WHY DO I--

KEEP BUYING COOK BOOKS?! well, because it's kind of fun to look at all the recipes and ingredients and stuff. BUT STILL--

Honestly, I've got more recipes than I can possibly deal with right now. I think I've ended up cooking...about four of the now 100+ recipes I've got in these books and cards. I can kind of justify it in that some of them are quite old, and many of them are actually kind of gourmet (well, for me anyway), so the recipes tend to be quite in-depth and expensive to prepare. Also, many of them require, for example, '2 cups of lard.' So yeah. But anyway, I hope to make a few this coming week, and really all of this is for when I'm living on my own / with roomies and I / we get sick of cheap ramen.

On the other side of things, work continues to drag on. I say drag this time because some of these days in the last few weeks have been more than a little depressing. Honestly, pardon my French, but we get so, so much shit in the donations. We have a dumpster that's probably 6 ft x 8 ft x 15 ft, that we all take great care to pack evenly and efficiently. We filled it from 1/3 to over-full over the entire surface in one afternoon last week. 3/5 (filthy, torn, PISSED ON), clothes, 1/5 (broken, rotting, MOLDY) furniture, 1/5 other random stuff. As the lead donations processor (i.e. lifter of the heavy and awkward), I deal with just about all of it at some point. Man...we aren't a dump. Please don't treat us like a dump. Next time, I pack it into a box in my trunk and throw it on your front lawn! AND THEN MAKE MY CAT PEE ON IT!
But honestly, the people working are doing a great job of lifting morale during all this. Everyone is working really hard, making lots of jokes, being extra-nice, etc. It helps so, so much. So enough complaining! And swearing! On to the better stuff!

I haven't been writing quite as much as I'd hoped. The night when Mom and Dad were gone was the afternoon I talked about in the above paragraph at work, and the last thing I wanted to do was anything close to working. Seriously, I'm glad no one else was home, because I worry what I would have done when Mom and Dad would have cheerily greeted me at the front door. This face comes to mind. So yeah, cook super easy dinner and do nothing that night. BUT! the rest of the week has been better. I'm about 1/2 way through that big outline of it all I was talking about. Hoo, this is going to be big. But I'm looking forward to it! This weekend when Mom and Dad are at the Celtic Festival, I'm hoping to just sit down on Friday night, heat up a pizza I bought today, and just write my deliciously cheese-clogged heart out. I plan to get one full chapter done, if not more. So wish me luck!

Unfortunately, I've given up on the Iranian accent thing for my RPG character. I've found there's no way I can do it that either doesn't devolve quickly into something probably quite racist, or is a heck of a lot of work to keep up for the many hours our weekly sessions tend to take. On the other hand, he's already caused several zombies to explode with just the power of his mind (MIND-TAKING comes later, trust me), and flown around using self-made great big bat wings with someone on his back. All-in-all, a good time!

Well, I'm going to go make my lunch for tomorrow. Envy my salami and pepper jack cheese! ENVY THEM!

Movin' along.

H'okay, this time I promise this wont be too long, as their really isn't a heck of a lot to talk about. STILL! Enough for a post. So here we go!

Work continues to roll along. Today I helped a new employee move into his home out near the Riviera. I've never actually been over on that side of the lake (that I can remember), and daaang, I out to drive randomly out there more often. It's beautiful! Based on the houses, likely fairly rich too. Bleh. Anyway, I should climb a hill up there and have a picnic or something. WHOSE COMIN' WITH ME?! C'mon!
Also, Terry, a woman I work with who was hired at the same time as me, picked out a couple of books from the big (you should see it, it's ridiculous) pile she was sorting through and recommended them to me. See, I think that she and I kind of got off to a mediocre start when we were hired, since she was a laid-off nurse with many years of excellent experience and a serious, get-things-done attitude, and I was a fresh-out-of-college guy with no retail experience who generally tended to knock over precarious stacks of donated goods. But that wasn't the bad start so much as just how dang often I tend to do something goofy when I work around her. Just one of those things, you know? Like forget a piece of something, or miss something obvious, or knock something over. Why are the hangers always at my head level?! Anyway, while we generally get along, I thought it was a really nice thing for her to do. The books are The Hidden Messages in Water and The True Power of Water, both by Masaru Emoto. I haven't picked them up yet, but I'm looking forward to it!

