A Decade of Nanna

Nanna is 10 this week. Good ol' Nanna.



I miss her so much. How much? Haiku much.

The real black and tan.
Guinness only dulls the hurt
of missing my girl.

The Lomo kind of mocks me

I got the first roll of film from the LC-A developed (the second roll is still in the camera). Only four of the 36 shots came out, and each of the shots were from different parts of trip. I am frustrated, and will hopefully get good advice and help from my local film place--the guy there seemed interested in my camera problem and asked that I bring it in next week for him to look at. He seemed up for a challenge.

All is not lost. Sure, only four shots came out. But this was one of them.



This was on our first day in Portugal, trying to figure out how the hell to get back to the villa. This intersection, of course, became known as "Goat Crossing."

We also used one disposal underwater camera on our trip. That's right!



Bubbles make everything better. So do goggles.

Tales of Porco and Grilled Sardines

Well, we had a fantastic vacation. I've posted some of the digital pics on my Picasa page--I tried to pick just the highlights out of the 220 + that we took. Eventually, I'll get around to developing the Lomo and fisheye films and I'll post those, too, assuming that they come out OK. Fingers crossed!

This was a real, honest to goodness vacation, possibly the longest I've ever taken. Seven full days of lounging in the sun, horseplay in the pool, driving on crazy Portuguese country roads, castles, beaches, fortresses, and salted cod. After spending time in Silves, Lagos, Portimao, Albufiera and Armacao de Pera, we decided that we liked Praia da Rocha best. It was one of the first resort towns in the Algarve, back in the 1930's, and retains a definite air of fancy old time-yness that's only slightly detracted by all of the pasty Irish and English tourists in their flip flops and vacation hats. At first, I scoffed at the coffee bar set in the old ruins of a fortress, but it really was quite awesome. The Portuguese were very friendly and accommodating, and they were very helpful when we tried to find something on the menu besides grilled sardines and twelve varieties of pork.



The sun was quite intense, and when there were clouds in the sky, they were the huge, cottony, towering kind that we never see in San Francisco. (I'm not sure what kind of clouds we see in Dublin because it's too hard to differentiate the clouds from the grey sky behind them.) The ocean water on the beaches was cool and refreshing, an obvious draw for the hundreds of sun bathers. Nearly every little beach had a bead bar, too--a great place to watch the waves and enjoy a tall, cold Super Bock, the national beer of Portugal.

Being able to go to places like Portugal was a big draw when we talked about moving to Dublin. The whole time we were there, I never stopped thinking about how amazing this whole experience is and how dang lucky we are to be here for this time. I'm so glad we're taking advantage of our location--in the next 6 weeks, we'll be going to Italy, London and Brussels for long weekends. Sure, it's no Disneyland, but you won't catch me complaining anytime soon. Not even about the weather. Really.

Bom Dia!

We're back from Portugal, but this will be little more than a safe-arrival blog. I'm sorting through the dozens and dozens of photos that we took--castles, beaches, cities--trying to narrow down to top pics for uploading. More soon.

The fickle finger of shirt

You know how sometimes the gods of fashion lead to that unexpected place where you find that perfect shirt/hat/scarf/pair o' jeans/shoes (usually it's shoes) that you were looking for? Sometimes you didn't even know you were looking for it. Other times, your were looking maniacally for it all over a strange city, and you had one more day to find it before you left on vacation. Maybe it was the perfect light-but-long-sleeved button-up shirt that you planned to wear over your plethora of tank tops when the sun went down on your beach vacation to Portugal, and you'd already seen this shirt at this one store, but they didn't have your size. Maybe you'd stopped by that store nearly a dozen times to see if they had pulled out some more of those shirts, which they never did, and maybe you eventually gave up a few weeks ago. And then, maybe, you were wandering around a new-to you part of the city one sunny Friday afternoon, and you didn't realize that the street you were on would end up taking you right by that store with the perfect but non-fitting shirt, and when you realized where you were, you thought "what the hell?" and checked the store just one last time, and lo and behold, they had your size, and it was 30% off? You know how that happens sometimes?

I do.



Fancy orange bedazzlers.



And fancy orange snaps.

By the way

I may complain a lot, but dang I love the sound of the rain falling outside. Go ahead, call me a hypocrite--I don't mind.

Dublin's New Slogan

We took a cab home from the movies Sunday night because I, being fashion forward as usual, wore the wrong shoes for the 30 minute walk home in the rain. Max, being the charming and friendly guy that he is, chatted with the cab driver about the weather, who sighed and remarked, "It's never raining in the pub."

