The Bebes

I'm a cat person.  I'm also an over-zealous cat mom.  I have two, Chloe and Henry.  They are frequently subject to snapping photos, much to their...well, I doubt they really care all that much.  I care, though, and am just crafty enough to put my affection into a silly video, via Microsoft Movie Maker.  It's not the best music editing you'll find, and some of the video clips are really dark, but it still works for 11 minutes of entertainment.  I hope, anyway...

Edited to add: Some of these video clips within the movie are despairingly dark, and at times they are 2 minutes or more.  Just enjoy the music, I guess.  Ugh.   

Road Trip

As you might have guessed from all my blathering on about my lack of experience in the archival world, my resume is a little thin.  So, I like to beef it up with "Professional Development".  When a workshop, seminar, conference, etc. shows up at a reasonable distance and for a reasonable cost, I'm there.  Ideally, my attendance to these events are for networking, but inevitably, I only chat with those at my table, and we're not exactly exchanging business cards.

This event was no different, but still very enjoyable.  It was about two and half hours due East, so I had to be up pretty early, which sucked, but that also meant traffic was light.  That was a good thing, since I had just come to the Cuyahoga River as the sun came up, and the mist coming off the river was just astounding, so my eyes were off the road momentarily.  


Really.  It was just for a moment.  

I showed up early to an event for the first time in, well, ever.  It was only about 15 minutes, but enough time to refresh, and fill up on coffee.  (The caffeinated of which was quickly exhausted; all that was left in the afternoon, during the post-lunch drowse, was decaf.  Sigh.)  

The workshop was put on by the Society of Ohio Archivists and the Ohio Historical Society, whose Digital Services Team presented Digitization 101.  I loved that this presentation was essentially a step by step discussion of how to develop and put up online collections, according to what worked for OHS.  I had read a book recently on creating online exhibits, but it mainly focused on tools and options, not on project planning and selection criteria.  Much more comprehensible for me, I'm considering revisiting my family photos collection and applying these steps (obviously the scanning is already done, and I won't necessarily have a content management system to use), such as project proposal, budget, logic charts, and metadata.  See the things I get excited about?  I don't know.


Copyright, presented by a very upbeat and charming Michelle Deis, who owns Inspire Information Services, LLC that provides copyright services to libraries and other organizations, cleared up some of the mist that blinded me when it came to this complex legal issue.  I say "some" because frankly, without full time dedication to studying copyright, I'm not sure I'll ever figure it out without handy sources, like this chart by Peter Hirtle (which may not be the same link offered by Ms. Deis, but I don't have my notes nearby).  One thing I know, copyright is not the only thing archivists need to consider when debating what to put into online collections.  Publicity rights require permission from the subjects of photos, even if the photographer signed over copyright to the archives.  You either do the legwork, take the risk, or just post landscapes.  We all want online access to everything, but it's not always so easy to accommodate the masses.  

Copyright isn't any less intimidating after this workshop, and so my blog posts have included fewer and fewer pictures.  One man's creative freedom stems another...

It was a good workshop, and I met a current MLIS student, and an archivist who works at a university just across the river from me.  I enjoyed my conversations with them, and wouldn't have minded more breaks so that we could have talked more.  Either way, it was a day filled with some great information, and I'm all about that.

Quota

I'm definitely hit or miss when it comes to the frequency of my blog posts, and September was surely a miss.  But here we are on the last day of the month and I refuse to let it end without a word or two.

The momentum on the job hunt so far has not picked up the way I had planned.  I have applied to two opportunities, both temporary gigs.  That should demonstrate some progress; previously I questioned the value of incurring the expense to move for a job meant to last only six months.  It's still tough to overlook that practicality, but I'm developing a more open mind.

I put that open mind to use this week designing a workout.  I'm a fitness enthusiast, and I sometimes devote too much energy in that direction.  I often think that I would thrive in a fitness archive.  I imagine collections of photographs and film from various workout programs (audio, too, because exercise programs used to air on radio, from what I understand), research on fitness trends, personal papers of fitness professionals, and even artifacts, such as equipment, including those gadgets seen on late-night infomercials.  What an interesting archive that would be, to me.  

It's amazing to imagine all of the stuff, for lack of a better term, that a company, let alone an entire profession, accumulates during its history.  Let's take one exercise-related company, such as Beach Body, of Turbo Jam and P90X fame.  Think about the materials Beach Body generates: financial records, inter-office communication, advertising, customer service emails, mail, documented phones calls, etc.  Someone has to make sense of it, and depending upon the size of the company, a whole department is likely devoted to developing a program to keep it in check.  While this usually falls into records management territory, records management is a cousin to archival administration.  And I wouldn't mind crossing those family lines.  After all, there is something called the records life-cycle, and at one point on that cycle, records become inactive and then archived.  It's all relative.  

