Over the Rainbows

I am a sucker for signs. And in my book, there is no better sign than a rainbow. It seems to me that years can go by without seeing a rainbow. So, you can imagine how thrilled I am that in the past three months I have seen no less than 4 rainbows, five if you count today's double rainbow. I'll start in the middle of my recent rainbow bonanza. A few days ago I headed down to the sea for a walk and happened upon this breathtaking vista (rainbow #3). The real beauty in this rainbow was the timing. It appeared at a time when I had nothing but time. So I took advantage of that particular luxury we so often lack in today's world and sat my booty down on the beach and just looked. I figured I'd never really just sat and stared at a rainbow until the colors disappeared into the sky. But that day I did.

The rainbows before and after my seaside rainbow were of the more hurried variety, not by choice but merely by circumstance. Today, we were coming back from a morning trip to the countryside in County Wicklow. Mark's uncle was driving (thankfully) and we were on our way back to town so he could go pick up his grandson Sam from creche (aka daycare). So I hurriedly grabbed my camera and snapped a few photos of the rainbow (#4) from the window of the backseat. I had a bad angle on the double rainbow (#5) so you'll just have to take my word for it.
Rainbow number two came back in California on the train between Emeryville and Sacramento. That rainbow came during the calm before the storm of our move. We had taken the train for a weekend visit with my family. The last leisurely visit we would have before the frantic and frenetic packing, loading, and storing of everything we own except a rolling bag and two backpacks.

But I save the first and the best for last, our wedding day in the Dominican Republic. I am a very lucky girl and a very lucky former bride. That rainbow, our rainbow, appeared over our wedding, blessing us and visually confirming what we already knew to be a good thing.


I know, I know, I sound like a sappy, sentimental newlywed. But hey, I told you already, I am a sucker for signs and in my book there is no better sign than a rainbow.

Rugby - Ireland vs. England

"Oh flower of Scotland, when will we see thee rise again..." rings out over the "telly" and I sort of double take thinking wait a minute I thought this was Ireland England we were here to watch, but no this is the pre-Ireland England match that nobody in the pub really cared about between Scotland and Italy, which you had to see just in order to secure a good position for the game that really mattered. And that's not the only benefit of going early, here in the pub there is a real sense of international curiosity as our American and not-American accents are revealed, and we're fielded with questions of ice-hockey and American football, and of course the locals curiosity continues to explore the various ales and lagers of the world particularly Germany and Holland. I listened to my cousins Niall and Myles and there good friend Barry shed light on the fact that "Irish beer is for s**t" and that the Germans really knew what they were doing when it came to beer whereas "the Irish simply push pint after pint of s**t" across the top of the bar". Even England has wonderful micro-brews in all the little towns that they are happy to pour anyone a sample from, but that will be the last nice word I hear of England this evening.


Every day in the papers since we've arrived there has been a debate about whether or not "God Save The Queen" should be played at Croke Park, where the last time an English team played was on Black Sunday in 1920 when the Black and Tans marched into the stadium and started shooting players and fans. 14 People were killed and now here was England to come into Croke Park on the north side of Dublin, the press was speculating about the reaction that stood to come from such a gesture. It was interesting at times and made for some entertaining reading these past few days.


But as the game started and the song was played the Irish cheered and it was clear that day was behind them. One major point in favor of the Irish.

Without getting into the details of the match, the atmosphere was awesome, 100-150 people yelling at a 20-inch "telly". I won't tell you who won, because Brian Fleeton back in Canada has likely searched the TV guide for a station that played the game and again after 37 years of residing in North American countries will learn it isn't being shown, so he'll download as many games as he can get his hands on from the internet which takes a few days.

Ages 3+

Today's entry is all about the train we ride in Ireland. This post is for our nephews Will and Colin who both like trains. If you are not a train person you may feel inclined to skip this post geared entirely towards a 6 year old and a 3 year old.

The Dart is the name of the train Uncle Mark and I ride in Ireland. Our station is called Killiney (ki-LIE-nee).


The trains are electric, so there are wires above the tracks that power the trains.
All the cars on the Dart trains are green.


Uncle Mark and I like riding the Dart train because it is fast, doesn't cost much and we don't have a car.