Amen, Mr. Cab Driver. Amen.

I am simply beside myself with excitement about going to Portugal. We leave in just over 72 hours, and I've stocked up on sun block, bug spray, and underwater cameras. I'll be keeping my fingers crossed so that the LC-A is working--it's been on the fritz for a few months now, but tweaked the film advance wheel and prayed to the Lomo Gods so I'm fairly optimistic that we'll get some super fantastic shots of the beaches and the cliff top vistas. Lomotastic!

Ooh, and more travel excitement to look forward to: we're spending a long weekend in Brussels in early November! Gotta love those Aer Lingus 9 Euro sales.

Lost in your eyes

Ozzy Update: yesterday the doggie eye doctor told Ozzy that he has 100% vision back in both eyes. 100%. Just two short months ago, he woke up blind. Retinas totally detached. And he's now made a full recovery. Even within the first week he was 90% recovered. That dog has some serious recovery genes. I also believe he is meant for great things, and he needs his eyes to see those great things. Gosh, I miss him. I miss all of my furry friends.

I can't dwell on how much I miss them. It makes my everything hurt.

Two sunny days in a row! This is a real treat here in Dublin. I felt like mole man this morning, looking out the window, squinting, emitting a low-to-medium pitched growly moan. But now I've had my coffee and I'm getting a little itchy. Time to do some work then go for a walk in the SUN!

One more super fantastic thing: I'm going to Italy next month! I'll be spending two days in Pisa with the lovely Miss Rhonda before she goes to hunt truffles and cook them. I've heard they have some sort of tower or something there?

The ravioli that almost kicked my ass

Yeah, homemade ravioli. For someone who has cooked more times in the past two weeks than all previous times combined, I should have known that this was out of my league. A little too ambitious. Making the pasta dough wasn't the problem, even without a rolling pin. The filling was easy peasy. Putting the two together proved to be a bit more challenging than I anticipated. I stood there in the kitchen for nearly two hours, madly crimping the edges of those damn ravioli. For every edge that I mashed between my thumb and forefinger, another edge would burst with ricotta and mushrooms. All the while, those fresh-faced kids from Dawson's Creek whined about their problems on the TV in the other room. As if getting fired form your production assistant job because you slept with the lead actress and she's jealous that you're still in love with Katie Holmes even compares to my ravioli crisis, Dawson. Sheesh.

About half of the ravioli were deemed un-boilable. My genius fiance suggested that I bake the rejects and top them with a bit of reggiano. Did I mention that he's a genius? Best mushroom empenadas ever. Even the regular boiled raviolis were perfect. With a super tasty roasted red pepper cream sauce (we bought the roasted red peppers at the farmers market and the resident culinary genius made the sauce), everything was just terrific. And I triumphed over the raviolis.

Movies and mushrooms

We saw a terrific movie over the weekend--Crank. It's got something for everyone: severed hands, Turkish from Snatch, Google Maps--a good time was had by all. And as much as I hate to admit it, the love interest was a great role for Amy Smart.

On Saturday morning we discovered the Temple Bar Farmer's Market, which was just fabulous. Great fresh vegetables, delicious cheeses and fresh breads--but the best part was the Indian food stall where they had super tasty spicy kofta served with sweet tomato chutney exactly like the stuff they used to serve at the Indian food stall at Saturday Market in Eugene (you ex-Eugenians know what I'm talking about!). I hadn't tasted that stuff in nearly 10 years...and now you know where you'll be able to find me every Saturday for the duration of my stay here in Dublin. Yum!

We bought a bunch of beautiful fresh mushrooms at the market, shitakes and some other kind that look a lot like chantrels. Tonight I'll be trying my hand at homemade ravioli. Wish me luck!

Oh, and a couple of shout-outs: Good luck Dedi on day one of the new job! And love to Miriam who's beginning the Texas chapter of her life with some major hurdles--I'm thinking of you.

Soggy is as soggy does

After living in Eugene, Oregon for 5 years, I never thought I'd live in such a rainy, rainy place again. The summers in Eugene made the long, grey winters worth it. The summers brought the promise of swimming in lakes and rivers, camping and cookouts, Saturday Market and afternoons at the Arboretum. Even then, the winters were hardly bareable. Wet, long, muddy--a real drag. A lot like this past winter (and spring for that matter) in San Francisco. It's like global warming is turning the whole world into Western Oregon.

Dublin has the beautiful tell tale lush greeness that comes with a rainy climate. The smell of wet pavement in the street and wet green vegetation in the parks. It's still summer here--that's how I account for the generally light rain, the drizzle. I can only imagine what sort of epic floods the winter has in store for me. At least I get to live in a really, really pretty place.