And this is just another fantasy of what I might someday like to do as an information professional.


Hey!  I met my September blog post obligation.


Check.
 

Reappraisal

Last week was stellar.  I received more mail than I have in recent years (thanks to electronic bill pay and the like), most of which I threw away and some, although it made me hang my head in frustration, I will keep.  You see, I received a sum total of three rejections last week.  Actually, two were via mail and personalized, and one was via email and very obviously an automated "thanks, but no thanks".  Considering I had only four or five active applications, these three really dwindled my opportunities, and even before I've gotten an interview.  So, I've come to a conclusion.

I suck.

Okay, maybe I don't suck, but maybe I need to do things better.  It has been nine months since graduation, and this is a depressed economy; I can't expect miracles here.  But it will be a miracle if I do get a job -- or even an interview (is that so much to ask?) -- if I don't step up my game.

I tend to try to tackle things on my own and, if I can't, I don't do it at all.  I have a stubborn independent streak that obviously needs a little bending.  So, it's time to ask for help.  I'm a shy little thing, so networking makes me cringe a little in horror, but I'm working on it.  I will check out what the career center at my Alma Mater can do for me.  I will more actively follow advice given in the past.  One such bit of advice was to become active in the Society of Ohio Archivists.  The only reason I hesitate to do so is that I don't plan on staying in Ohio (unless an awesome opportunity knocks...doubtful!) and I am unsure if I can commit to anything long term, which is the reason why I also back off from volunteering.  But you know what?  I've been hunting for a job for almost a year now; who's to say I won't still be here in six months or longer?  I'd never accomplish anything if I let something that might happen get in the way.

I am also going to ask -- nicely -- for feedback from some of the institutions that found me unsuitable for their positions.  I think it will be a great way to help me to become more suitable in the future.

And then, fine (fine!), I'm going to up the numbers and apply to more jobs.  I know I said I don't agree with that strategy, and I will still be generally selective (what good will I be to an organization if I just want the job for job's sake and am not really invested in it?), but I will open my standards a bit.  Yes, I will.  I've just got to.

So, yes, this past week was a stellar one, and very dispiriting.  But I never forget that while I search for that first position in my chosen profession, I am lucky enough to have a full time gig to pay the bills and the student loans (many job ads require as a qualification a demonstrable commitment to public service, and when I think about the amount of money I owe for a library degree -- one of the ultimate public service professions -- I'm pretty sure that alone demonstrates commitment).  

Now time to beg at the feet of those who turned me down...

Crafty

My posts have dwindled significantly since I started this blog and, well, there is no reason other than sheer laziness.  Wait!  Maybe I should say that I have been directing my energies elsewhere.  That sounds better, doesn't it?  I mean just last week I decided to see how many of the books on the recommended reading list from the exam handbook of the Academy of Certified Archivists I could locate at my local libraries.  I'd like to become a certified archivist in my near future, and if I don't get that first job soon , I may even consider getting a probationary certification until I get the required year or two year experience in the field, so let's just say I'm starting to study early.  (Or, it's just, I like learning, maybe too much.) 

I've been able to locate about a dozen of the suggested books and manuals.  I've read one already and am pretty well through the second.  The second is a manual, Preservation and Conservation for Libraries and Archives by Nelly Balloffet and Jenny Hille.  While it's not meant to be read cover to cover, but instead to be a reference for the practicing archivist and librarian facing preservation issues, I have read it cover to cover, because I'm just like that.  And I'm not yet practicing.  It brought back some of the interesting techniques I learned in my conservation class during library school, a class that was way too short for all of the material to be covered.  It also provided me with a set of tools that the professor awesomely was able to secure for us for free: Brushes, X-Acto knife, mini spatula, and a bone folder, my favorite.  

A tiny arsenal, to be sure, but a good start.  

At any rate, reading through the preservation guide, I decided to try one of the techniques.  Among other things, Balloffet and Hille describe the construction of simple enclosure in which to put archival materials for protection.  We saw samples of these in class, but now I wanted to try my hand at making one.  I chose the Kyle wrapper, a book enclosure.  And the book to measure?  A 1909 copy of poems by Robert Browning.  I have no idea where I obtained this book; it has been sitting on my personal book shelf for years.  It is covered in pencil marks and the binding is coming away from the text block, but otherwise, it's in passable condition.  I considered seeing if the pages needed cleaning, which could be done (in a very time-consuming method), by rubbing an eraser (carefully, in one direction, outward past the page edge to avoid tearing), but there didn't appear to be any dirt marring the pages.  So, I went straight to making the enclosure.

