A full life on the island.

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Dublin Lesson Number 2: Don’t be deceived by the country’s relatively small size. It will take you longer to get where you are going than you expect.

Irish phrase of the day: “Thanks a mil”- means thanks a million. Example “Can I get a cuppa tea? Thanks a mil.”

[Forgive the GIANT entry, I need to update more regularly to say record everything.]

For more pictures see here:http://www.flickr.com/photos/96341639@N04/

A bit on work

My placement is incredible. As I’ve said before, Headway works with clients who have acquired brain injuries. Face to face this means people lives have been dramatically changed in an instant, be it from an accident, a stroke, or illness. For example one man used to be a marvelous chef and lived to cook, was in an accident and lost all passion for food and completely stopped cooking. It was only through his work at Headway that he is gaining back interest and has now is in the early stages of opening a cake shop. I tried one, it was delicious. Another chef (coincidentally), has lost most of his ability to speak, has impaired cognitive function, and also has limited mobility. He trained in France. He was in a motorbike accident 30 years ago. He spent most of that time in the equivalent (as I understand it) of an asylum. He has improved dramatically since being at headway and now with help is writing his own cookbook.  The stories go on and on of men and women who would have been written off as useless or unable to have any quality of life but now achieve goals that astound me. I am slowly piecing together how the program works. I started on Tuesday at the Donnybrook location. We did art therapy, film appreciation, quizzes, current events and more. My primary role is to interact with the clients, and I am gradually being handed more responsibilities. Wednesday I went on an outing with the Manor street group to the National art gallery. One of the biggest struggles I am having is figuring out where to set boundaries. For example inhibition can be affected with brain injuries, especially when there is damage to the frontal lobe. This can result in social inappropriateness like not knowing what comments are too personal, what may be hurtful, not knowing when to stop talking, etc. So when do I let a client go on talking and when to I ask them to stop? It’s a line I’m learning to walk. One man is very good at getting people to argue with him. It is quite a talent. He goes straight for the big topics- politics, religion, poverty, social hierarchies and the like. Even things I’ve never had strong opinions on, I find myself wanting to argue for just to dispute his bold claims. But what can you do? Many of the clients have aphasia (disturbance of the comprehension and formulation of language caused by dysfunction in specific brain regions) or other issues with speech and in combination with differing accents I often struggle to communicate with them. I know it is very frustrating for them and it is for me too but I know I have to be patient. Thursday I was back at Donnybrook and we did working with words (essentially some tricky grammatical things), crosswords, more quizzes, and even some gentle yoga. Today I was at the Clontarf. I was half an hour late with some bus confusion. I didn’t know which stop to get off at. We did more film appreciation, had a session on the different parts of the brain and how they can be affected by injury, and more art therapy. I eat lunch with the clients and work from 10am to 3pm, though I have been staying later. I swear almost all of the clients could be stand up comedians. I’ve never known a group of people with as many well timed jokes. It’s always a laugh.

A bit on not working

Last Monday was a bank holiday so no work. But there was an all women’s mini-marathon (10k) going on that started at UCD and went to city center. Consequently the buses weren’t running from UCD. So we walked the route along with the runners. It felt like people were cheering us on as we went. It was a wonderful day to be out and around all the community that came out in support. We spent the afternoon in a crowded St. Stephen’s Green.

I have gotten lost plenty since being here. I will be so confident in the direction I am going I think, “I’ll just keep walking till I recognize something”. Turns out that doesn’t work out so well when you are walking in the complete opposite direction than you think. Then you just keep walking and walking and two hours later you spot a map, and realize your mistake. It happened. More than once. So now I downloaded an offline map app for my phone that I can highly recommend (Maps with me pro). 

I got a bike. I was determined to buy it before work on Tuesday so I didn’t have to pay for the bus. But the bike shop on UCD campus didn’t open till 9am (work started at 10). I wanted to be at the bike shop when it opened. So naturally I didn’t get there till 9:25 and there was a line. I grabbed this wonderfully old junky bike that happened to be the cheapest pre-owned bike they had. By the time I get to the front of the line it’s almost 9:40 and I’m not really sure where I am supposed to go for work. So when the guy at the counter asks me if I want to ride it around a bit, I hurriedly say no, that as long as it works, I’ll take it. Well it turns out it is comically small for me so my knees brush the handlebars. And makes very loud noises. But hey, it DOES work. Today I even figured out how to switch gears and sometimes the chain doesn’t even pop off said gear. So I’m going back to the bike shop soon to raise my seat and purchase a helmet. The combination of working with people with acquired brain injury and almost being hit by distracted driver or sideswiped by a bus (the buses and bikes share a very narrow lane) has really made me wish for a helmet.

I found a bouldering gym to climb at and the people there are very friendly. I have only been there once for an orientation thing, which turns out, was an hour lesson with a coach. It was good fun.  I am figuring out a better route than walking two hours (uphill) both ways from city center.(I stole these pictures from the oracle.)

I’ve been back to Porterhouse brewing co. a couple more times. So far, so good. The “Oyster Stout” is delicious. No worries it’s not flavored like shellfish. There has always been live music. The stage is located between the 2^nd and 3^rd floor so that you can look down on the stage or up at it. I met two guys out on the porch, for the life of me I can’t remember their names, but what’s new? I started chatting with them and they are both from Dublin, and have traveled all over Europe. They directed me where I should as I travel Europe, but it seemed that most of their selections were based on the quality and accessibility of cannabis. Strangely enough they have never been the very short drive the other side of Ireland.