Pointy Dublin

I've posted some more pictures on Picasa Web Albums. There's a new folder where I've begun to post pictures of The Spire--the real beauty is in the ever-changing Irish Sky. I've also added some photos to the Dublin album--general pics of the stuff I see when I'm walking around the city, waiting for the DART, and whatnot.

We're taking a vacation next month--what they call a "sun holiday" here. We're off to Portugal where we'll be staying in a villa in the Algarve region in a village called Caramujeira which is just outside of Carvoeiro--check out those beaches! Some sun and surf will be a welcome break from the clouds and drizzle of Dublin.

Hunka hunka burnin' rasher

Grafton Street is one of those no-driving streets in the middle of a big city where you'll find overpriced boutiques, carts full of crappy jewelry, street performers, and inevitably a McDonald's. I've walked down Grafton Street a number of times since I've been here--at first because I could find and recognize it easily as it ends right at St. Stephen's Green, and there are signs for it all over, plus the lack of cars made it substantially less frightening. You know, back when I was still mildly afraid of crossing the street here. Yesterday I was walking down Grafton Street on the way back from checking out the Markievicz Leisure Center (making sure it wasn't scary before I went swimming there. It wasn't scary, and I swam there.) and I passed a couple of the dime a dozen guy-painted-silver-or-gold-who-stands-like-a-statue-
until-a-tourist-puts-money-in-his-cup/can/whathaveyou, then I passed a couple of the two-guys-with-guitars-singing-their-little-hearts-out, both of which we have plenty of in San Francisco. But then I passed the guy that *almost* made me stop and throw some coins in his guitar case, something that for whatever reason I never, never do. I passed the white-and-gold-
jumpsuit-and-sneaker-wearing-Elvis-impersonator--who sang in Irish. I may not know Irish, but I know Viva Las Vegas when I hear it in any language. Super awesome.

Weekend Excursions

We are all about site seeing. We're all about taking trains, trams, and pictures, reading maps, walking, and buying touristy crap. The rain cannot stop us.



This is the picturesque fishing village of Bray. I tell you, they don't call this country the Emerald Isle for nothing. Despite the random and unannounced downpours, Saturday in Bray was delightful. Except for when the bumper car operator scolded me--repeatedly--for driving on the wrong side of the bumper car rink.

On Sunday we went to Kilmainham Gaol. When imprisoned during the Irish Civil War, Grace Gifford Plunkett smuggled some paints into her cell and painted this picture of the Madonna and Child. Sad and stunning.



We also saw a great movie at the Irish Film Institute, Look Both Ways. Yes, I know it's Australian. Not Irish.

I've uploaded some photos from our weekend outings--enjoy!

A big cheer for two years

Happy Birthday, Blog! You're two years old today! Does this mean you're going to start throwing temper tantrums and demanding chocolate cake for every meal? Are you about to go through one of those phases where you'll only wear your red cowboy boots and refuse to take baths unless I sing the special 18-verse blog bathtime song? Oh, goody.

Two years. I have been blogging for two years. For two years, I have been sharing glimpses into my job, my mind, and my life with people via this blog. I've gotten comments from complete strangers weighing in on my hair color. I've gotten emails from folks who've discovered fatty tumors on their dog's ribs and want to know what to expect. This has totally been an extra super fantastic experience. Here's to two more years of blog! Yay blog!

Feed me

Hey--you see that shiny orange button in the left-hand side bar there? Shazam!

Thanks, Arturo!

Eye of the tiger

It's been a long time coming, and I'm not saying that is it, but I've started doing something I've been wanting to do for a long time. I've tried to do this particular thing before, a couple of times, and always with very limited success. A number of different influences and circumstances have led up to this most recent attempt, and I'm feeling pretty optimistic about it. Still, I almost don't want to blog about it just in case I drop the ball again--this post will server as a reminder of things tried but never really completed.

I've started running.

I hold Kerry responsible, and also Gary. Cool people who also dig exercise. Kerry's a runner, and apparently a good one at that. All kinds of trophies and marathons and stuff. Gary blogs about his bike the same way he blogs about his daughters. My brother runs, and he's always been good at finding stuff to do that really counts--taking pictures, collecting really great music, traveling.

