time we're getting more opportunities with art and writing and yoga, though they don't pay well yet. At the same time we're enjoying the new adventures, opportunities, people, and cultures here. At the same time we're feeling thankful to have enough money and food, to have a roof over our head, and to have each other.
What's the next step? Do we find new work? Have we just gotten too serious and focused on survival that we need to make more time for happiness? Do we get ready to head back to New England? I wish signs were a little bit clearer.
Between this job and the railroad he's been doing night shifts for 3 years. For 1.5 years of that I've been fighting off almost nightly panic attacks triggered by being alone at night. For some reason we just keep toiling through all this because most of the time it seems like there isn't a choice. But now it feels like something is shifting.
We love Denver and Colorado, but we're both super unhappy with our jobs. We're making more money than we used to, but feeling more stuck than we used to because of the higher cost of living in a city. We miss friends and family. Is this adulthood? At the same time we're getting more opportunities with art and writing and yoga, though they don't pay well yet. At the same time we're enjoying the new adventures, opportunities, people, and cultures here. At the same time we're feeling thankful to have enough money and food, to have a roof over our head, and to have each other.
What's the next step? Do we find new work? Have we just gotten too serious and focused on survival that we need to make more time for happiness? Do we get ready to head back to New England? I wish signs were a little bit clearer.
I shall brighten this post with a cute Puff picture! :)
3.15.2017
Who are you St. Paddy?
How widespread is the celebration of St. Patrick's Day? One of my coworkers from California has been looking forward to this day for over a week while an Egyptian coworker was clueless that this was a thing celebrated in the US. Oddly enough, the Egyptian was familiar with the Dropkicks while miss California was not.
According to wikipedia, the highest of resources, St. Patrick's Day is on the death of St. Patrick and celebrates Christianity coming to Ireland as well as "celebrates the heritage and culture of the Irish in general." Where is the day for the French Canadians? Apparently, the lenten restrictions on eating and drinking were traditionally lifted on this day - thus why everyone gets hammered. Perhaps this is why it is celebrated in more countries than any other national festival including Argentina, Australia, and New Zealand. The whole thing about the snakes isn't true as I guess Ireland really doesn't have many but is a metaphor for him converting people to Christianity and driving inconvertible druids out of the country. Hey, I think I write a better summary that wiki btw.
Nowadays, it is said Irish-Americans are the most feverish of this "holy day" although I'm not sure wearing "Kiss me, I'm Irish" t-shirts and downing beer and whiskey is the most religious of practices but hey, it's hard not to join in with a drunken merry group that proclaims that everyone is Irish on St. Paddy's. Reading on, Ireland and Great Britain have a public holiday and fancy parades. When it goes on to talk about American celebrations wiki literally has three sentences:
"St Patrick's Day, while not a legal holiday in the United States, is nonetheless widely recognised and observed throughout the country as a celebration of Irish and Irish-American culture. Celebrations include prominent displays of the colour green, religious observances, numerous parades, and copious consumption of alcohol. The holiday has been celebrated in North America since the late 18th century."
Canada however seems to be as legit as Britain and the motherland, Ireland, with Montreal leading the pack. Fun fact: The Toronto Maple Leaves used to be the Toronto St. Patricks and had green Jerseys! So maybe, just maybe, there is some mix of French Canadian and Irish blood and I really do have some Irish in me! Alanna, Nina, and Pat, I am one of you too!
I also have to include the wiki section about how people in space celebrate. Yes, that's right, Space St. Paddys:
"Astronauts on board the International Space Station have celebrated the festival in different ways. Irish-American Catherine Coleman played a hundred-year-old flute belonging to Matt Molloy and a tin whistle belonging to Paddy Moloney, both members of the Irish music group The Chieftains, while floating weightless in the space station on Saint Patrick's Day in 2011. Her performance was later included in a track called "The Chieftains in Orbit" on the group's album, Voice of Ages.
Chris Hadfield took photographs of Ireland from earth orbit, and a picture of himself wearing green clothing in the space station, and posted them online on Saint Patrick's Day in 2013. He also posted online a recording of himself singing "Danny Boy" in space."
No matter where we celebrate, it is a day to blast the Pogues, talk in horrible Irish accents, and wish we were partying with Michael Fassbender [and party in the best sense of party ;)]. Oh yeah, and wear green. So despite being in retreat on Friday into Saturday morning, maybe I'll find a moment to down a few car bombs and quote the dropkicks to a half decent looking man "kiss me, I'm shit faced."
So happy Irish day y'all, well, two days early.
According to wikipedia, the highest of resources, St. Patrick's Day is on the death of St. Patrick and celebrates Christianity coming to Ireland as well as "celebrates the heritage and culture of the Irish in general." Where is the day for the French Canadians? Apparently, the lenten restrictions on eating and drinking were traditionally lifted on this day - thus why everyone gets hammered. Perhaps this is why it is celebrated in more countries than any other national festival including Argentina, Australia, and New Zealand. The whole thing about the snakes isn't true as I guess Ireland really doesn't have many but is a metaphor for him converting people to Christianity and driving inconvertible druids out of the country. Hey, I think I write a better summary that wiki btw.