I just wanted the practice of constructing the enclosure.  I didn't have the right environment or materials.  No appropriate and clean work space, just my kitchen table, and the board was of a very skimpy, poster variety.  Still, it was a good start in getting the idea of the work.

This enclosure is made with two pieces: A vertical and a horizontal.  The vertical went off fairly well.  I had to find the direction of the grain on the board, then measure with the binding of the book perpendicular to that.  Math isn't my strong suit, even basic addition, so measuring took longer for me, but I did it.  Yay me.

So, I cut, marked and folded with the bone folder (called thus because it is made of real animal bone), and finished the first stage.

I then moved on to creating the horizontal piece.  There was a small difficulty in that: I was supposed to measure with the binding along the grain this time (this makes folding the board easier), but I didn't, a fact I didn't realize until folding.  The fold is a little bumpy.  I also must have mis-measured a piece here, because this piece does not fit the other piece precisely.  However, it did well enough.

The final product was just a little bit poorly fitted, and the weight of the poster board is not really adequate for good protection, I'd say, but it was a good start to just one of the processes involved in basic preservation.  Oh, and it only took 45 minutes.  (Only?)

The process made me wish that there were local preservation workshops that I could attend and/or afford.  Preservation and conservation are aspects of archival work that really boost my enthusiasm.  

So, what next?  Oh, 19th Century Photographs. 

A Bit of a Pout

My trip to Ireland several weeks ago, and the subsequent documentation of it on this blog took me out of job hunt and contemplating my future mode.  I wasn’t 100% focused on the job hunt beforehand, either, but at least I was making some effort in terms of keeping up with the job ads, the issues, and refreshing my memory on everything that I learned in school.  These past weeks I’ve kept my computer off as much as possible (since the majority of my time at work is spent on the computer, this is not so difficult at home), watched movies, read books, and generally just daydreamed.  It’s not a bad gig if you can get it, but I haven’t been working towards my goals.  Sure, a lot of it is frustration; after all, I graduated over six months ago and I haven’t even had an interview yet.  I find more and more often that I prefer instant gratification, and this wait is a monumental pain in the butt.  Then there is the uncertainty of the future.  I don’t know where I’ll get that next job, where I’ll live, whom I’ll meet, etc.  That should be exciting, and on one hand, it is.  On the other, my knees are knocking.  But we’ve been over this ground before.

  

So, I picked up the Spring/Summer 2010 issue of American Archivist.  I get it as part of my membership with the Society of American Archivists.  When I was in high school and dreaming about becoming a novelist, I never thought that I would be reading professional journals and finding the articles interesting.  I do, though.  I’ve gotten involved in these articles on metadata, processing, and I’ll be turning soon to a case study on archival fund raising.  Case studies are my favorite.  They are able to illustrate to me the issues of the profession better than any research project.  Maybe it’s because they’re more narrative and I’m a big fan of storytelling, but case studies help me to envision real world applications of the skills an archivist must possess to do his or her job well.  As an entry-level archivist with limited experience, I appreciate these windows into the profession. 

At any rate, reading the American Archivist these past couple of days has returned my focus to working towards that new job, my first in the field of information.  I’ve applied to three more jobs in the past two weeks which, for me, is progress indeed.  I still am not convinced that applying to any and every job out there for which I’m remotely qualified is the answer.  I still am not a numbers girl.  My approach may be the wrong one, and I may have no right to complain, but I’m really trying to tell myself that it’s still early days yet (yes, at six months and counting, it doesn’t not --uh, double negative?  Where did I get my English degree from anyway?--feel like early days anymore, but lie to me) and there’s no evidence to prove that my method is so wrong.  Oh, except for that part where I don’t have a job yet.

That’s pretty telling, isn’t it?

Ireland Redux IX: Journey's End

Recently I went through some old journals, and one entry from 2001 detailed a trip to Nashville with my sister.  It turned out, with just miles from our destination, we got very lost.  I had written that I would never travel with her again because we argued hideously.  Well, obviously I had forgotten that resolution...

It was about noon when we left Wicklow for Dublin, which is a little over an hour away, if I remember correctly.  Once we got into the city, guess what?  We got lost again.  This really left me with a bad taste for Dublin, which isn't really fair at all to the city.  Anyway, by some miracle (and after I had to get out of the way of a tram headed straight towards us because I was stopped on the tracks) we found our last B&B.  Only, there was a problem.  The plumbing had failed, so we were sent a few doors down to another B&B owned by the same family.  We checked in and were directed just up the stairs.  Well, just up the stairs actually meant four flights.

 Huffing and puffing (my endurance should be much better than this), we opened the door to a room with a single bed when I expected a double room.  Sharing a bed for a night is no big deal; we're two years apart and shared a bed for years when we were little.  What was a problem, though, was the heat.  This room was a sauna, and there was no thermostat, nor any discernible way to open the window.  We couldn't stay inside for long and went down to the pub on the corner for a pint, which extended into lunch, of which I had a very nice lamb stew.