Moving to a new place seems to be a good reason to try new things. I had a feeling something like this would happen. Whether it's dropping bad old habits or finding good new ones, a new place is a good place to re-evaluate. And then Miriam sent me to 43 things and evaluation turned into obsession. As often as I look at my life and say to myself, "Holy crap, this is awesome!", I like everyone else, can get ultra-critical when faced with all of those things that I said was do/be/see/experience by the time I was 25, 30, whatever. I'm not quite ready to share my list yet--I need to re-re-evaluate and not be so harsh on myself. I'd rather have my list be about what I want to learn and do and less about what I want to change or stop doing.

But all of that led up to me running. Not fast, and certainly not far, but it's a start. And today when I was running down Lower Mount Street and it started to rain, I felt like Rocky. Eye of the tiger. And I got motivated to make the Best. Running. Playlist. Ever. And even though I truly hate running (all kinds of exercise in fact), I have faith in the possibility that I can grow to not hate running. I could even grow to like running. OK, let's not push it. But a little bit of exercise is good for a person, especially a person who's just moved to a country where everything worth eating is served on a buttered baguette. And I'm not about to say no to a buttered baguette.

Will burn for food. Or feeding.

Ok, so I'm starting feel really stupid. I can't figure out how to make an RSS feed of my blog. Even though the instructions are as simple as "Ready to burn your feed? Type your feed or blog URL here" on Feedburner.com, the issues I'm experiencing are numerous. There's nothing like having attempt after attempt returned with errors about being invalid. I'm valid! My blog is valid! We don't need your stupid burny feed thing anyway. So there.

Except for that we do. Not only are all of the cool kids already doing it--have been for years--but I actually got a request for an extra super fantastic feed:

"Anonymous said...

Yo Deborah. Totally unrelated to this posting: where's the link to your RSS feed? I want to get your bloggy goodness in my RSS reader rather than having to come here to the site. Get hep to it, yo."

Oh, how I would love to get hep to it. I've always considered myself a pretty hep to it kind of gal. But alas, I cannot get my blog hep to feeding or burning.

This is an official cry for help. If someone wants to burn my blog or perhaps feed it, I will provide all of the necessary informations hertofore hidden in the bowels of the "settings" tab of my blogger dashboard. After all, setting things on fire is fun! So is feeding things! Especially when the thing you're feeding is a small but spunky goat at the petting zoo, and the things you're feeding to it are small but spunky goat pellets that come from a handful-of-candy vending machine.

mmmm, tastes like random

There's a large, blank, white wall in my apartment. It creates a hallway and separates the living/dining room from the bedrooms. It's screaming out for a mural to be painted upon it. One with a unicorn and probably some lightning bolts.

There's a great show on RTE every afternoon called Reeling in the Years. It's a half hour long and each episode features one year between 1970 and 1999. It's basically news clips and images from the year's milestone events (both global and Irish--the Berlin Wall comes down, then Cork's hurlers beat Galway in the All-Ireland Hurling Final) set to music from the year in question with home video-esque captions identifying each event. It's awesome. I wish it was available on DVD.

Speaking of things I would buy if I were still in the habit of buying things (remember, I'm a minimalist now. Cough, cough.): oh, my lord.

RIP, YKW?? You'll be sorely missed. And eventually forgotten. But not until I update my link list, so you've got a while.

2 photo essays I'm planning for the near future:

1. The Georgian Doors of Dublin. Brightly colored, shiny lacquered doors? Me like!

2. The Spire of Dublin. AKA the millennium Spike. Built for the millennium, this shiny bit of pointiness was completed in 2003. I'm not sure I like it all that much, but I can't argue with its bigness. Or pointiness.

Exciting New Developments

I've started using Picasa Web so that I can share pictures with everyone. There's a new link up there in the "me" section--the best section--of the sidebar. Or you can click here. We'll see how good I am at updating it.

The albums called Glendalough and Powerscourt are from the day trip we took on Saturday to the Wicklow Mountains ("the Garden of Ireland") with Aldo. It's a beautiful place, very foresty and lakey and green. We drove along a scenic highway for a while and it really reminded me of Skyline, except less dark and cold because the trees aren't as tall or dense. It took me a while to be able to actually enjoy the scenery; I had to work on overcoming the feeling that we were just about to crash. The whole driving on the wrong side of the road while sitting in the wrong side of the car thing is really hard to shake.

Everything in olde time Ireland is made of rocks.



How awesome is that? A hundred awesome.

Also a bunch of awesome is Casiotone for the Painfully Alone's newest album, Etiquette. If you haven't heard it yet, go hear it. He's playing in Dublin next month, and that is on the level of 300 awesome.

Another awesome thing, but the sad, very sad kind of awesome, is this movie I saw last night: The Wind That Shakes the Barley. Tough stuff. Make sure you have lots of kleenex on hand.