Tuesday I meet this Georgian woman named Magda who is taking art classes from the woman who does art therapy at Headway. We get to talking and when she realizes I have no Dublin friends to speak of she invites me out the park with her and her “Brazilian friend who I will love.” So after confused Georgiany texts describing where to go, I meet up with her… and her 9 year old son. We wound through the streets to this local neighborhood park.  She talked about Americans. She thinks Americans are very confident and loud. She loves that. She works in a barbershop and an American guy came in and asked where she was from. When she told him “Georgia” he said “Me too!” and preceded to talk about his home state for the rest of the appointment. She has a very thick accent but barely got two words in so he never noticed or questioned it. She and her coworkers cracked up laughing when he left. We met her friend from the Ukraine and her friend from Brazil. The three women sat around a park bench as their children played. I listened carefully as they spoke of what it was like to be an immigrant in Ireland. It was fascinating.

The weather has been beautiful and I have been outside any chance I get. I’ve been to St. Stephen’s Green a couple times around lunch hour and wrote this observation:

In reverence of the sunlight

The populous pours into the hedged borders of St Stephens green

Men with beer barrel bellies sit shirtless together on park benches

Spilling their expanses onto one another

Raincoats are spread out as picnic blankets

The gay boy poses prone in the grass-

His designer jeans rolled just above his ankles.

Hair combed and sprayed meticulously. All waves and "hey"s.

Swans amongst flocks of gulls and pigeons swim languidly

Young lovely women sprawl out, hiking up their pencil skirts,

Blazers stripped off, shirts opened one button lower

Just to let the seductive sunlight kiss their skin.

Stretch the lunch hour.

It's not the weekend but

It is a Sunday.

No one should be working, it's sacrilege.

Sore bare feet ticked by the grass

Reminder to not taking life too seriously.

 White daisy flower weeds turn the faces upward,

Stretching to the light.

Eyes close in thanks smiles as offerings.

It's a sunny day in Dublin town

Myra from last week told me to check out a café called “Outhouse” on Wednesday. So I did. I found it the sign and the building and the placard in the front window claiming it was open. But the door was locked. I awkwardly paced by the doorway until two girls ran up the steps and rang a buzzer and I followed them in. A fabulous man sat at a desk in the entryway and asked me if I was there for the dance as well. “I don’t think so… I think I just wanted to check out the café.” “Well there’s really not anyone in there, but go ahead.” Although I was anxious I was determined not back down, so I signed in, sat down in the mostly empty room and quickly pulled out my book which I read (or stared at the same page) with shaking hands for the next twenty minutes. Then the fabulous man from the desk came said, “there’s actually a ‘ladies night in’ going on upstairs; they’re playing poker, if you’d like to join”. So I played poker with a good-humored group of older women (besides the foreign student from Spain). Nobody believed that I was from Texas because I am god-awful at Texas Hold’em. Luckily the only money involved was the split cost of the pizza.

The majority of the group from EUSA enjoys an occasional cocktail hour. There have been a few nights of drinking games. I generally lose never have I ever. If you call it losing. I suppose I think of it as being worldly and leading a full life.

I bought a small pot of light blue hydrangeas for my window. Lovely.

This past Saturday I missed the organized trip to Newgrange because I was running late, so I along with Alaxandria and April, wandered Dublin found a great café near Grafton street and played with the gorgeous lab we met there. Then after more exploring we had picnic at a field in Trinity. As we were lounging in the sun reading, a young fellow ran by calling for us to follow him to a midsummer night’s dream, as it was the Shakespeare Festival. So we did. We sat out on a lawn as Trinity drama students performed their modern(ish) and rather funny interpretation of the classic. We also watched a montage of scenes they called “Willie’s Suitcase”. Then we chatted with all of the actors. Grand. That night friends from A&M came to stay with me: Jenny, Collin, Travis, and Collin’s sister, Megan. We all went out as a group to celebrate Kirsti’s birthday. Among others we went to “The Brazen Head Pub,” the oldest pub in Dublin. 

Sunday was a lazy morning. Then Cat and I walked down to a sandwich shop she heard about, called Juniors. After a nice brunch we walked to Sandymount strand and took the path less traveled (just don’t do it in flip-flops and watch out for the pokey-stinging things). It went along a ridge on the beach. We sat on rocks on the shore and told stories. On the way back we found…. the pub. The pub I will be a local at. It is full of wonderful old men and live music that has no stage and everyone buys each other drinks and sings along. The musicians played a melancholy drunken version of Sweet Caroline with gospel like voices and spoons. Thomas, the owner and bartender, blushed when he quietly told me I have a beautiful smile. All of the these wonderful gentleman instantly had an attitude of “let’s look out for these two American girls.” It was insanely charming and perfect. So we went back Monday. They played us songs and the quiet man in the corner randomly broke out in a Willie Nelson song. The guitar player told jokes for a time that a so raunchy and drop-dead funny I am still debating if I will type them up.  We are also going to keep the location secret as not to fill it with tourists. It was another incredible evening, the best so far.