The Story of Yaya

[These events unfolded concurrent to my Mom's visit.]

About a week before our guests arrived for their visit, we had a stray cat show up on our doorstep.

He didn't look to be in bad shape but when I put some wet food down, he gobbled it up as though he hadn't eaten in days.  He went through three cans for breakfast and came back later to eat two cans at lunch.

I had brought a microchip scanner to Ireland to ensure the authorities here would be able to check our cats' chips when we arrived at the airport, and I was able to scan this boy.

I was elated when the scanner found a chip.  I can't even imagine how terrible it is when your pet is lost, and I was so excited that I'd be able to reunite this kitty with his family.

I searched through multiple microchip databases online, only to be greeted with the message that no registration could be found.  One website told me the name of the chip manufacturer but had no other information.  I actually cried, upset that I was so close and yet so far away.

I sent emails to a few local vet offices with a photo and the microchip number, hoping that they had access to a different set of chip databases that would provide the owner information.  I also mentioned that I'd read that sometimes the chip manufacturer could tell you which vet clinic got a specific microchip.

All of the responses from the vet clinics were kind and helpful, despite the fact that their searched turned up nothing as well.  One of the clinics submitted a traceability request to the chip manufacturer, and I posted the photo on multiple Facebook sites regarding lost/found pets.

A few days later (the day of our Galway trip), someone named Orla reached out to me via Facebook and said she thought this cat might belong to her neighbor, Jenny.  I was able to connect with Jenny via Facebook messenger as well so late Tuesday night, after we got home from our Galway excursion, I was trading fast and furious messages with these two gals.

I asked Jenny if she could give me the microchip number, so we could confirm this was the correct cat.  She didn't have it but said she'd contact the vet first thing on Wednesday morning to get the number.

I had explained to both Jenny and Orla that my mother was visiting so I would be away from the house for long periods of time and wouldn't be around to capture him if he showed up.   I said I'd put food out each day before heading out, hoping to entice this cat to continue coming to our window until such time as I was home and could bring him inside.

Wednesday morning, I put food on the windowsills where he had perched, hoping he would show up.

We were getting ready to head for breakfast at the hotel.  Eli had his shoes and coat on.  I came into the living room to put on my shoes, caught movement from the corner of my eye, and looked over to see this kitty standing on our fence.  Norris and Patrick were in the kitchen so I closed the living room door and opened the window, calling to the cat.

He made his way over and came into the house like he owned the place.  Gobbled up the food I brought in from the windowsill, dug around in the toy bin, rubbed on furniture, used the scratching pad, and very calmly explored the room.

I didn't have Jenny's number, but I was able to reach her on Facebook messenger.  It was around 8:30 a.m. at this time.  We told Mom and Barb to have breakfast without us because we had a feeling we were going to be busy with this kitty.

Jenny's vet didn't open until 9 a.m. but I was fairly sure this was her cat.  She said she didn't drive, so she was trying to find someone to bring her to our house.  We don't have a car; otherwise, we would've been on our way immediately.

While messaging Jenny, I learned that this kitty (named Yaya) had been missing for two weeks and that her young son, who is autistic, had been nearly inconsolable because his friend was gone and he didn't understand.  

Eli and I didn't talk about it much before deciding to get a taxi and get this kitty back to his family.  I couldn't bear the thought of this little boy being without his furry friend one more minute.

Kitty was chilling in a box we have turned onto its side.  But he became a tasmanian devil when it was time to get into the carrier.  I wound up putting on two coats and garden gloves because he wanted to bite, and I wasn't having it.

Eli ordered a taxi.  The first driver accepted but then cancelled right away; we assume because he saw the message Eli entered about transporting a cat but it could've been for any reason at all.  Another driver accepted the fare, and he was at our door in about five minutes.

I thanked the driver and told him we were on a mission of mercy, explaining that we were returning a lost cat to his family.  While we were waiting for a stoplight to change, he pulled up a photo of an adorable fluff of a kitten on his phone and said his daughter had been begging for a kitten so they'd be welcoming this little nugget to their home soon.

When we arrived at our destination, Jenny was sitting on her front steps.  She led us into the house, and we opened up the carrier.  Yaya hopped out, and she scooped him up for a hug.  She took him into the next room to show him to their dog Sandy, who she said was sad because Yaya was his/her playmate.

She said they try to keep Yaya inside but he gets out when they open the windows (windows here don't have screens).  Jenny said that he never strays far so she thinks he may've gotten into a vehicle and been transported accidentally to our area, since we're about 11 miles away from her.

