Some say the glass is half empty, some say the glass is half full, I say, are you going to drink that? —Lisa Claymen

Everything you have to overcome in life has the 12-Step, 5-Step, or n^th-Step program.  They are all pretty much the same motivational gibberish that supposedly helps one through their tough time.  The first step is usually something like denial, and then admittance and the ultimate goal is acceptance or helping others through their difficult life. 

Denial and Isolation-I don’t deny I have a problem, but the isolation thing could be happening, but hey that is not something I planned on.  I mean I live in a town of a thousand people, the closest “big” town is 35 miles away and with the outrageous price of petrol and the total of 27 buckeroos in my bank account, I am some what stuck.  So I keep myself busy with important work like watching my Irish documentaries, listening to Irish music, reading Irish books, writing my blogs, “facebook researching,” organizing my library of books for the n^th time, and occasionally looking at jobs and working on applications.  Don’t forget my shower and getting dressed about 5p.m.

Admit you have a problem- Well it doesn’t take a genius to see that I have a problem.  Normal people don’t mope around the house in their PJs all day saying that they miss everything about Dublin.  They also don’t usually cry at their graduation ceremony because they are graduating.  Nor do they “facebook research” all the people they know from Dublin or International students they lived with to see what they are up to.  They probably also don’t talk about themselves like there are parallel worlds (e.g. 3a.m. California time- “I’m going over the maths homework right now.”  Not, “I would be going over the maths homework right now if I were still in Dublin”).  Admitting I have a problem—tick that off.

Recognize that a higher power can give you strength- Well hello, that is also easy.  The higher strength that starts with a “G” is not up to par in the states though.  Guinness is only good in Dublin.  They try to sell it to unsuspecting, unknowledgeable Americans, but once you’ve had the real deal, you can’t pretend that it’s good here.    Recognizing that a higher power can give you strength-tick that off  (Hey it literally does give you strength—that’s how I got my daily iron intake)

So then there are other steps that I could bore you with, but for your sanity and mine, I’ll just skip over a few to helping others who are suffering like you.

Helping others -Not to this step yet because I feel like being selfish for once in my life.  I think I’m going to help myself here.  Yep, I’m going to help myself get back to Ireland, which means I have to accept being back in California.

Acceptance-So I accept that I am back in California.  Tick this off.  I’m back to my old routine of a whole lot of nothingness.  I accept that to be able to go back to Dublin, I must get a job.  Unfortunately, $27 dollars won’t get me very close to Dublin.  Heck that can’t even get me to Dublin, California.  So now, after a week of being home, I am ready to get cracking (not craicing) on job applications. 

Only three hours and forty minutes until I can download Henrietta Game’s single off of iTunes =)

Music is the divine way to tell beautiful, poetic things to the heart--Pablo Casals

To me music is synonymous with life.  In a way it is my oxygen.  There is rarely a moment in my life that I do not have music playing or think about lyrics.  I listen to music when writing my blogs, cleaning, driving, doing homework, writing lesson plans, reading (yes reading), walking, and falling asleep.  My obsession with music is somewhat odd because I have very little musical talent.  My talent includes playing the iPod and that’s it.

I appreciate and love all types of music.  If there were such a thing as Music ADHD, I would have it.  I can listen to classical and immediately go to alternative or rock. 

Music and I have not always had a love affair.  In preschool, my mom let me know that I was the worst singer in history.  She told me the only reason she knew what I was singing was that she could make out the words “twinkle, twinkle little star.”  In fifth grade I decided to join band.  At this point, I was already in love with music and wanted to learn how to play an instrument more than anything.  My mom’s friend had a flute that I could use for free, so that determined what I would play.  I am not sure how long I lasted in band, but it was not very long.  I like to say I got kicked out of band because it makes me sound like a rebel, but in actuality I left band with my “tail between my legs” like an ashamed and embarrassed dog.  After weeks of practicing at home every night, my band teacher came up to me to tell me that if I was not going to take band seriously to just leave because he did not need to deal with students who weren’t practicing.  I tried to explain that I had been practicing.  In the end I went back to my class with a tear-streaked face.  If I remember correctly, the band teacher came to apologize and asked me to come back, but after that embarrassment why would I go back?  In college it was a little better.  I took a Music for Children course and we played recorders.  I think if my mom ever hears me play “Hot Cross Buns” again she will kill me.  I was so determined to do well on the test that I literally played it hundreds of times each night.  My mom should be happy I had to learn it in different keys.  At least it created variety.  Anyway, I got a perfect score on my test.  I was shocked to say the least.

