Northern Ireland Confidential

mail call

I was away in England for almost a week and I returned to a full mail letter box. This is extremely unusual for me. And what treasures inside!

A postcard from my brother, sister-in-law and nephew from their vacation.

A lengthy, heartfelt, handwritten letter from a very old friend.

A card filled with photos of my gorgeous goddaughter and her family.

Phone calls and e-mails are valued and thanks for those. But to hold those written cards and letters -- ah, there's nothing quite like it. Bliss.

schadenfraude

Come live in Belfast for 1 minute, 28 seconds and share my shameful joy at this video story of parking gone wrong.

This fascinated me for a few reasons:

- That's what you get for driving a big-ass gas petrol-guzzling SUV.

- That's what you get for wimping out with an automatic transmission.

- The video is chock-full chock-a-block with Northern Ireland terms and slang. [Please note pronounciation of "Celica."]

- This bolsters my claim that parking lots car parks are the most dangerous part of operating a car here!

I am not happy that the Porsche Boxster was damaged. I had the chance to ride in one for a good long time last week, and it was quite a thrill.

I would not be as gleeful if someone had been hurt; I do understand that the Porsche driver was treated for shock. Indeed.

Hat Tip: Nelly's Garden

two drivers, two worlds

With my birthday just a few weeks away, and a dear friend coming to spend it with me, I am torn about how to spend 12 July. I've been reading about this Protestant high holy day and polling various (non-work) acquaintances on whether to attend the bonfires and marches or to get out of town because of the street and business closures and the drinking.

Within 24 hours this weekend I received two unsolicited opinions.

poetic justice

I know I was meant to live here when I listen each Sunday to a radio program programme called "Poetry Please." People actually send in their requests for certain poems to be read aloud.

Heaven.

Today's show closed with the reminder that Alfred Noyes died 50 years ago, and so his epic "The Highwayman" was read. This is passing strange since I had been thinking about the poem this very week, as the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.

I first thrilled to this mesmerising (if somewhat grisly) poem as a child, when my dad read it from a tattered copy of his old schoolbook, "Stories in Verse." The things we love in childhood stay with us forever.
 

time warp

Time for a flurry of new posts! Here's the thing: they're actually posts that took place last month, but I'm just now getting round to putting them online. They were written longhand, for the most part, during my trip to England in May.

I'm back in England this week, but these should tide you over. Follow the links to go directly to each entry.

Style Council -- scary outfits recounted

Totally Worth It -- the Paul Weller concert recap

Stairway to Heaven -- in which many people show concern for my health

Cool Rockin' Daddies -- art conquers all  

Dinner, Three Seatings -- I dine with rock stars

me da

Today is the day to honor my dad honour me da -- and your da too.

Having travelled on three continents now, I feel confident in saying that my dad is the best in the whole world. My brother is closing in on second place.

If we were going to organise the perfect day for my dad, he would ride a scenic steam train to a large breakfast complete with fried potatoes, meats, cheeses and gooseberry pie with Dairy Queen ice cream (hey, it's his day). Then a gospel quartet would provide music. The White Sox would be in first place, and all his siblings and offspring (and the three wee grandsons) would be with him. He would watch an "Are You Being Served?" marathon omnibus and would go to bed at 7:30 p.m.

Only a few of these things will be realised today but Dad, I hope you have a nearly perfect Father's Day nonetheless. I love you and I miss you.

kindred spirit

A weblog reader and fellow NI blogger recently contacted me and asked "Should we meet?" This is a brave question because so many times a person is different on paper screen than in real life. (Have we learned nothing from Internet dating?) But not long into the in-person conversation I think we knew this friendship has a shot.

For me, it was when she said she wants to drink a pint in every Cathedral Quarter pub. Or confessed she reads Manuel's blog. Or maybe it was when she talked about painting. Or professed a love of Deane's restaurants. Oh yes, the compatibility factor is high.

A person who has faith and concern for others, and seems creative and content in life -- that is the kind of person I am so grateful took a chance in saying "Should we meet?"

literary circle

How did I come to be standing in a back garden in Downpatrick, drinking Pymm's with eight women I don't know?

A series of fortunate events led to an invitation from a woman at my church -- apparently she is the hub of this longstanding book club. These women don't all go to our church or work together or live near one another. They've come into the group in various ways, mostly through my acquaintance.

The group is not what I expected; then again, I'm not sure what I expected. I haven't been in a book group in more than five years and that one was so beloved I'm not sure any other can measure up. My former group was quite stringent about newcomers (generally, we didn't allow them) so I'm amazed at the warm welcome from these women.

A lovely hostess has set out a sumptuous Thai buffet and we ring the living room, some in chairs, some on the floor, to eat our meal and begin the discussion about the book (which I have not read). Apparently different members have read different amounts of the book, which is very much allowed. The discussion lasts about four minutes; nobody was a big fan because nobody likes short stories (except for me -- they're my favorite form).

being and nothingness

That's just a very existential title for a bulleted list for which I cannot think up a good headline.

• In South Carolina there was a fast-food Mexican chain that I loved, regrettably. It made burritos that weighed about three pounds and caused you to gain about seven. Many were the nights that I called in for these doorstops, which were slathered in cheese. But I put all that behind me (truly -- don't watch me walk away from you, unless you dare to witness the ill effects of all those burritos). However, I have found a reasonable facsimile on Botanic Avenue. The fare is slightly healthier (no blankets of cheese) and I did have to stifle a laugh when I watched the methodical, deliberate preparation of my mega-burrito. Moe's was a high-speed production line. They could move a lot of hungry people along the counter at lunch time. It wasn't pretty. But here, well, the journey is part of the experience. The food was worth the wait. No good can come from this.
• I have gone back to the same place to get my hair cut, because when all was said and done, it turned out to be a good hairstyle. The place itself remains freakish. As I waited for my appointment I sat in the most uncomfortable ladderback chair. That is to say, the back of the chair was an actual aluminum ladder. It was even more uncomfortable than the Frank Lloyd Wright chair at the Dana-Thomas House, but at least that was beautiful.
• Isn't this a lovely tree? According to my arborist friend, it's called a golden chain. (Click to view a larger photo.) It stands right outside my balcony so I enjoy it as I sit outside and have dinner at 9 p.m. in the sunlight. I think of my friend KNS who loves to dine al fresco. She would really enjoy it here.

• Speaking of dining al fresco, the other night I stopped by Deane's Deli for a light dinner. I had the most incredible salad and read Nick Hornby (Nick: call me) and listened to many accents as people walked past. I took a lap around City Hall. I can't wait until it reopens so I can see the refurbished inside. It was such an enjoyable evening. This gorgeous weather blows my mind!