Afterward, we walked around the block, which we had gotten a glimpse of after parking the car in a garage two blocks off from the B&B.  My sister got the impression that we were in a questionable part of town, but it was for one night.  Besides, not long had we been walking before we arrived at what had to be one of the main thoroughfares.

It was teeming with people, shops, movie theaters, and restaurants.  We had dinner here before returning to the pub for one last drink.  Then it was bedtime, and it would have been very difficult to sleep if we hadn't just soaked some towels and draped them over our faces.

We got a great start the next day.  We were on time and headed in the right direction for the airport.  But you know what?  We got to the airport, but I wanted to fill up the tank so I wouldn't get charged for fuel.  We passed the only gas station near the airport on a one way road and I was in the lane that led back onto the M50, but the wrong way, and it took a half hour or more to get going the right way.  My sister was in tears by this time because she was convinced we were never getting out of Ireland.

But, we did.  The flight was uneventful with the exception of my feeling ill after a margarita on board which made the rest of the journey (JFK to Detroit) home miserable.  It was good to be back, though.  I even unpacked before falling flat on my face into bed.  

It was back to work the next day and life as usual.  Why is it that I always expect life to be just a little bit altered when I return from vacation?  

Oh, and my sister and I decided that we're never traveling together again.  We mean it this time.

Ireland Redux VIII: Wicklow/Glendalough

The breakfast part of our bed and breakfast required a trip up the road to the Wicklow Heather Restaurant.  I have to say it was the best coffee I had had in a long time (and the next day I ordered a bowl of muesli that was perfect).  The full Irish breakfast was definitely prudent on this day, as we planned a trail walk at the Wicklow National Park in Glendalough and would need our energy.  We returned to the B&B to get appropriately dressed (which really consisted of changing out of my tennis shoes into a good pair of hiking shoes and grabbing a backpack with water and trail mix), then headed back the way we came. 

Our hostess had recommended a part of the National Park that was a little farther away, but once we found the first entrance with the Visitor's Center, we swung in...and spent several minutes circling the lot for a parking space.  The place was packed; this was obviously a major tourist attraction.  And why not?  It's gorgeous.

Ultimately, we parked next door in the parking lot of the Glendalough Hotel, which a lot of other visitors did, as well.

I had thought to go into the Visitor's Center to purchase a map, but something about the building deterred me.  Most of it was blocked off, both staff members were already pretty busy, and I didn't see maps on display to purchase, so we returned outside to checkout the trailhead map.  

We chose the Upper Lake walk, a two-hour "moderate" hike.  Well, it went mostly up, so it didn't really meet our idea of moderate.  And because we didn't dress for the uncommon Irish climate of seventy degrees (I really didn't expect to wear shorts, so they didn't make it into the suitcase), we were huffing and sweaty early on.  But, the views really were worth it, even if we were grumpy at the end.

 Feeling a little grungy and beat, but happy to have seen such beauty, we returned to the B&B to cool off, refresh, and not much later, it was dinner time.

We had made reservations at the Wicklow Heather, because it is known for its good eats.  We dressed a little nicer than our normal attire of t-shirts, tattered jeans, and tennis shoes.  I ordered trout, and got the whole dang fish, sans the head, scales and all.  That was a little disconcerting (I really do not fine dine), but it was tasty just the same.  Not as good as dessert, but really, when ever is the main course as good as the sweets?  

Satisfied and full, we went back to the B&B to rest up for our return to Dublin the next day.

Ireland Redux VII: Wicklow

The time came to leave Navan.  We filled up on breakfast, carefully reviewed driving directions to our next destination, and set out mid-morning.  I think it was about this time I let music be played in the car; until now I thought that silence would be the best way to navigate the roads (not that it was ever silent with my sister's running commentary on my driving skills).  Well, the addition of music (from my own mix tapes) actually served to calm me.  I kind of wish I had figured that out sooner.

Wicklow was next on our to-do list.  We both really looked forward to Wicklow because our B&B was supposed to be grand, with rooms that opened to the outside, like our own little flat, and was attached to a really nice restaurant.  There were also the Wicklow Mountains and cliff walks which, thinking we were closer to the coast, I thought meant sea cliffs.  I was wrong, but it was still something to behold.

The 90 minute drive seemed to go by remarkably fast.  We had to stop for petrol, especially since those mountain roads just suck it up, and I was glad I only had to fill up the tank once during our vacation as it cost a pretty penny, even with my small Accent.  