This semester as a student teacher at Saint Ultans, I was surrounded by music.  All the students at this primary school learn to play the violin and almost all the teachers are very musically talented.  I always looked forward to Thursdays when my students went to their violin lessons.  I am probably the only person at the school who loved hearing the offbeat plucking of the violin strings or screech of the bows against the strings.  They actually weren’t that bad; rarely did it sound like nails on a chalkboard.  Some of the students who were exceptional violinists played at the National Concert Hall and they were amazing.  I wish I had the same opportunity when I was a child.  Maybe I would have gained a little musical talent through practice—I doubt that. 

Three teachers from the school are part of a band called Henrietta Game. They just launched their single today and in a month their CD is coming out.  Describing the style of Henrietta Game may be difficult—some describe them as “alternative folk merchants”—yet loving their distinct songs and lyrics is not.  Best of luck to them!  I will be the first one to order their song on iTunes on the 27^th (26^th for me in California—at least being 8 hours behind is good for something).  

I think the reasons for loving music so much is that it is relatable and expressible.  Music can get into your soul in a way that nothing else can.  It knows how you feel even when you don’t really know how you feel.

Music connects us to the past, present and future.  It helps us remember the good and bad memories of our past.  We can express how we feel at a certain time just by playing a certain song.  We also hear songs and think about the future. I often hear a song and think I want to be that in love, or gosh I hope I'm never that in love.

I believe that our personalities and lives can be mirrored in instruments.  If I had to compare myself or my life to an instrument it would definitely be a cello.  I can connect to the sound of a cello because it is a lot like me.  It’s sound is deep, warm, and beautiful, yet has a somber undertone.  My life is beautiful and happy, yet I have a yearning for something that I can’t quite pinpoint.  

P.S. I hope your dreams come true

We had been reading Christy’s Dream and talking about our own dreams or wishes.  Some of the students wished that they could fly and others dreamt of more practical things like playing football (our soccer) or becoming singers (not totally out of reach for some of my students).  When it came to me, I said that I had already had one of my dreams come true.  I told them about my dream I had wanted three years prior—to get accepted for the Ireland Exchange so I could student teach the best children in Ireland.  I told the students that my hard work and dedication made it happen.  They then asked if I could have another dream come true, what would it be?  Without any hesitation, I told them that it would be to be able to stay and teach at their school forever.

All the students wrote goodbye letters to me when I left.  All were extremely sweet, thanking me for being “the best” teacher.  Not sure about that, but it made me happy all the same.  One student came up to me and as she handed me her card she said, “I hope your dreams come true and you come back to Ireland.” 

I am a happy person and I always see the glass as half full.  I know that wherever I end up in the next few years, I will be content.  I have been so fortunate to be given such great opportunities in my life—this is mostly due to my brilliant parents.  I am only twenty-three and I have studied abroad in Germany for seven months, Ireland for four, received a bachelors degree in Liberal Studies, have my own car (under my parents’ names of course), will be receiving my California Multiple Subjects Credential shortly, and owe no student loans (only a promise to help pay my parents back).  I owe my happiness, my world travels, and my education to my parents because without them I would be just another broke adult trying to work her way through college and most likely giving up after eight years for a four-year degree.  Instead, it is my parents struggling to make ends meet because they supported their children through college.

I have been back from Ireland for three days and it has been 2 ½ days too long.  I long to go back to Ireland and have been coming up with crazy (well my family thinks is crazy) ways to be able to return.  I would have to learn Gaelic to teach in Ireland, so I’m looking at other jobs.  Yes, my teaching credential that I worked so hard to get—I actually did it in four years instead of the five and worked full time during part of my schooling—is not the most important thing for me right now.  I want to be back in Ireland ASAP, and while teaching in Ireland would be my ultimate goal, I would be willing to get there in whatever ways I can.

I am applying to a teaching job in Chico, California at a school that seems like a near perfect fit for me.  Their philosophy of education mirrors mine exactly.  Its downfall is that it is in California.  The pro would be that I would be getting a salary that would allow me to visit Ireland for long periods of time (if I live frugally and save my money). 

My other option of work that I am totally stoked about even though my family is not as enthusiastic about is becoming a nanny in Ireland.  The money would not really allow me to save and may not be enough to slowly pay back my parents, yet the location would be perfect.  I would not be using my teaching credential, but I would be happy all the same and I would still be working with children.  Another pro about this situation is that it would be much easier to learn Gaelic and work towards being able to teach in Ireland.