The story is moving along, albeit slower now. I've finished the first chapter (draft!), and, after fiddling about with a few false starts, decided to change tactics a bit. I'm now writing an outline to it all, basically a quick prompt to each chapter. I've gotten about five more chapters planned out this way, and it's really helped my codify the story better. I've had all these great ideas about things, and this has been a good way to keep up the enthusiasm while I muck through all of the necessary bits to get to them. Also, on that note, I've got a question for y'all. Would you prefer it that I keep giving you bits of the story and plot as I work on them, or would you prefer me to wait and keep it mostly a secret until a chunk of it is done enough that rereading it doesn't make me facepalm at what I was thinking? I LEAVE IT TO YOU!

On the RPG front, I didn't feel confident to try the accent yet, but I DID give my character a ridiculous awesome mustache, so...yeah. Victory, I think!

Wow. Lots of caps lock this time. Better stop before it gets WOOORSE OH NOOOO--

The bits so far!

Hey y'all! Not a whole lot to write at the moment, but hey, I promised. So! Here's what's going on.

Right now, I'm working on two separate pieces. The first is the story I was talking about in the post last week, which has now reached about 2000 oft-rewritten words.
In a nutshell, so far it's about an old man with a very set, uninteresting life (a secluded fisherman who fishes for survival rather than trade) who, after a bad storm, stumbles across a drowned body in the small harbor where he beaches his boat. He tries to pull it to shore to give a proper burial before the 'body' proves it's still alive in a suitably surprising (still revising this part) way. The formerly dead body says several things in foreign languages before surprising the old man by speaking his own, then collapses into a fit of laughter upon hearing where he has ended up before falling unconscious.
I have a lot more planned, but I don't want to give up too much of this until after I've gotten some of it down, and tt's likely the general plan will change somewhat between drafts. Soon, hopefully, I'll have a version of it to send around to all of ye. It's nothing particularly original, but I think it'll be interesting all the same once it's been fleshed out a bit. Who is this mysterious man washed up on the shore? And what could those odd tattoos over his back and shoulders possibly mean? Should the old man take him in and nurse him back to health?
Well he'd better, or else the story ends here, and I'd be miffed to say the least. >:C

The other is a bit of what's known as 'fluff' for a character I'm working on for an RPG campaign a friend of mine (Max Brooke for all you who came down for graduation) is running this fall. Without going into it too deeply, in RPG terms 'fluff' is character background and explanation that generally has a negligible effect on the overall abilities or mechanics of the character itself beyond how the person playing the character should act (as opposed to 'crunch', which would be all of the character's traits, abilities, equipment, etc. and affect how effective the character is in moving through the world.) It's all done on paper (or in this case, via computer), and it's a load of fun with the
Anyway, the campaign basically has the player taking the role of either a famous legendary figure from history or a modern-day wizard folks who summon and control the hero. The goal is to have them beat the heck out of both each other and various characters the creator has made until one is left as the victor. Some examples of heroes that have fought before (it's one of those 'happens-every-decade-or-so' things that the participants work hard to keep secret from the public) include Hercules, King Arthur, Cú Chulainn, Medea, Gilgamesh, Medusa, and many, many more.
I tried to find something off the beaten path, so I'll be playing as Jābir ibn Hayyān, the most influential Alchemist of the age and one of the first practical alchemists ever to live (remember the Philosopher's Stone from Harry Potter? One of the biiig goals of alchemy was making that, among other things.) Don't feel bad if you don't know him, I didn't either. Real interesting guy though, have a look. Anyway, using the bit I've found about him, I need to write a brief story of his life and experiences from his point of view, filling out the bits that aren't known and generally just making him into a real human character. You know, someone you'd want to buy a beer with after a hard day at work. I'm almost done with the first draft of this, and really enjoying it. I'm debating whether or not to learn an Arabic accent for when the campaign actually starts though. Thoughts on the matter, anybody?