Sure, the roads got narrower and curvier, and my grip on the wheel got tighter, but the sight of the mountains just made me happy.  We passed numerous overlooks and I got so frustrated with myself for not stopping, so when my sister murmured something about how cool a sight was we were passing, I wrenched the wheel over and crossed a lane of traffic to park on the side of the road, which understandably freaked her out.  But still...

 And really...

 This was the place to be for the views, absolutely.  And remarkably, we found the restaurant attached to the B&B with little trouble.  

However, they checked us in, then sent us back to our car to follow a server one mile down the road to our B&B, which was unexpected.  Walking these mountain roads, while likely very common, as is cycling, didn't sit well with my sister and I, which meant we would be driving every where.  Of course, we should have been over the driving issue by now...

The B&B, Trooperstown, is a beautiful house and brand spanking new.  The lawn was still being landscaped, and there was still some finishing touches to be had inside.  We had issues with the keys, both to the house and to our room (which was upstairs and did not have its own entrance, after all), and felt foolish for all the number of times we asked our hostess (who rushed back and forth between the two B&Bs that fall under the restaurant ownership, called the Wicklow Heather), to help us.  I think we might have gotten the hang of it by the fifth or sixth time.

 We enjoyed the coffee and tea room and spent some time looking at the literature there on things to do in the area.  It was at this time that I realized the cliff walks referred to mountain trails in Wicklow National Park.  I made a mental note of a few trails I'd like to try, then studied the road map I finally cracked open more than halfway through the week.  I saw that Wicklow town wasn't far, so we made plans to visit that day and take the trail walk the next day.

After another successful drive, we pulled into a Park and Pay and wandered the busy town.  

It was pizza for us for dinner that evening and a pint at a pub down the road.  Again, no one in the pub, although the lounge and beer garden had a few more patrons.  There was one gentleman, however, who eagerly told us all about his neck of the woods and made a few suggestions about places to visit.  It really made me wish we had more than just two days there.  

As we were driving back to Trooperstown, it was in the rear view mirror that we saw the Irish Sea and had no chance to photograph it or visit it.  

Damn.

Ireland Redux Part VI: Navan Continued

The second day in Navan was set aside to visit Newgrange, a famous passage tomb.  After another hearty Irish breakfast of cornflakes, fried egg, bacon, sausage, toast, and coffee, we headed out for the Bru na Boinne Visitor Center (I would put the appropriate accent marks in, but I don't know how).  Well, as per our usual experience, we got lost.  About forty-five minutes later we nearly gave up when I turned onto a motorway and suddenly signs pointed the way (we discovered that signage in Ireland is hit-or-miss, especially in Dublin).  Relieved, since I really wanted to check Newgrange out, we parked and began a long walk to the visitor center from the parking lot.  

It was chaotic inside.  One of a handful of employees pulled us aside (likely to take pity on us because we looked so bewildered), and slapped two stickers on our shirts as we requested the three hour tour: Newgrange and Knowth.  Each sticker denoted the place and time the bus for each site left.  We weren't home free, though.  We still had to purchase the tickets and take another five minute walk to the bus terminal.  Luckily there was time.  

The drive to Newgrange was a short one, and I marveled at how cool and skilled the driver was on the skinny, bumpy roads.  As we piled out of the bus, Newgrange stood in the distance, 5000 years old with stories to tell.  

Well, in this case, the tour guide told the stories, and she told them well.  Most of the front of Newgrange is a reconstruction, but as true to the original as archeologists can tell.  We were able to go inside, but only after the color of our stickers divided us into two groups, since it is a narrow passage with not enough room for more than a handful of people.  My sister and I were in the second group, so we had several minutes to wander and shoot photos.

  When our turn came, I knew my sister would be nervous about the tight fit, but it wasn't so bad.  It was so much cooler inside than outside (Ireland had a "heat wave" during our week there of 70 degree temps).  The narrow passage opened up into a room with three small chambers.  The guide spoke about the possible uses of the chambers, pointed out some carvings, then smooshed us all into small groups on either side to demonstrate the approximate effect of the sunrise at winter solstice where the sun shines through the roof box (second photo above) and illuminates the whole passage, only one time a year.  Since only a few people can be in the passage mound at a time, they hold a lottery every year to select a lucky few to observe this incredible moment.  For us there was a light bulb to give us the general effect, but it was still pretty neat.

We had about a half hour between tours, so after returning to the visitor center, it wasn't long before we were boarding another bus destined for Knowth.  Knowth is larger than Newgrange, and has several smaller mounds, called satellite mounds, built around it.  Like the first tour guide, the Knowth guide was very knowledgeable and entertaining.  A young man, whom we had seen at Newgrange, walked along with our group and it wasn't long before we realized he was only acting as tourist, as at one point the guide had him (because he "volunteered") go into a hole in the ground and come out further along the path.  I can't imagine they would let just anyone do that, considering the potential liability risk (insurance agent inside of me talking here).  