Okay, so there is another option.  That is to take any teaching job that I can find in California.  I would do this for a year or two for a steady income and stability—and the money to be able to visit Ireland.

My mom wants me to apply to elementary schools in California and then if nothing comes of it, apply for nanny position in Dublin.  She is probably right that I should apply to teaching jobs first, but I am more of the adventurous type (it’s ironic that that comes from mom because I am like her when she was my age).  Or maybe I am the impatient type.  Impatient is more accurate.  When I want something, I want it now. 

I may be impatient, but I also am focused.  When I have a goal in mind I will get there even if it means going to bed at 2 a.m and up at 6 a.m. for a semester, commuting an hour and a half (one way) seven days a week, working over 25 hours per week on top of 21 units at school, or becoming lifeguard trained when you are pretty terrified of water.  Yes, when I have a goal in mind, nothing stops me.

Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened—Dr. Seuss

Such a great quote, yet impossible to abide by.  I’m sitting in the airport waiting to board my flight crying my eyes out because it’s over for now.  It’s ironic that I didn’t cry in Moville when all the other International students were hysterical. No if crying is the norm in the situation I can’t cry.  I much prefer to make a spectacle of myself—that must be how people who like to be invisible do it.  I cry during lunch in the school staff room, when I should and want to say how wonderful the school is.  I cry in front of the students in the yard as Julie leaves the school for the last time.  I cry when I hear Tina on Skype with her parents saying how sad she is about leaving the Erasmus students and Ireland. I cry when I see a key chain of a footprint and “Ireland” written on it because it reminds me of all the inside jokes friends and I have. Just when I think I am done crying over the foot keychain, the song “The Dawning of the day” comes on which is the song that my students will be singing in one week when Mary McAleese, the Irish President, comes to school—so I cry for that, too.  I cry when I go through the U.S. customs because I know it means I’m leaving Ireland. Now I am crying because it is maths time at the school.

I have pretty much cried for the last month because I am so sad to leave.  I know that I will be happy to be home with my family and friends, however, I also know deep down I will have a void in my heart because I am leaving part of it in Ireland.  All I want is to turn back time so I can experience the four months all over again.  

Yesterday was my last night in Ireland (in this trip to Ireland) and I want to thank my class and the teachers for making my last day so pleasant.  I also want to thank Jamie for making my last night brilliant.  I had already cried all day and I just wanted to go out to the City Centre and enjoy my last few hours of the Emerald Isle. Jamie helped me do exactly that. For a few hours I forgot how sad I was about leaving and enjoyed the night.  We may also have enjoyed a pub or two, a Guinness or two, and curry =)

My plane is getting ready to board and I’m getting ready to cry again, so I’ll leave my blog for now.  Slán go Fóill

Well now it is exactly 23½ hours later and I just got back to my parents’ home in California.  (I’m in denial that it will be my home for the summer or until I find a job).  I’ve greeted my animals and gasped when I saw my room that my mother decorated until it looked like a bulimic leprechaun ate St. Patrick’s Day.  

Former conversation with my mom: 

(mom) “I may have decorated your room a little”

(me)  “What do you mean?”

(mom) quiet……. 

(me) “Mother what did you do?” 

(mom) “Well, Big Lots was having a sale on their St. Patrick’s Day things.” 

(me) “MOTHER! It better not look like a leprechaun upchucked in my room!” 

(mom) quiet…. “I was just kidding your room is fine.” 

(me) Mom, you're lying to me aren’t you.  It looks like an ADHD leprechaun went ballistic in my room doesn’t it?” 

(mom) “no…!?!!”

(me three weeks later)  “HOLY SHI…em…Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death Amen”

“Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”—Oliver Wendell Holmes

 

I came to Ireland for an adventure in my last semester of student teaching.  Family and friends teased me about how I would go, fall in love with the man of my dreams and never want to come home.  Studying abroad and falling in love happened to my cousin, Sarah, so it could happen to me, too.  While I am not that girl who dreams of fairy tales, prince charming, and happy endings, I secretly was open to the possibility of finding The One.  The one who doesn’t change me, but brings out the best of me.  The one who loves me for being myself.  Little did I expect that I actually would find The One.  I found the one that loves me for me, the one who makes me happy beyond belief, and the one who I will think about and love for eternity.  The One, if you have not guessed already, is Ireland.  Every aspect of my life in Ireland was perfect.  I lived with the most amazing Erasmus group in the history of Moville and possibly the history of any university (Erasmus is the name for European international students and Moville is the name of the international dormitory on campus). I student taught at Saint Ultan’s Primary School where the vibrant staff, enthusiastic students, and beautiful building made my days fly by.  Four months seemed more like four minutes.  I leave Ireland in less than 36 hours and I don’t know how long it will be before I can come back to my love.

“Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”  I may be leaving, however, part of my heart will always belong to Ireland.  It will belong to the children and staff of St. Ultan’s Primary School.  It will belong to St. Patrick’s 2011 Erasmus group.  It will belong to Dingle Bay and the Cliffs of Moher.  It will belong to the CIE tour and FUN BOBBY.  It will belong to Whelan’s pub, the music of Henrietta Game, and the craic that was had with true friends.

It’s like déjà vu all over again –Yogi Berra

Tautology: noun—needless repetition of an idea

To say I am a fan of Yogi Berra is to put it mildly.  I am definitely more than a fan-atic.  It is more on the verge of obsession.  I quote Yogi (I like to think that we are on first name—well nickname basis), I celebrate his birthday (which is today), I forced my mom to get personalized plates that professes my love for him, I specially ordered a license plate holder with his famous “It’s like déjà vu all over again,” and I have adopted the number eight as my favorite number.  My mom jokes about how I could actually marry an octogenarian (well a certain octogenarian anyway) for love rather than money.  I laugh at this, but she probably is right. 

 

There is something special about Yogi Berra and his Yogiisms that can cheer me up even when I am in the foulest of moods.  The most amusing thing for me to do is to quote Yogi to an unsuspecting  “non-Yogi-knowing person.”  For example, I will use the most famous of the quotes “It’s like déjà vu all over again,” when the “non-Yogi-knowing person” kindly informs me that it means the same thing.  This is when my Academy Award skills take place.  I love to keep a straight face and pretend that I had no idea.  Why this is hilarious to me is unknown, yet it never gets old.

 

Happy birthday dearest Yogi.  Make sure they cut your birthday cake in four pieces because I don’t think you can eat eight.

P.S.  Happy birthday to you, Emma!  Congratulations on passing your Dip.

If you don't know where you are going, you might wind up someplace else –Yogi Berra

Eight—usually my favorite number—has lost its appeal to me today. Eight is the number of days I have left in Dublin. While going home to friends and family and attending my recognition ceremony for my credential are things I greatly look forward to, I am thinking about the beautiful place and brilliant people I must leave.  This is what is breaking my heart. 

Eight is also the amount of days that I know where I am going and what I am doing.  After that, it is an unknown abyss.  In the past I have had school to look forward to.  This time I am going back to nothing set for the future.  I will be in the competitive hunt for a job; a job that is—well—who knows where.  In part because of the “Enron“ state of the economy and in part because of my undetermined state, I have no idea where I want to teach or if I can even find a job.  In a perfect world, I would have learned Gaeilge in the four months I was here, passed the Gaeilge test to be able to teach in Ireland, and been offered a permanent teaching position at the school in which I am currently student teaching.  However, the world is not perfect and, unfortunately, it is time for me to move on from paradise.

“A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles.” –Tim Cahill

There is something special about traveling that connects strangers at a quick pace.  Maybe it is knowing that the journey is finite—there is an imminent end to it—that makes us want to get to know one another faster.  Perhaps it is knowing that the people on your trip are the only ones you can truly relate to in regards to your experience.  They have the same stories to share because you shared them together.  They understand the beauty and the downfalls of the trip.  It’s similar to best friends having a whole conversation of inside jokes—no one except them fully understands.  I think it is a combination of knowing the trip is short-lived as well as only sharing the unique experience with the people you are traveling with that makes people become fast, hopefully life-long, friends. 

A few weeks ago my mom came to visit me.  We did a two-week CIE tour of Scotland and Ireland, where we traveled to beautiful places and met some wonderful people.  We shared many fun and funny incidents, we had some deep heartfelt conversations, and we enjoyed each other’s company.  In nine days I found friends that I now refer to as family.    We have inside jokes that I try to explain to others, yet it loses its hilarity—even to me—as I try to explain it.  Saying, “watch your Stef” as someone trips or “sin e dúirt sí, baby!” aren’t as funny if people don’t know why you are saying them.  When I laugh it may even scare them a little.

I started today’s blog with the quote “A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles.”  I cannot agree more with Tim Cahill.  If I measure my CIE tour or student teaching journey in friends, then there is nothing that can beat it—for I have truly met some of the most wonderful people.