Whew. On to real life! Work continues to grind on at Hospice, nothing real exciting to say there. Tomorrow's likely going to be nuts as people bring in all of the post-Labor day garage sale leftovers, so at least it'll move along pretty fast! Here's hoping for slightly cooler weather. :)

Also had a wonderful time at the Sonoma Mountain Zen Center Bazaar this Saturday. I'd been meaning to go to the center for literally like half a year now (apologies to Kate for that), and it finally worked out. Mom, Dad, and I drove down there to meet Kate, eat some tasty food, gawk at the beautiful, terribly expensive wares, and generally just have a heck of a good time. Mom keeps talking about how it was way out in the boonies, but it didn't feel like we were that far out to me, and honestly I kind of liked how quickly one could get out of the city of Santa Rosa into such lovely scenery. Oh well, hopefully I'll be able to spend the night over there and go to a real program soon.

Today (Monday) Uncle Doug took us out on a tour of the Cobb Geysers and facilities, which he had a major part in building from the ground up in the 80's. It's pretty incredible up there, both in just how pretty the landscape is and in just how much work has been done up there. He says it's incredible in the winter, when the cold air makes all of the steam from natural and built steam releases condense into these huge clouds that just cover the landscape. Could you imagine just walking along a pine valley and having big gouts of mist and steam flowing out from under rocks and dead needles? Sounds amazing, hope I'll be able to go some day. Then we went back and barbequed, which is, in my opinion, the best (and ONLY) way to end a good trip like this one.

Weeelll, I guess that was actually plenty to write about. Think I'll put off finishing that last bit of background work for Jabir until tomorrow, and go make my lunch. Talk to you all soon!


(A Buddhist monk walks up to a hot dog cart. The man selling the dogs asks, "What'll it be, buddy?" The monk places his hands together and respectfully bows his head before replying, "Please, make me One with Everything." Bah dum tish!)

Here's to more than twice-a-year posts.

Hey y'all. So yeah, it's been quite a while. Sorry about that. Hopefully from here on in things will get better. See, I've realized something since school has been finished and the usual great stimulation of 4+ excellent classes and constant good conversation with world-class peers has given way to moving heavy things for a living.

I really, really need to keep writing.

The last post I wrote was a kind of desperate effort of writing something selfish just for ME during the rush of finals, and probably honestly shouldn't have been posted. But hey, there it is, and I'm not going to erase it now. It's just as much an expression of what I need to do than any of the other posts from before, if much more scatterbrained and less well-thought-out. I think the problem with that post was where it said that I don't have the patience for drafting and rewriting. I seemed to think that I suffered from an excess of personal expression and stimulation, and perhaps at Pomona, with classes and friends and high-speed Internet everywhere all the time, I did. Nowadays, where the only reliably great conversations I have tend to be with Mom and Dad (and they are great conversations, thank you Lord for such awesome parents), I really need an outlet for creativity. And, perhaps even more importantly, a criticized outlet for creativity, i.e. someone to look at my work and tell me how it could be better. Teachers and classmates did that before; now, when all of my writing tends to be more story and less academic, there hasn't been much in the way of any real advancement. I'm a harsh critic of my own work, so at least I have that to help my writing improve, but you all know that peer review is an immensely superior means of making progress. That's why all the good schools and universities promote it so much.
So far, the only things I've ever posted were a few pieces of (awful) poetry to an online art site called DeviantArt (a completely public site that's not nearly as bad or dirty as a name like Deviant Art would suggest), so a lot of work has either sat and rotted on my computer or been erased altogether. I've met a lot of good people there (including more than a few I know in real life) who liked my older work, and push me to do more of it, and I've just generally hemmed and hawed with half-assed promises. It's cringe-worthy to me to think I've waited this long, but now I think I've finally realized just how much I need to write to stay happy.
Well, tonight, I sat here in Dad's massage chair and wrote about 1000 words of a story I've wanted to write for some time. I revised it and looked at it along the way, so it took me quite awhile (comparatively) for those 1000 words, more than a few hours. And I had to stop myself to make sure I took a break. I'm in better spirits and I have more energy than I've had since summer began. Heck, I felt good enough to write a blog post.
So, I've got a deal for you all. I promise, here and now on my sacred honor, to write at least one blog post every two weeks for the foreseeable future. In return, you all put up with posts that may be filled with ramblings on what I'm writing IN ADDITION to what's generally going on in my life. Aaaand I'll even promise to make the quality of the posts to come much better than these last two.

