A Cookie Story

I wanted to make Christmas cookies.  Emily wanted to help decorate.  Surprisingly, so did Nic and Ferdinand.  It quickly went from normal to...pick an adjective.  Not your typical Christmas cookies.  And not entirely politically correct.

I started out making nice, normal-looking snowmen.

 I even tried to accommodate some of my many Jewish friends at Einstein (many of them laughed when they saw these).

Emily went for some more...unconventional colors.

Then Ferdinand came and made caricatures of some of our friends...including Emily (far left) and himself (far right).

 There weren't that many undecorated cookies left.

 Seconds after I warned Nic that they'd soon be all done, he knocked on the door.  And he made a nerdy supernova star (which I appreciated).

Then things got much more, um, creative.  The following scenes are meant to be stories.

 A hungry (not evil, claims Nic) lumberjack successfully hunts a moose in the enchanted Christmas forest.

 Next, we jump to the Bronx, where a shooting has occurred by a man in a trench coat on Pelham Parkway.

Quick, call 911!  Otherwise he'll bleed to death! 

 A first-year medical student, feeling cool but completely useless in his white coat, looks on apprehensively as the attending physician quickly listens for a heartbeat.  The villain runs to the cover of Pelham Bay Park, hoping to evade the authorities.

The Bronx police are seasoned veterans, and the criminal has no chance.  Justice is served.

...and the rest will just have to be eaten.

Ireland Broke My Rib

In Ireland, I happened to pick up a bug and come down with a cold.  It was like a typical cold -- fatigue, sore throat, headache, enlarged anterior cervical nodes, runny nose -- except that the cough was worse than normal.  It wasn't a mild-and-will-go-away-in-a-week cough.  It wasn't an annoying-itch-in-your-throat cough.  It was a drowning-in-your-own-secretions cough.  (Gross, I know.  Sorry.)  If I didn't sleep sitting up, I would soon be practically falling out of the bed, curled unintentionally into a coughing fit of a ball because my abdominals were tightened to the point that my chest was nearly touching my stomach.  I've never had this bad of a cough in my life, not even when I had whooping cough.

I felt bad for the guy that had to sit next to me on the plane.  If I could make it 5 minutes without coughing, I considered it a miracle.  I sucked my way through an entire bag of Jakemans Throat and Chest "Soothing Menthol Sweets" (the British version of cough drops, unfortunately with quite a strong anise flavor) in less than a day.  When I got back to the Bronx, I finished off my bag of Robitussin cough drops, then stole some of my roommate's Ricola drops until I could make it to the store to get my own.  I tried NyQuil and DayQuil, to no avail.

Almost a week after getting sick, my right lower ribs began hurting when I coughed.  Sore, annoying, but livable.  Two days later, as I was studying in Manhattan (still coughing), it suddenly got worse.  Much worse.  I coughed, and it felt as if something had popped; my ribs gave me excruciating pain.  I didn't know what to do.  What could it be?  Muscles?  Ribs?  Liver?  Gallbladder?  I had no idea, except that it hurt.  I walked to the Beth Israel ER, where the doctors were incredibly nice to me (I told them I was a med student).  Without doing much more than a simple feel around the area, they diagnosed it as a muscular issue, so they simply prescribed me some extra-strength Motrin and shooed me out the door.

A week later, I had my follow-up appointment.  By then, it still hurt, but it was different.  When I pressed on my rib, it clicked.  Click.  Pop.  Click.  (Ow.)  Diagnosis: cracked rib.  From coughing.  Treatment: nothing.  Let it heal on its own for 6 weeks.  When people hear cracked rib, they become concerned.  When they hear it's from coughing, they laugh.  And then they ask me, the girl who goes through a half-gallon of milk, several cups of yogurt, and ounces and ounces of cheese in a week, if I have a calcium deficiency.  Don't be silly.  But also -- for now -- don't touch my rib.

Ireland: Tour and the End

My last full day in Ireland was our Cliffs of Moher tour, which included much more than just the cliffs.  Despite it snowing the previous night, and despite a heavy fog over Galway, we were blessed with beautiful, clear weather for our tour.  Pictures tell it best.

 Beautiful countryside of the Burren

The Burren is known for its vast limestone fields 

The Cliffs of Moher in shadow 

An ancient grave 

As the afternoon wore on, the clouds began to come back. 

During the tour, we became friends with Rachel from Australia. 

The tour ended the same way it began: in heavy fog.

That night, we went to Mass at the Galway cathedral.  Before it began, the priest came over to chat with us, asking where we were from.  Then he asked me if I would like to light the Advent candle, as it was the first Sunday of Advent.  Of course, I said yes!  I was so honored to light the first candle in Galway; what a blessing.  The next day, I had to leave the beautiful country.  My last view of Galway was of the snow-covered countryside, as it had snowed again that night.  I was sad to leave.  Ireland was beautiful, welcoming, and I could have stayed for days and days and days.