Nowadays, it is said Irish-Americans are the most feverish of this "holy day" although I'm not sure wearing "Kiss me, I'm Irish" t-shirts and downing beer and whiskey is the most religious of practices but hey, it's hard not to join in with a drunken merry group that proclaims that everyone is Irish on St. Paddy's. Reading on, Ireland and Great Britain have a public holiday and fancy parades. When it goes on to talk about American celebrations wiki literally has three sentences:
"St Patrick's Day, while not a legal holiday in the United States, is nonetheless widely recognised and observed throughout the country as a celebration of Irish and Irish-American culture. Celebrations include prominent displays of the colour green, religious observances, numerous parades, and copious consumption of alcohol. The holiday has been celebrated in North America since the late 18th century."
Canada however seems to be as legit as Britain and the motherland, Ireland, with Montreal leading the pack. Fun fact: The Toronto Maple Leaves used to be the Toronto St. Patricks and had green Jerseys! So maybe, just maybe, there is some mix of French Canadian and Irish blood and I really do have some Irish in me! Alanna, Nina, and Pat, I am one of you too!
I also have to include the wiki section about how people in space celebrate. Yes, that's right, Space St. Paddys:
"Astronauts on board the International Space Station have celebrated the festival in different ways. Irish-American Catherine Coleman played a hundred-year-old flute belonging to Matt Molloy and a tin whistle belonging to Paddy Moloney, both members of the Irish music group The Chieftains, while floating weightless in the space station on Saint Patrick's Day in 2011. Her performance was later included in a track called "The Chieftains in Orbit" on the group's album, Voice of Ages.
Chris Hadfield took photographs of Ireland from earth orbit, and a picture of himself wearing green clothing in the space station, and posted them online on Saint Patrick's Day in 2013. He also posted online a recording of himself singing "Danny Boy" in space."
No matter where we celebrate, it is a day to blast the Pogues, talk in horrible Irish accents, and wish we were partying with Michael Fassbender [and party in the best sense of party ;)]. Oh yeah, and wear green. So despite being in retreat on Friday into Saturday morning, maybe I'll find a moment to down a few car bombs and quote the dropkicks to a half decent looking man "kiss me, I'm shit faced."
So happy Irish day y'all, well, two days early.
3.06.2017
The Big EW
Three o'clock in the morning sitting at our kitchen table with my laptop in front of us I was ready to punch Anthony. Oddly enough, he was helping me. I was failing my exisistentialism class not surprisingly as I spent most classes with my head down on the desk despite my best efforts to stay awake and Anthony had agreed to edit my final paper of which most of my grade relied upon. What the prompt was, I don't remember and I do remember summarizing Camus's views on the "point of living." Honestly, it may not have been Camus I was writing about but the only texts I remember reading are The Myth of Sisyphus and Beckett's Waiting For Godot. So to get on with the story: the essay was about someone's view that we were to live to spite living because there isn't a meaning to life.
The meaning of life truly is an existential wonder. As one that's struggled with suicidal thoughts since puberty it can sometimes be a question I grapple with daily if not hourly especially as a "spiritual" person. My recent car crash has put things more clearly. I now disagree with whomever we were studying and I believe in the "greater purpose" or power whatever it is. It can be the only explanation. I went off the icy road, over a ditch, rolled in my car between trees to land unharmed - except emotionally - and back to work and driving my car the next day. Not a scratch, not a bruise, no whiplash, nada.
A few days after the accident I went back to pick up any debris left by the car as I had promised the owners, who gave me a cup of tea and a warm place to wait on the 19 degree night, I would. There was nothing left. One of them must have already come to clean up. In daylight I was able to see that I slid off in safest place. With trees on either side and a rock wall beyond, I would have been hospitalized had I made impact with anything.
So maybe I'm lucky. But luck seems to be too easy of an explanation. So now I'm left to wonder, "Why am I here? What's my greater purpose?"
The meaning of life truly is an existential wonder. As one that's struggled with suicidal thoughts since puberty it can sometimes be a question I grapple with daily if not hourly especially as a "spiritual" person. My recent car crash has put things more clearly. I now disagree with whomever we were studying and I believe in the "greater purpose" or power whatever it is. It can be the only explanation. I went off the icy road, over a ditch, rolled in my car between trees to land unharmed - except emotionally - and back to work and driving my car the next day. Not a scratch, not a bruise, no whiplash, nada.
A few days after the accident I went back to pick up any debris left by the car as I had promised the owners, who gave me a cup of tea and a warm place to wait on the 19 degree night, I would. There was nothing left. One of them must have already come to clean up. In daylight I was able to see that I slid off in safest place. With trees on either side and a rock wall beyond, I would have been hospitalized had I made impact with anything.
So maybe I'm lucky. But luck seems to be too easy of an explanation. So now I'm left to wonder, "Why am I here? What's my greater purpose?"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