So what do you say? Sound good?

Because, sometimes you just gotta write.

(Bit of a warning: a different flavor of blog post than the usual ahead. I'm just sick of not seing anything new here for so long.)

You know what I mean? The thing is, it’s been a damn long time since I’ve felt anything close to this; the inch of dust in my blog can attest to that. Just about the entirety of my writing creativity recently has been taken up with character back stories for the various DnD, Dark Heresy, and other RPG campaigns. And believe me, it’s been a lot of fun, and more than a little enriching for ideas on actual characters to write. Invariably (though I am unsure as to whether it is how they are written or how I act them out), they are well remembered amongst the group. Or, to perhaps be closer to the truth, each of them stands out quite clearly in my mind, and a few of the more ridiculous ones in the minds of friends. Vertson, the first and the unspeaking (due to my shyness) Avenger; #4, the sociopath assassin out for the greatest good of mankind (one of the most fun to play); Michael, the empathetic ghost with a phobia of cars (no comment); Kaidhar, the big fuzzy guy with the shield and too many morals (and tragedies, I do love dem tragedies); Dario, the smooth talking degenerate (not as fun as it sounds) and his eternally pissed-off hunter, Xandric (more noir than you can shake a knuckle-duster at); and finally Yk’Syrk, the giant bug with a taste for…well…anything it can find (and anyone, but keep that on the downlow.)

But for goodness sakes, I‘ve gotten off-topic. See how easy it is for me to spend way, way too much time on these guys? And that’s even mentioning Nerezza, the NPC with more back-story than each of these guys combined. Man, that was a good night for writing. Now, I’m getting something similar, most likely because of the amount of homework I have yet to do and my less-than-useful presence in concern to the group I’m working on my senior project with. But let’s not talk about that, ‘s despressin’. No, instead, let’s talk about what any of this can mean.

Flat out, it’s what I enjoy doing. But also, I flat-out don’t have the patience for it. Draft after draft, fixing, revising…it’s just beyond me. Tell you a secret? I haven’t written a draft that wasn’t required for a paper since middle school, I kid you not. Any time a teacher even pushed us to make an outline, or brainstorm, or come up with a plan, I just basically through down a few ideas on a piece of paper, promptly lost it in my backpack, and started writing. This is not to say that my grades haven’t suffered from such habits, especially now that I’m past high school. As it stands now, I’ve just got the last big paper to write, and then every piece of writing I do after that can be my own. I think, maybe if I get to choose exactly what I write, I’ll enjoy it a lot more. But the worry still remains, the same thing I thought about when making things in sculpture class last semester: I have this preconception (or perhaps misconception is closer) that writing or creating art for money somehow erodes the quality of said art. No, quality isn’t the right word; spiritual fulfillment? Inherent worth? Bah, something closer to those two. The point being, any serious writing would probably be enjoyable until about week two, after which I start complaining and go play Wii. Am I doomed, then, to only writing character backgrounds and half-stories?