Unexpected, but beautiful, snow

Ireland: Branching Out (but Only a Little)

The next day, we did a bit more exploring.  Evan and I walked to and from Spiddal, taking time to stop at several different spots.  We had pizza at a tiny shop owned by an Italian.  We walked onto the pier to gaze at the eerily "floating" Aran Islands.  We browsed the tiny craft stores in search of a hat for me (it was cold!).  We even stopped in a pharmacy to look for an ACE bandage, since my foot was, with no explanation, extremely painful.

Delicious, authentic Italian pizza -- in Ireland! 

The reflection of the sun on the water made the Aran Islands look as if they were floating.

The rest of the afternoon, we lazed around the cottage.  Bobby was cooking a feast, since J.P. was coming over for dinner.  During the preparation, it began snowing big, slushy, wet flakes, which we enjoyed for a few minutes before going back inside because it was too wet.  Eventually, the table was set, the meal was cooked, the water was poured, but J.P. wasn't there yet.  Thirty minutes late, we heard a knock on the door, followed by a shouted, "Let me in!  It's f*ing cold out here!"  When I opened the door, J.P. walked in, his arms barely managing to hold 4 bottles of wine.  I guess it's good to be friends with the bartender.

Cheese makes everything more delicious.

Dinner was delicious, and the company was entertaining.  We convinced J.P. to come to the Galway pubs with us.  This turned out to be the best accomplishment of the night, because we ended up splitting off from the larger group, with just 4 of us going to J.P.'s favorite places with him.  I'm convinced that he knows all of the pub owners (as well as a good proportion of the workers) in Galway.  He kept us well supplied with Guinness throughout the night, as well as pizza.  One of the funniest moments of the night was when he decided that we needed another pizza at Monroe's.  Instead of waiting for someone to come and take our order, he simply got up, went behind the bar, and walked into the kitchen.  A few minutes later, we had a steaming hot pizza in front of us.

Galway at night -- it was snowing now and again throughout the evening.

Guinness at Monroe's

The next day, we were supposed to go on the Cliffs of Moher tour, but Evan's alarm didn't go off, so we missed the bus.  Whoops.  We made the best of the day by going into Galway, shopping around, having pasties, and seeing the new Harry Potter film.  That night, we went to Hughes's, the students' favorite Spiddal pub.  The local residents were playing traditional music in the corner.  I thought I was in heaven.  That was the one thing I knew that I wanted to do when I was in Ireland: go to a local pub with local musicians playing traditional music.  It was even better than I could have ever expected.

Christmas shoppers in Galway

Ireland: The Local Scene

My friends are beginning to question my tendency to vacation in places that are colder than where I live.  All I can say is it's not my fault that I'm only willing to travel if I can mooch off of the people who live there.  Obviously, that's a lie, but traveling certainly becomes more convenient if you have a friend or relative who can show you around, making it unnecessary to actually do any planning for yourself.  That's how I ended up spending Thanksgiving visiting Evan in Ireland.

Green...just as expected

The first 2 days were all about staying close to "home."  Evan and the rest of his classmates spent their semester living at the Park Lodge Hotel, close to Spiddal (which is near Galway).  On my first day there, Evan gave me no time to rest, but I suppose I can't complain because it helped me adjust to the new time zone.  As soon as I had dropped off my things, we went on a long walk around the local area.  First we explored "the Shire," which seemed to be a long-abandoned village full of ruined houses, stone fences, and friendly animals.

Barbed wire is overrated.  Stone fences are the way to go.

We had no idea where the dog came from, but it was extremely friendly. 

Oh look, a horse!

Next we walked down to the water of Galway Bay and navigated the rocks as far out into the water as we could without getting wet.  The sun was setting, and we could see the Aran Islands just on the horizon.  That night, I met many of Evan's friends at the hotel's pub, where I also met the much-famed bartender John Paul Foyle, or J.P., as he was fondly known by all of the college students.  J.P. didn't mind the irreverent college kids requesting carbombs or playing loud America-touting music; in fact, he seemed to think it was funny.

Almost sunset over Galway Bay

The next day was Thanksgiving, and it was another day spent almost entirely at the Park Lodge Hotel.  In the afternoon, many of us spent a few cold (but fun) hours at the local hurling pitch playing American football.  As luck had it, my foot was giving me a whole lot of unexpected pain, so I sat on the side with a few of the others and watched, cheered, and took pictures.  Warming up by the gas fireplace afterwards was a much-appreciated comfort.

I'm sure everyone thought we were crazy Americans.

Thanksgiving dinner was fantastic as well.  With many years of experience, the Park Lodge has really learned how to do the American Thanksgiving meal well.  I was astounded when the turkey was brought out.  Someone told us that it was over 20 kg, and I would certainly believe it.  It was put best by Rory, the group's favorite taxi driver, who was sitting at our table: "Now that's a f*ing turkey!"  After the meal, and after we had recovered at least a bit of our strength, J.P. once again opened the hotel pub.  Nights with J.P. were becoming a theme, and would continue at least one more night...