She related that her son had a meltdown at school because his classmates were talking about cats, and he shouted that they needed to stop talking about cats because his Yaya was gone.

During our conversation, Yaya was moving unconcernedly around the house, seeming like he was wondering what all the fuss was about.  He got up onto a kitchen chair (his favorite resting spot) and lazed there, one leg stretched out over the side.

Jenny wanted to reimburse us for the taxi, but we declined.  Instead, I asked her to video the moment her son was reunited with his friend and share that with us, if she felt comfortable in doing so.

We were unfamiliar with the area, so Jenny let us know there was a bus stop across the street and we could take it to The Square, where we could catch transport back toward Dublin.

As we stood waiting for the bus, I looked up to see a rainbow stretching across the sky.

Our carrier folds up so while we rode the bus, we were struggling to get it deconstructed.  At one point, Eli said something about opening up the sides.  There was a lady sitting next to us who smiled and said "I was going to suggest that."

Eli started searching on his phone for transport options available from The Square, and just as he found out the Red Line LUAS came there, the lady also mentioned we could catch the LUAS, as she discerned from our conversation that we were unfamiliar with the area and trying to figure out our options.

We thanked her for her kindness as we exited the bus, walking over to wait for the Red Line LUAS that would connect us with the Green Line LUAS which would take us back to the hotel.

In the midst of all of this, I emailed the boat tour company to let them know we had to cancel, and I apologized for the last-minute cancellation.  [Later that day, I emailed the company to explain exactly WHY we couldn't make the tour.  John, the person responding to my email, thanked me for sharing a feel-good story and said he was going to give us a refund - which they didn't have to do considering we cancelled less than 24 hours before our tour time.]

Orla, Jenny's neighbor, offered us tickets to a performance at the Abbey Theater as a thank-you, which I thought was so kind and generous.  I've been messaging her a bit since Yaya was returned, and she said she got a message from one of our neighbors who said that Yaya had also been visiting HER and that she'd miss him.  This little stinker sure got around!

As with our experience in Galway, there was synchronicity afoot in regards to this story.  I happened to post on the Facebook group where I would reach the right person (and there are a LOT of missing/found pet groups).  We were moments away from walking out the door Wednesday morning and would've missed seeing Yaya if we'd left any sooner.  He visited the one house (ours) where someone had the tools and foresight to scan for a chip and then work to find answers.  We got the taxi driver who also had a kitty story to share.

Jenny DID send us the video she took when her son returned home from school on Wednesday.  I won't share it here because it involves a kiddo but suffice it to say, he was over the moon to see his friend again.

Unsportsmanlike Conduct

I did something rather momentous a couple of days ago.  It's not really Ireland-centric, aside from the fact that it happened while I'm living here.  So I'm counting it as appropriate to this blog.

Before I do the big reveal, I feel that I must regale you with some backstory.

As far back as I can remember, I have loved hockey.  Being born and raised as I was in Minnesota - the State of Hockey - that's nearly a prerequisite for citizenship.

Quite frankly, I couldn't even tell you how I was introduced to the sport.  Neither of my parents were huge sports fans.  We'd watch the Vikings and college bowl games (Dad would get gambling tickets from his buddy - which I think was illegal but that was nearly 50 years ago, and he's dead, so what're you gonna do, coppers?).  Dad loved watching the AWA (American Wrestling Association), so we'd see Hulk Hogan asking "Mean" Gene Okerlund, "What're you gonna do, Mean Gene, when you got these 24-inch pythons wrapped around your neck?"

But I don't recall that Dad ever had the North Stars on his small TV in the kitchen corner where he had built a nest for himself.

I would play hockey with my older cousins, walking a mile in the winter so we could chase pucks on the frozen Elk River.  Well, mostly frozen.  I remember one year when there was a large hole in the ice; we tried not to shoot the puck close to the gap because no one dared retrieve it.  I took a hard slapshot to the ankle which made hobbling home very unpleasant.

Back in the day, there were no subscription services or cable sports packages so I had to be content with watching North Stars' games on the local Fox affiliate, KMSP Channel 9.  They didn't broadcast every game so there were nights where you would find me like this:  Listening to the game on a small transistor radio, writing goals and penalties in a notebook.  I think that's a copy of Hockey Digest or something lying open against that pillow; interesting to see a Winston cigarette ad on the back of the magazine.  (This was taken in 1982)

I don't remember how old I was when I rewrote "Twas the Night Before Christmas" using North Star themes - "Twas the night before the playoffs and all through the rink..."  I mailed it to either Channel 9 or to the North Stars and thought nothing else of it.  While I was watching the game one night, they were going to commercial break during the intermission and the screen graphic said something like "Next:  Poetry from the masters."