A chunk about meditation.

Hey everybody! I wrote this recently for my Japanese Philosophy class. Part of this class was taking part in a session of meditation, to better get an idea of the mindset of the prominent thinkers who were so influential in the Far East. The first one was required, but each one after was voluntary, and I've tried to go to each. Since it's been such a big part of my life over here (and since I enjoyed the class so much), here's the paper.

Zazen reflections.

Having tried meditation before and not gained any particular aptitude or benefit from it, I was less than confident that my experience with Zazen would be any different. I viewed the stories of the clarity and interconnectedness it was supposed to bring in the same way I viewed stories of Christian religious experiences or moments of rapture: not impossible, but nothing I had ever gotten even close to experiencing. I had no specific beliefs when it came to spiritual existence beyond the material, but like a good philosopher, I didn't deny the possibility of it either. I didn't have any evidence against it existing, and the evidence for it existing did not convince me. So, like the question of the existence of God or the mind's exact connection to the brain and body, I sort of left it as another one of those questions that I may not come to know the truth of in this lifetime.

Before coming to this class, I had had very little experience with Eastern philosophy as a whole, much less specifics in Japanese. Of course, I knew the stereotypical views of the importance of honor and of the connectedness of one's action and one's philosophy. I knew about chi flow and the importance of ritual actions and fitting in with society. Anime and kung fu movies had taught me that much, at least. But it was not until taking this class that I realized how similar, yet strikingly different Japanese philosophy was compared to my Western experience, and how it all came together in Zazen meditation.

The biggest change revolved around the abandonment of what was, to me, a very basic tenant of existence: living by means and ends. I knew Kant's Categorical Imperative about not using other people as means to your own ends, and treating each person as a morally significant, thinking agent; but adopting the same stance to every aspect of my life seemed impossible. My pencils could not think or reason; the furniture in my room could be ‘happier’ or ‘sadder’ based on where it was placed. These things were only there for me to use. To take care of, true, but only so they could serve me longer before they were replaced. Animals, of course, were different, as were plants, but not objects. Yet, with this new (to me) idea of their perfect ‘oneness’ with the world, of undivided activity and existence exactly as one is meant to, my views were placed into question. While I had never really felt like I fit in with anything in the world, no object, animal, or plant I had seen had ever looked like it did not have a purpose. And more so, a purpose it had any trouble at all achieving. This idea of undivided activity and existing as I was meant to both as myself and as an infinitely interconnected being greatly appealed to me.

Yet I was still missing the point. I wanted to meditate because I thought it would make me a better person, or fix what was wrong with me. I was doing it as a means to an end, not because it was what I was meant to do. It made me concerned when I didn’t seem to be improving, and this only made it harder to stay focused in the present. Any song I had heard stuck was played over and over, and all the worries and cares of the day stirred with the stillness of reduced activity. Trying to stay still and focused for even ten minutes left me achy and sweaty, and I only grew more worried and frustrated. It was not until our first group session that I was able to change this pattern.

It was still uncomfortable, and I was still tense, perhaps more so since I was worried about disrupting everyone with a sudden sneeze or unconscious twitch. But there was something there that wasn’t when I was alone. It’s hard to say exactly, but I think it had to do with everyone sitting together all focused on the same process. We were sitting there by choice, together, all focused on the same activity. Though separate, we were joined by common purpose, shape, and ideal. I’m not sure why, but it made it easier to remain still and focused for the entirety of each 10 minute session, and I left that night a bit stunned at what I had been able to accomplish. I had only gotten the barest idea of what Zazen meditation was supposed to be, but it turned out this was the crucial point I had been missing.