Again we were able to go into the passage mound, and it was pretty incredible to see the layers of dirt and rock that had been carefully created to hold this structure up.

And though the edges of the mound had fallen over time, the ditches that were used in defense were still intact.

The "official" tour ended and we were on our own to explore.  We walked up to the top of the mound for a lovely view.

I admired the mowing techniques of the mounds...

...and just continued snapping photos until the bus arrived.

I really enjoyed Knowth.  I can't pinpoint why, but I did.  


We ate lunch at the visitor center then headed back to the B&B.  Again we rested before dinner, then headed out to a pub nearby, the Courtyard.  The entertainment book at the B&B suggested that there would be live music at the Courtyard, but we must have gone too early or there wasn't anything scheduled for that night, because except for the conversation and the television, the pub was quiet.  We had a delicious dinner, a couple of pints, and headed back to get some sleep before we started on the last leg of our journey before returning to Dublin to fly home.

Ireland Redux Part V: Navan

Reluctantly, we got back in the car on Wednesday.  We looked forward to the next leg of our journey, but the driving part was, well...

I had directions printed up through AAA and was determined to have no problems getting to Navan, County Meath, which was just over an hour away.  But, twenty minutes into the trip, we took a wrong turn and ended up in this nice, newly-developed area called Blanchardstown.  Since it was lunchtime, we stopped at KFC for a bite (yes, not authentic, but whatever).  I stared hard at the directions while I ate, thinking if I concentrated enough I would figure out how to get back on track.  Foolish, I know, so before we left I relented to the practical side of myself and asked the young men at the table beside ours for directions.  

It seems that we were headed the right way, after all, so a half hour later, we found our B&B without a hiccup.  The hostess' daughter checked us in as her parents were on their own holiday.  We got a spacious room with enough beds to accommodate a family, and a door between me and my sis should the need arise for solitude (which it did after a little argument the following day).  We rested then, since it was up the road, headed out to the Hill of Tara, the royal seat of the High Kings of Ireland. 

The roads to Tara were narrow and curvy, which spiked the stress level in the car, but we found our way without incident.  We made our way across the green, dodging sheep dung (they shared the same ground as the monument), and spent some time admiring the scenery around this ancient place.  

 After about a half hour wandering the area, we headed back to the parking lot.  Large crows weighed down the branches of the trees cawing at us.  It was loud and highly disconcerting.  A nice break from that noise was a gentleman sitting under the bus stop sign singing as he waited for a ride.

We checked out a gift shop, but then braved the narrow lanes back to the B&B where we rested again.  We spent more time than necessary vegging in our rooms, but we were that reluctant to get in the car again.

Once dinnertime rolled around, we walked into Navan to check out places to eat and ended up at a take-away/cafe.  Small and close, it's menu had simple fare.  I dug into a shepherd's pie, with which I ordered fries, er, chips.  That was way too many potatoes.

Afterward, we had a pint at the Stonehouse Inn.  We opened the door, expecting there to be a few people as it was late evening, but there were two men and the bartender watching and betting on horse races.  One chatted with us while we enjoyed our pints (my first Smithwicks, which went down smooth), but then it was time to go back to the inn for the night.

 

Ireland Redux Part IV: Dublin Town

The Guinness Storehouse had so far made our first full day in Dublin a success.  Next on my list to do was to visit Trinity College and see the Book of Kells.  An old family friend had moved to Dublin years ago and worked as a counselor at Trinity, and there was hope he would be able to get us into the Old Library for free.  I called him from outside the Storehouse and we made tentative plans to meet during a very short window of time just before the dinner hour, a short enough window that I knew he wouldn't be able to give us a tour, just say hello.  I hung up, thinking how he had really adopted the Irish tongue, and my sister and I started walking.

We had a handy tourist map of the city and made our way towards the Trinity College area.  We had a couple of hours before we were to meet up with our old friend, so we decided to visit the Old Library and then the Temple Bar area.  We walked for about a half hour and by the time we reached the university, the sidewalks were just teeming with people.  It was a busy spot in the city (I think everywhere is likely busy, though), and in the midst of the traffic, the noise, and mankind stood this old stone edifice. 

We went in through the front instead of finding an entrance closer to the Old Library, and I'm glad we did, because as a result we got to see more of the campus than we might have otherwise.  We snapped some photos then followed the sign to the Book of Kells.  I paid our way (Guinness is more my sister's cup of tea; the history and academia is more mine) and bummed that we couldn't take photos in the exhibit, or the Old Library, we entered the display room.