Seaside Walk from Killiney to Bray

We took a beautiful walk along the Irish sea from our village of Killiney south to the village of Bray today. Lest you imagine a completely serene, romantic walk on the rugged coast, I remind you we are the Fleeton gongshow. Half way through our lovely trek we reached a barbed wire and concrete fence surrounding a coastal golf course designed of course to stop would-be-Canadian-American trespassers. Mark mercifully did not record for posterity my posterior scaling said fence.

Little Old Lady of Bray

So here’s the script from today’s encounter with a local lady of Bray, County Dublin. I don’t think you’ll have a hard time distinguishing my lines for hers so I won’t include that.

“Pardon me, (I try to say pardon rather than excuse because in my head it sounds more Irish) Can you tell me where the Dart station is?”
“Right ‘round the corner up there to the left. They really should put up maps or signs or some such thing around here to help people out.”
“Thank you very much.”
“Yes, it’s just on the other side of this football pitch where people keep dropping their litter. Shameful really and they brought some foreign men in with masks to clean up all the graffiti from ‘round the pitch as well. But as soon as it is cleaned up some other young man sprays his name ‘Doug’ or some squiggly sign (I cannot tell a lie I imagined the artist formerly known as Prince here vandalizing her beloved pitch). They use expensive paints too, silver and such.”
“Yeah, that is a shame. Well, thanks again.”
“And you know it’s the same ones that are coming ‘round and stealing chairs and tools from your storage shed. I tell you, they’ve become very greedy. It’s a very greedy country now. And I went to the police station to tell them they were breaking in and pinching my things and the police just are sitting in their station watching the telly and tell me to get an alarm.”
“Ah”
“And you know they built a new station for the police cost a million or some such. And you’re better off walking because if you get a car and that they fancy they’ll pinch that from you too. The next world will be better than this one. I expect it will be rather more peaceful than my native land. Right then, have a lovely day.”
“Okay, you too.”
Here is Mark’s terribly surreptitious photo of me and my new-found friend.



Mark was highly disappointed that I didn't encourage her to say "they're after me lucky charms."

Driving Miss Katy

Barring a life threatening and/or debilitating injury that prevents me from walking, I have come to the decision that I will never, ever get behind the wheel of car here in Ireland. Bleeding profusely from the head? No problem, my feet still work fine, I’ll walk thank you very much.
Tonight Mark and I borrowed his uncle’s car for a quick trip to the grocery store because it was dark and cold and rainy and because an earlier walk to the village came up empty.
As Mark could tell you from the driver’s seat or as I will tell you now from the safety and comfort of our warm and cozy room, there’s more to it than merely driving on the left side. You must also throw in insanely narrow roads, a stick shift on the left that operates like Islamic script from left to right, round-abouts filled with overly confident drivers whizzing past (though I assume most of those drivers come by their confidence honestly having grown up learning to drive on the left) and road signs in Gaelic. Plus, while I didn’t actually see her, I’m quite sure a little old lady with an unpronounceable name wearing a dowdy woolen suit and thick stockings stood in a dark alley mocking us and grinning like an Irish Macbeth-ean witch showing teeth turned bad from decades of too much sugar in her tea.
Oh, and Mark can’t see for shit in the dark.
Of course Mark did fine with the driving he just had a wee bit of confusion regarding the directions, therefore prolonging my “It feels like I’m in the driver’s seat but there’s no steering wheel and more importantly no brakes agony” of riding next to him for what was supposed to be a quick trip to the grocery for some dinner ingredients. Three rights then a left can easily become two rights then a left especially when you’ve got a totally freaked out, white knuckled wife in the front seat internally chanting a “left, left, left” mantra under her breath in her oh so helpful attempt to keep you driving on the left side of the road. No wonder really that he turned left too soon.
All this for some chicken tikka masala. And it turns out there’s a grand Indian take away just ‘round the corner, no more than a few-blocks walk I’m told.

A brief tale of two Dublins

Dubliners will tell you there is no downtown to Dublin. If you are going to the place that I naturally would like to refer to as "downtown" you are actually going "into town." So here's a picture of the O'Connell Bridge over the River Liffey (not the Liffey River) that runs in the town (far above). The second is an unnamed bridge over an unnamed pond in St. Stephens Green a lovely 22 acre park built smack dab in the middle of "town" during the late 1800's.

Proof's in the Pudding

This is the Irish sea just down the hill from the Irish Fleetons.









And here we are in front of the Irish sea, proof that we made it here safely and soundly if not entirely sanely.