After that, I sat unfailingly twice per day, right when I woke up and just before going to bed. With the memory of that first session, I continued to improve. And, imperatively, I noted the improvement but did my utmost to not feel prideful or egotistical about it. I kept the mindset that this was just what I should do, what I was supposed to do. Soon, I could sit for 15 and even 20 minutes with very few interruptions or stray thoughts. I was very aware of my surroundings and of the time and was not achieving anything close to Samadhi (true emptiness/oneness), but it was still getting easier, and I kept at it. I continued going to the group sessions and renewing that initial feeling from the first time, even as the class size began to shrink. My ritual was as close to the same as I could make it each time, with the lighting of incense, sitting in lotus or half-lotus, deep breathing and swaying, and eventual stillness soon becoming close to effortless. And in truth, I think it did help me in my everyday life. I began to notice that I was more patient in my social interactions, and more relaxed in what would have otherwise been very tense situations. I took the idea of impermanence to heart, and could even deal with the bigger things with calm and focus.

Unfortunately, this attitude did not last forever. Stress builds up over time, and this world always has another crisis or two to pile on. My mind became busy again, and fewer group sessions over the break made it harder to achieve the same level of focus. Yet here, I think, came one of the biggest breakthroughs. Whenever something like this would happen in the past, it would get me extremely frustrated, usually enough to put me off the activity for a while. This had happened a few times with learning guitar and practicing basketball, and countless times playing video games. This time, I only examined where I was, and continued to sit twice per day same as I had been. Since I was not trying to get better, I could not get worse either, and ‘losing’ some of this skill was not a world-ending occurrence. I could still do it, if not as long. Any frustration that popped up only made me smile and chuckle; what point was there to getting frustrated about something I did entirely by choice and could still do? Sitting was just one of the most versatile ways to go about it. If it ever became the case that I couldn’t do it for whatever reason, there were other ways to meditate besides sitting in lotus. But that is for the future to say. All I can do now is keep sitting and living in the present.

If anybody has questions, I really enjoy talking about this, and I'd love to answer them. I know this is kind of a cheap way to write a blog with just copy/paste, but finals have been seriously sapping my creativity lately. This is also kind of my excuse for not finishing the Galway blog, but that just means I can tell you the rest when I get back!

Two weeks left! It's gone by so fast....

Galway (part 1)

(though this says Wednesday 28th, it wasn't posted until Saturday 1st, so don't believe the lying blogger date attachment.) :)


So, in the aftermath of the Icelandic volcano making it very difficult to travel anywhere by plane, I decided to just explore the bits of Ireland that I had only seen in passing. One city in particular caught my attention.

Though we had stopped in Galway after our trip to the Aran Islands, we had only spent about an hour or two; it was really just a glorified rest stop to most of us. Still, even in the brief time I was there, the beauty of the architecture and the laid back feel of the city (even for Ireland standards) left a lasting impression in my mind. So, I thought, why not head back and actually get to know the place a bit? I researched a bit, found a good hostel and made reservations. On Dad's advice, I took the train (thank you, student discounts!) and with only a short ride and a few transfers, I was standing in the usual Irish rain outside the station. Thankfully, the hostel was right across the street, so I made my way through the traffic and sea of umbrellas (some kindly held up above my head, some needing to be ducked under) and pressed the button to be buzzed into the building.

After a bit of explanation that I was not, in fact, Scandinavian as the hostel's reservations computer described me, I carried my duffel and backpack up to the second floor (the third floor to us Americans, since the Irish set floors as Ground-1st-2nd-etc) and met my roommates. Interestingly (and a bit disappointingly) all were American, with two girls on vacation from their study abroad in Spain and two guys on a Europe backpacking trip. They were fairly typical Irish week visitors, angry at the weather and anxious to get to the pub, but still nice people. We got along well, and traded stories of our overseas experiences, and I shared advice about Irish pub etiquette and good drinks to try. Like most college students, they were more interested in quantity than quality though, and nightfall saw me nursing an overpriced but delicious pint of Bulmers cider while they downed whatever was on tap. Though I eventually convinced them to try Guinness, I think they were too used to conventional American beers, which are generally less potent and flavorful than Irish brew. The pub we had gone to was very tourist oriented, with loud American live music and rather stereotypical pub decor (instruments hanging from walls, an actual stage for the musicians, and overabundant light sources), and was generally the kind of place I would avoid in favor of a more homey, traditional place; all the same, it was a very fun night.