I admit that I don't know a lot about the Book of Kells, or of illuminated manuscripts in general, but they are things to behold.  The colors, the calligraphy, the age of these are remarkable.  There were videos playing in the exhibit, as well, and one documented book-making, which caught my attention.  What was more interesting, however, was the preservation room we passed on the way to the Old Library.  It was open so that visitors could see the work the staff does in repairing and conserving the rare books at the library.  This is what I would love to do, and imagine doing it at Trinity College!

Afterward, we scoured the offerings in the gift shop, I bought a coffee mug with the Old Library on it, and we went outside to see if we could contact our friend to meet up.  Unfortunately, he didn't answer the call and after about a half hour, we left campus.

Temple Bar is considered a trendy neighborhood full of shops and good food.  My sister and I aren't necessarily the trendy type, but we enjoyed a stop at a wine cafe where I had my second Irish coffee of the trip.  Then it was time to start the trek back to our hotel.  

The walk back took a while.  Some parts of the walk weren't exactly brimming with beautiful touristy sights, such as two teenage boys who broke a bottle over an old drunk man's head and blood dripped into his eyes as he stumbled away in an alley we passed.  Even the alleys and neighborhoods we had walked through on the way to Guinness seemed a little unsavory on the walk back in the dusk and light misting rain.  But, we made it back safely and rested before we decided to cross the street to dinner at an Italian restaurant upstairs of a pub, which we visited after dinner.

We returned to the hotel later that night in good stout spirits.  And an hour later, in our PJs, my sister decided she wanted another pint, so at midnight we went downstairs to ask the porter for a Guinness.

Happy that the second day in Ireland was better than the first, we prepared to leave the city the following day. 

Ireland Redux, Part III: Guinness Storehouse

Once I had gotten over the embarrassment of driving with the emergency brake on in the car rental parking lot, my sister and I set out.  According to directions I had printed from the Hilton website (my sister's kind husband offered his Hilton points for two nights gratis in Dublin), our drive should have taken no more than thirty minutes from the airport to the hotel.  

Traffic lights eased me through my first roundabout, and then we were on the M50 motorway.  But sis started in pretty early with concerns that I was listing too far to the left.  Every time I tried to use the turn signal, I set off the windshield wipers instead.  There were signs indicating a toll road, but no place to pay.  And for some reason, it took a lot of adjustment for me to get comfortable with speed limit signs in kilometers per hour, even though the speedometer was in kilometers as well.  Maybe I was just tired. 

But, we reached Dublin fairly early, so I knew that a bed and shower was only minutes away.  Except, we made a wrong turn somewhere, a very, very wrong turn.  As a result, what I most wanted to avoid occurred: I spent hours driving in the city.  Our hotel was supposed to be on the outskirts of Dublin, so this wasn't supposed to happen.  But one wrong turn became another and soon my sister and I were shouting at each other.  I turned into the wrong (right) lane twice, I got honked at more than I ever have, and it wasn't until a desperate call to the hotel three hours into the nightmare that we cooled it enough to focus on the directions given by the very nice desk person who probably couldn't understand how we'd gotten so lost.  We got to the hotel, checked in with barely leashed patience, and...took a shower and went to dinner.  It couldn't be helped; we were as hungry as we were tired.  And since we'd been up 32 hours, we knew once we went to sleep, we wouldn't wake until morning.

And wake we did, at a nice mid-morning hour the following day.  We promised each other that we would walk or take public transport in Dublin.  We were not driving until we left the city.  So, I got specific directions to the Guinness Storehouse, which was a 20 minute walk through alleys and neighborhoods.  This time, we only took one wrong turn, and then we were there.

For 15 euro, you can visit the museum, which documents the brewing process through multimedia, such as film, artifacts, and music, and receive a complimentary pint on the sixth floor in the Gravity Bar which provides a 360 degree view of Dublin.  

During the self-guided tour, there was also a half-pint sample, and an opportunity to build your own Guinness (which I was too chicken to do).  We ate lunch there, as there was a restaurant and cafe.  I had a very nice Guinness-enriched beef stew.

And my favorite picture from Guinness, because it says "Archive":

My sister spent a few euro at the gift shop and we left the Storehouse very pleased with our experience.  So far, it had been a much better day.

Ireland Redux, Part II: The Plane, the Plane!

I'm sure many would agree that the traveling is the worst part of any vacation.  First, there is the anticipation of reaching the destination.  Sometimes there are hours and even days between point A and point B.  It can be excruciating.  Then there are timetables to keep, luggage to haul, lines in which to grow anxious or bored, small vehicles crammed with the eager, the tired, the crying, and the nauseous.  Once, finally, at that destination, who really cares anymore?  Especially if you've been up all night.  

I was teeming with stress before I even packed my bags.  There was little anticipation, just nerves.  I wasn't worried about flying; I've done so many times and had just flown cross country the previous August.  No, I can't pinpoint what had me so wound up, but I was, which didn't make for an auspicious start to a trip abroad.