And Bob Kurtz, long-time play-by-play announcer, READ MY POEM ON THE AIR.  I was so embarrassed that I hid in the bathroom, but I could still hear it.

I sent many fan letters to my favorite players, and they always rewarded me with an autographed photo postcard (I still have them).  Sometimes the player would write a personal message on the card, which would thrill me to no end.

In the early 80s, the North Stars brought a young player named Dino Ciccarelli up from the minors.  Oh my (North) stars, I developed a HUGE crush on this kid.  He was known for doing a dance after scoring goals and was nicknamed "Disco Dino."  Someone wrote a song called "Disco Dino" - I bought the 45 record.  I think I also had a lavender-colored off-the-shoulder shirt that bore his signature on the front.

My cousin Rick was able to get playoff tickets one year, and he drove us to old Met Center in Bloomington.  I remember one concessionaire sold these ungodly large slices of cheese pizza that cost a buck and were wonderfully greasy and delicious.

We were only able to get standing-room tickets and by "standing room," I do mean "standing room."  Behind the last row of seats on the lower bowl, there was a narrow ledge and that's where we stood for the entire game, backs pressed up against the cold cement wall.

I don't recall if this game were against the Chicago Blackhawks or not.  I do recall an instance where we nearly got into it with a group of Chicago fans.  Minnesota/Chicago had an insane rivalry back in the 80s, and the hatred of each fanbase for the opposite team's players was legendary.

In 1993, owner Norm Green moved the team to Dallas.  His name is not spoken in Minnesota or if it is, it's met with snarls and narrowed eyes.  We don't forgive and we don't forget.

The Minnesota Wild began play in 2000.  I was living in Texas at the time, so I wasn't able to follow them very much.  I got back up to speed in 2003, when I moved back to Minnesota.

An anthem was written for the Wild:

We were raised

With the stick

And a pair of blades

On the ice we cut our teeth

We took our knocks

In the penalty box

Our mother was the referee

This sport was here

Before we came

It will be here when we're gone

The game's in our blood

And our blood's in the game

Lay us down under

A frozen pond

We will fight to the end

We will stand and defend

Our flag flying high and free

We were born the child

Of the strong and Wild

In the State, the State of Hockey

A big blue line runs around our state

A line that can't be crossed

The day they try to take this game

Is the day the gloves come off

We will fight to the end

We will stand and defend

Our flag flying high and free

We were born the child

Of the strong and Wild

In the State, the State of Hockey.

The game was definitely in my blood.  I couldn't imagine that anything would ever erase the love I had for the sport.

Then along came the US Men's Olympic hockey team, celebrating their gold medal with an FBI director who's protecting pedophiles and proving daily how utterly incompetent and vile he is.  Laughing at a misogynistic joke made by a felonious president with none of them offering any defense of the US Women's Olympic hockey team.

As far as I know, none of the players have offered any kind of apology for their behavior.  Some of them have doubled down, digging an even deeper hole for themselves.

Bill Guerin, the general manager of the men's team, is the one who invited the FBI director into the locker room.  He's also the GM of the Wild.  He has since said that he doesn't care what anyone thinks.  I'm sure he's MAGA, which makes him filth in my book.

When Renee Good and Alex Pretti were murdered in Minnesota, the Wild couldn't even be bothered to have a moment of silence for them.  (By contrast, the Timberwolves postponed their basketball game to the following night after Alex was executed.)

The NHL overall doesn't seem to have much interest in promoting matters of social justice.  I have a feeling many of the owners are Right-leaning and won't allow any of that "woke garbage" near their team.

I can't really explain it but after seeing what happened with the Olympic team, something inside of me snapped.  It was like a switch suddenly flipped from ON to OFF.  I felt revulsion for the NHL and didn't want anything to do with it.

I haven't watched an NHL game since the Olympics ended.  I haven't bothered to check the scores or the standings.  I had a dream that I was watching a Wild game on TV, and it horrified me.

The big reveal is this:  I cancelled our NHL subscription package and don't plan to reactivate it unless something radical happens.  (For those wondering:  Eli and I talked about this, and he said he feels the same way - that he's done with the NHL until/unless something changes.  And if you know Eli, you know this was a momentous decision for him as well.)