The next morning, after an uncomfortable shower in the co-ed bathrooms, I was ready to hit the streets. Galway has quite a reputation for being a great walk-about city, and it did not disappoint. A particularly well-known street (Merchant's Street, I want to say, but don't trust me on that) has been closed off to road traffic for decades, and can always be counted onto have plenty of great stores and cafes; but what caught my attention was the sheer number of street musicians. Cork has it's share of musicians, but I saw more on this street in a day than I had the rest of my stay in the entire country. Singing, playing instruments (sometimes plural per person), and dancing, entertainers of all ages and skill levels lined the edges of the streets. Earlier that day, I had gotten into a conversation with an older gentleman who had said that, though the economic depression had hit some very hard, the loss of the stress caused by having the intense jobs of the recently ended Celtic Tiger period of Ireland had allowed some people to pursue hobbies and other interests that they otherwise wouldn't have had time for. This did not mean that times weren't hard for them, or that they weren't trying very hard to makes things better; but rather, they were choosing instead to take this period as a bit of an extended vacation, and making the most out of the time they had. I, who feel like I waste altogether too much time in less useful enterprises (video games, among others) felt a lot of respect for that.

After treating myself to a nice dinner, I decided to walk the other side of town, that which runs along the dock and the beach. Traffic thinned out as I moved away from the city center, and by the time I reached the edge of the bay, I was alone apart from a few evening dog walkers. The sky was that beautiful silvery color that comes along on overcast evenings when the air is clean and clear, and the breeze blowing in from the ocean, water birds hung suspended in it like they couldn't care less if they ever made headway, smelled of salt and ship's petrol. It took a bit of walking to get away from the levees and small boats docked alongside it, but as I continued on, a peculiar thing happened. You know how there are some special areas in the world, different for each person, where you just feel utterly at ease or connected to the world around you? A part of it, rather than an outside consciousness or an intruder? In a class I had recently taken, I learned that the Japanese Zen garden is created with a similar goal of connectedness in mind, but I could only grasp the idea on a superficial level. As I walked along the extended concrete pier that jutted out into the bay, I understood exactly what the professor meant. I had felt it before, usually on top of mountains on hikes I had taken with Dad, or when all of the family is gathered together like for Christmas or Easter, but now having studied it, I think I understood it a bit more than before. When I reached the end of the pier, I had a seat on the provided concrete ledge near the water, and...just sat. An hour passed very quickly, and I realized how late it was by how dark it had (suddenly) gotten. I started back reluctantly, pausing only when I noticed a a small plaque upraised on the end of the seat I was had been sitting on. Unfortunately, now as I dig frantically through the clutter on my desk for the scrap of paper on which I had written the title and author, I cannot recall the exact wording of the poem inscribed there. Internet searches are not proving helpful, no matter how I word them. All I remember is the name, "Galway," and that it was a war poem about the Troubles of the past century. I would learn later that there was evidence of ancient people fishing and living in this area well before the Ancient Egyptians started thinking about building the periods, and that the land had changed hands and been reconstructed many times over its existence. But there, with the wind and sea so close and the birds overhead, I feel that I got a taste, just a small piece, of that ancient history beyond human contact, when it was just the sea and the beach and the birds. I think I will remember that feeling for the rest of my life.

By then, unfortunately, it was starting to rain, and visibility was getting pretty bad. As I walked back to hostel, I thought I would like to return to this place some day, after I had gotten few more years of experience through me, and sit in that same spot if it's still there.


I meant to write about all of my trip in this entry, but it's getting a bit long. I hadn't set out meaning to write so much! So, I'll finish writing this very soon (and I mean it this time! It will be done!), and talk to you all then.