So I started that first day of travel frustrated and stressed.  I didn't like that, on a flight that connected three times, we didn't receive boarding passes for the second and third connections.  I really didn't care for the fact that our seats would not even be assigned until shortly before boarding on the first flight.  However, we made it to Montreal without a hitch.  Thank God.

But, wait.  We have to go through customs and check in, again, although we're connecting?  This was the message I got from staff at Montreal although in retrospect I think we could have had a much smoother experience had we found Transfers.  Instead, we waited in line at the Air France desk, time slipping before our flight to Paris was to leave.  I was getting more and more stressed and when we reached the ticket counter, two things happened that made that wire snap inside of me: My sister and I would not be seated together on the international and longest flight because we checked in so late.  What?!  We checked in hours before our plane left Detroit.  Second, we were not confirmed for the flight from Paris to Dublin.  That did it.  My eyes filled and I fell into a right sobbing fit.  I manage to find my confirmation in my paperwork and pass it to a supervisor who moved us out of line while she checked on it.  My sister was looking at me like I had grown horns and when everything was smoothed out and we finished checking in, the ticket lady pleaded with me in her very nice French accent not to cry anymore.  She even let me carry on my luggage although it was slightly larger than permitted.  

Then security.  Okay, I'm good with the new security protocols at airports.  Unfortunately, in Montreal they were essentially patting every other person down, even my sister, which took forever.  In fact, a final call came over the PA for boarding our Paris flight just as we left security, and our gate was far away.  Terrified, we ran until our hearts burst, pushing people out of our way, screaming that we were going to miss our plane, only to see a long line of people boarding and we were just fine, despite the fact that the announcement made it sound like the gate was closing.

Oh, that ash cloud?  It delayed our flight to Dublin for six hours, but that's paltry compared to what people experienced in late April, so I won't complain more than this.  We made it to Ireland.  Yes!

Then we got the rental car.  

Look, I wanted the flexibility of having my own transportation rather than relying on bus and train schedules to go anywhere significant.  But, starting with a very good argument on the part of the service rep for purchasing the extra insurance, which doubled the cost, the experience of driving the rental car was a dark one indeed.  First, I unlocked the door then opened it, only to have the car alarm go off and I didn't know how to stop it.  An employee came over, hit a button on the key ring to shut it off and wordlessly showed me that locking and unlocking the door required only a touch of that button.  Okay, I was embarrassed, but I would live.  I settled behind the wheel, which is on the right, and felt fine with this unfamiliar set up.  Oh, then I started forward and heard the gears grind.  Terrified the car was about the expire then and there, I made it around the corner to the office where a rep indicated me to wait.  I got out of the car and a light went off in my head.  I got back in and saw that the emergency brake was on.  

Well, hell.  

So, we headed off to Dublin...

Ireland Redux, Part I

Above are images from my first visit to Ireland in 2005 that I've briefly mentioned in a previous post or two.  It was a significant trip for me because it was one of those rare projects that I had started and followed through to the end.  For eighteen months I saved, and studied, and kept the fire burning.  I booked the flight on my birthday then waited an agonizing five months more before I boarded the plane.  I went alone which, I suppose, took courage that I never believe I possess.  It was a dream come true, a moment that I set aside from all of the others in my life to pick up and revisit and re-dream.  (My first such experience was the Horde Festival in the late 90s when I saw my then favorite band Blues Traveler in concert.  I remember feeling how profound it was this dream realized.  Then again, everything felt like a big deal when I was a teenager.)  Why, then, wouldn't I want to go back?


Five years ago I went to the West.  I flew in to Shannon and traveled for two weeks by bus to counties Clare, Galway, Limerick, and Kerry.  Here are more images from that trip:

This set of photos was taken at Muckross Abbey, which I had found by accident.  I had walked miles from Killarney to Muckross House and Traditional Farms then cut through the trees afterward to find the exit from the park, and there it was.  It stands beside a lake, and compels one to simply explore in silence.  Other than two men working among the headstones of the small cemetery nearby, no one else was present.  I remember feeling anxious, a tightness in my chest, and not alone.  It was eerie, and something I wanted to recapture the second time around.


This time I went to the East, to Dublin and its surrounding counties of Meath and Wicklow.  It was a trip planned in six brief weeks that almost got curtailed by an annoying Icelandic volcanic ash cloud.  I went with my younger sister, at my dad's urging.  It didn't matter to him that I went alone last time and that I was five years older and supposedly wiser; to him, the world in 2010 was far different and more dangerous than that in 2005.  So my sister and I imagined all of the pints we'd drink, the people we'd meet, the castles and sheep we would see.  No doubt, this would be the best sisters holiday ever planned.


Um, well...