Dear Mom,

I am sorry that I haven't written in a while, I have been rather busy. And seeing as I am in the same house as you now I don't really find it necessary to have to write you to say hello.

In fact, I can just turn around and say hello. Which I think I will do. Right now.

Hi Mom!

You said hi back, chuckled and asked what it was I was doing.

Just writing to you, says I.

Oh that's nice. Don't forget to clean your room, I think it's what's making you cough.

Thanks Mom, and I will, blushes I. But I've really got to get back to writing to you mom.

Oh sure dear. Let me know when you're finished.

I will, not to worry.

I changed the layout a bit; just one of the ways I've kept myself. I've been following Dad around for a bit, helping out my uncles and pretending to be various types of farmers; chicken, dairy, pig, turkey, crop etc. I think I make a pretty good lil'buckaroo.

On top of that I've been dreaming up excuses to take off again. There is a list of places to go, at least ones that I've made a point of highlighting. The list has included London (Ont), Toronto, Montreal, Halifax and St. Johns, however I've started looking more west-ward for my next adventure. Perhaps Edmonton, or Calgary, or Jasper, or Banff.

Excuses for traveling aren't hard to come by, as there are so many places to go, and it has helped that I've reread some of Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker series. The one I read first, actually it has just occurred to me that it is the only one I've reread since arriving home, is So Long and Thanks for all the Fish which features the series' main character, Arthur Dent, arriving back to planet earth, adjusting to life as it was before he left and, ultimately, leaving on another adventure.

Quite appropriate and unplanned and welcomed all rolled into one.

I'd also like to point out that that map thingy I have has reset itself and is currently showing little red spots, representing people, all over the map. This means that, by some odd, yet interesting, computer glitch, people are still coming to visit this site, even though I have arrived home, haven't written much at all, and, something that I thought I was quite sure of, you, my mother, were among the only people still reading. In fact, even though it might appear so by the recount of a conversation of ours above, you don't even know that I am writing now, because I made that all up.

I am not sure why, but I am glad they are there and I do hope that they make themselves known by way of a comment or two, just so's I know who and where they are. Of course if they are shy I would take an email too.

That's all for now, as you are calling Mands and I to the table to decorate the treat bags.

Until next time:

love, your son.

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.

Hey You!

I had a pint of Bulmers at an ethnically confused pub the other day in St Small Town, Ontario. I was visiting a friend of mine, he works on a Dairy farm just outside of town, and he and his girlfriend took me out to O'Generic Pub.

They had thought that it was an English Pub with some bar-type stuff. However it was, in fact, a pub trying to be Irish but forgetting that Ireland doesn't have a Liverpool Underground.

There was Guinness on tap, Murphy's junk on the wall and a few Irish saying framed and flanking the bar stools.

The locals looked the part of a small town Ontario pub, all of whom wouldn't have stood a chance getting a drink at the divest of dives in any Irish village; least of all one that I was pulling pints at (that, if said live and in real life, would have been accompanied by an Anchor Man quote and something to do with being a big deal. Sarcasm doesn't ever work in emails, or any written communications for that matter, so I like to make sure it makes sense).

The point, and there is one, is that there was Bulmers on draft but they called it Magners, as they do in places that are not Ireland, and it tasted like piss, as it does in places that are not Ireland.

That did not, by the way, stop him and I from having a couple of pints each. It was the first outing I'd been on since getting home; I liked it, very much. Not the drinking part, but the being around people part, and the in a setting that resembled that feeling of home that I missed so very much part.

Part of that was also writing here. I've been sending a few emails to friends here at home, and been conversing with a few that are still traveling. Since I've been writing to them I feel like I should be writing to you. So, even though I said goodbye just a day or so ago, I may just post here periodically.

No promises, but I do like writing.

Fin

Farewell Salutmaman! You have served me well over this past year and 23 days.

Farewell Readers! Thank you very much for tuning in. I have enjoyed having you along during my travels.

I have arrived home to Dublin, Ontario after a long time on the road. Tonight I will fall asleep in my bed, my own bed and wake up in my house, my own house.

This will be the final entry for my Ireland trip. I will not be writing for this blog for a while. I don't know if any of the other girls will be writing for it anytime soon; everyone is either working or learning. For Mands and I this has been strictly a travel blog, so I think we'll keep it that way. I may keep writing, but I don't know where that will be. If you want to know you are welcome to ask and I may share it.

But that all depends on if I keep writing.

I am back in Dublin. No job just yet. Dad has plans involving new doors, some demolition and lots and lots of yard work.

A very special thank you to those of you who put me up over the past three weeks and for helping me with my reintegration into Canada. A very sincere apology to those of you I haven't visited with yet; I will be visiting with you very soon.

I have no plans. Not yet. None for work, residence, school, travels, money. Something will come up, but until then, tomorrow, I'll just keep moving on.

Contextual Clairfication

When I was in grade 12 I took part in a Dominican Republic experience trip. A small group of high school students, an English teacher and my priest left Toronto for the D.R. for ten days. Before we left we had months of preparation, learning a bit of Spanish (nothing that I remembered or used) and a general overview of what we might expect to see.

