It's been way too long since I've updated the blog. A lot has happened in the meantime, but sometimes it's better to live life than write about it (although it's ideal if you can do both provided you don't simply supply would be readers or followers with the banal minutia of life - twitter?).
Anyway, Juli, Ashlyn, and I will be back in the United States from June 2 - June 30. We are looking forward to seeing family, friends and to taking a break from this amazing life in Ireland. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, then this trip should be good for us in both the coming and the going.
As it's been two years since I was last on the west side of the Atlantic, I recently jotted down a little poetry to reflect on our time thus far.
Not Even An Immigrant
I'm still a tourist in this dirty old town.
I look up in amazement and amusement as I stumble around.
The buildings and abodes, not quite ancient, but old.
Their walls hold secrets of stories told and untold.
The musty smells of damp antiquity on the inside; the smell of cigarettes on the out
Resurrect nostalgic feelings, though I can't quite decipher what they're about.
This city's as young as it is old; witnessed in the architecture and people's faces -
The noble Celt or Norman, or the darker and lighter shades from far-a-way places.
And I'm not even an immigrant - barely a blow-in - hardly a trickle, much less a stream.
But I joyfully slumber on, not yet awakened from the midst of this Dublin, Ireland dream.