As much as we were shown and told none of us really appreciated what it was we were going to see or hear. I do not intend to paint a picture of the poverty we saw, even though having seen their way of life was shocking. Rather I want to draw on my what I went through, what we went through, coming home as I believe it parallels my arrival in Toronto.

I received a message that made me feel as if my statement "Yet still, somehow, I wanted to be on the next plane back to Cork" needed a bit of context for clarification.

You see, during the prep period for the D.R. trip we poured over photo's of trips gone before us, heard from the students whom the photo's belonged to, saw video after video and read story after story. They did all this work to get us into the right frame of mind so we could be ready for what we saw.

But that wasn't the hardest part.

The hardest part was coming home.

We had spent little over a week in an alien environment, but that week effected us, all of us, more than we had expected.

Everything was the same. Canada, Ontario, Stratford, my high school, my friends, my teachers, my coaches my everything.

It wasn't that we thought it would be, or wouldn't be; it was, simply, the same. I had changed without knowing it, and seeing everyone and everything I knew and loved exactly the same put into perspective how much I had changed.

I had loved every bit of my week long journey and I wanted everyone to have had experience it with me. I wanted to be able to look them all the eye and have them understand what it was I saw and did and share in my experience.

But no one did, at least not outside the group of students whom I traveled with.

Now, my arrival home from Cork wasn't as drastic as this one was, but several of the emotions and observations and experiences were related. I saw things differently, I saw Canadians differently, I saw our lifestyles differently. I had grown so accustomed to the Irish landscape that where I'd grown up, or rather the country I call home was foreign to me.

I didn't want it to be foreign, I wanted it to be home. I wanted to be home, that was where I thought I was going. Instead I ended up in a foreign land, alien landscape and a world I no longer knew. I should have felt comfortable, but I didn't.

In fact I didn't feel comfortable until I saw the Kid trotting down the stairs outside gate 5 at the Skydome. Seeing him was seeing home, and I knew I would start to feel better.

Where the story goes from here is much happier. I am adjusting slowly, with the help of all my friends whom I've met up with along my way to the home farm. I go to see my sisters today, this evening rather, and tomorrow to see one play volleyball.

I am looking forward to it, my family and adjusting to Canadian culture. It's been hard, but I am getting there.

I no longer want to be on the next plane back to Cork, but I do want to be on one sometime soon.

What Are You Doing Right Now?

Bird Morely is Deleting Facebook

settings>my account>deactivate account>confirm facebook account deactivation


Please let us know why you are deactivating (required)

I was going write a bit about how I got ride of my facething account. However, doing that, in a way, gives more power (through recognition) to the thing I was leaving and goes against the reasons I left.

The end of it is I no longer have the account. I am not trying to drop off the grid, or avoid anyone, or seek attention (well, maybe I am seeking a little attention) I was simply tired of the network and how lazy it was making me when it came to keeping up with friends.

Lazy? You ask. Well yes, lazy; and let me tell you why

Have you ever dropped in to see how a friend has been? Perhaps after you haven't seen them for a while. There usually a few minutes of general banter, then you tell some stories of where you're life is right now and then all things inevitably lead to nostalgic renditions of that ride home from school one day or that buck and doe where Joe stepped through the table and things are happy and grand and everyone laughs and such and such.

I like those conversations (I liked them enough to make a road trip out of it visiting buddies who lived on my route home) but occasionally I find those conversations inhibited, or sometimes replaced, by a few clicks of the mouse.

So let me ask you this: have you ever "dropped in on a friend" through facecrap, riffled through their photo's, wall posts, videos or notes? Perhaps not all of those at once but I can bet you've done it at least once (a day). Now, have you ever met up with that person a few days, or weeks later and got to talking, remembering and sharing about stories old and new only to discover that you already new the story, but didn't know why?

This is usually the point where a light comes on and your fingers snap and you say, without really knowing you're saying it: oh yeah, I think I saw that on myface.

It is at this point my cheeks would feel a bit warm and likely turn a deep red, but I don't know how you would react. I felt so guilty, like a voyeur, peeping tom a creep with a laptop and I had spied on this persons life.

did you hear that John and Helen broke up? that sue and tom got together? that Steve's cat had kittens?

Aside from the creeping around, which I didn't feel good about, I felt the communication was cold and impersonal. On a few occasions I'd find myself substituting a quick email to someone on their birthday for a "wall post".

(whoops, and I haven't even wished matty a happy birthday yet)

But no more! I have a birthday list started, and I hope to stay on top of it.

(Damn, I didn't wish Bizz a happy birthday either)

As long as I keep my trusty journal near me (or Laura Van Geel) I'll never miss another friends birthday (Andrew Thuss) again.

So I've left the social network known as Facebook. I will have to turn old school and write emails to people, text them my plans or even, heaven forbid, give them a ring. I hope you all remember my birthday, it's June 24th.

I'll leave you with a quote from a blog that I found a few months ago that got me thinking about this latest, and (hopefully) final goodbye to the social network that has swept our lives away. Take care, and I hope to see you all soon in real life.

--b

"Facebook is like a creepy and pointless videogame where people collect every person they've ever met, then waste their time spying on all the dumb bullshit they do all day. I don't care if some moron I went to high school with bought a new iPod, I don't want to play the vampire biting game, and I don't want people I don't care about to know what I'm up to if they're not going to bother asking me with words." Joe Mathlete