I am sad and hurt but what I feel most is anger.  Anger that something so special and important in my life could be destroyed in an instant by the thoughtless and selfish actions of a small group of individuals.  I know some people might think "what's the big deal?" but I refuse to support an individual, an organization, or a league that thinks so little of basic human decency.

Books, Breakfast, and Babby

This past Saturday was Valentine's Day.  We are not the "hearts and roses" type, so our celebration boiled down to picking up a prescription, retrieving a held book at the library, and going out to eat.

It has been raining here a lot.  And by "a lot," I mean that native Irish people are even saying "What the feck?"  Over the last couple of months, there have been only a few days that had a break in the rain.

We got lucky on Saturday - the sun was even out for a while.

One of our paths to the tram takes us through a canopy of trees, and the birds were going nuts with song.  Since we moved here, we have been fortunate enough to see a lovely black cat around the neighborhood, and s/he was sitting on the path, so of course we had to stop and give him/her some pettings.

When I looked at the Google map once, I noticed an icon labeled "Babby's Residence" not far from us (we're the red target on this picture).  It was listed as a "tourist attraction," and when I clicked on it for more information, there was a photo of a black cat with a small patch of white on its chest.  The kitty we see around also has a patch of white so I'm thinking it might be the same cat.

We had good tram luck and were soon headed for our stop at Ballyogan Wood.  During the walk to the pharmacy, we noticed some deer friends in the field.

All in all, this small herd had nine deer.  Usually we only see one or two at a time, so it was really cool to see so many at once.  The pictures don't do him justice, but one of the bucks had a good-sized rack of antlers.

Here are some deer zoomies for your enjoyment.

After visiting the pharmacy and pet store, we walked to the library to get my book and then continued walking to the restaurant.

Standing beside the path was a couple with a large whippet-looking dog.  Even though I'm more of a cat person, I can't resist stopping and talking to the doggos we meet.

We were careful not to reach out to the dog because we're never sure how they'll respond to a stranger.  It was funny because one of the owners said "He's a bit nervy" right before he came over and started giving us dog hugs (leaning into our legs).  The owners seemed pretty impressed that he had such a comfortable response to our attentions.

We continued on our walk, and I pointed out that the puddles along the path had some fairly thick ice on them.  It has been chilly here (below 30 degrees Fahrenheit) but even so, I'm always surprised to see ice or frost.

The Pantry has become a favorite restaurant for us, and it's both a blessing and a curse that it's so close.  It was humming with customers on Saturday, which is good to see.  I hope that means it'll be successful and stay open for a long time to come.

I had my usual Irish breakfast (egg, sausage, bacon, hash brown, white pudding, toast, beans, mushrooms - the beans and mushrooms get teleported immediately onto Eli's plate); he had the veggie breakfast.  We each got a sweet treat - I had a cinnamon swirl muffin, and he had a lemon dessert of some kind.  I also got a pineapple burst smoothie made from pineapple, strawberries, OJ, and yogurt - sooooo good.

A little girl walked by our table, and she was wearing a rainbow-colored tulle tutu and gold unicorn horn headband.  I had the thought that we think it's adorable when we see a child wearing this type of outfit, but if an adult walked around with a gold unicorn horn headband, would we feel the same way?  Would we applaud that person's sense of whimsy or would we think they had a few loose screws?

There was a line from the TV show "Night Court" that has always stuck with me:  Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle is a lie like all the rest.  The astronauts killed the man in the moon, growing up took care of the rest.

Adults tend to suck the fun out of most things.  I hope that little girl will still wear a unicorn head band when she gets older.  The world could certainly use more unreserved joy and whimsy.

Against the Wind

Our area is currently under a yellow warning for wind.  There's been a steady blast of around 20 miles per hour with gusts into the 50-60 mph range.  It's been lashing rain hard against the windows and howling.

My emotions over the past couple of weeks have been much like the wind.  Swirling, lashing, angry.  Heinous things are happening in my beloved home state of Minnesota, things past the comprehension of anyone with a conscience or a soul.

When Renee Good was murdered, I wrote the following on Facebook: I never knew I could have this level of rage and hatred inside me, but here we are.  If a deity came along and said to me "I will wipe out every single one of these vermin in exchange for your life," I would volunteer as tribute so fast, it'd make that deity's head spin.  My only request is that I would be allowed to see these vermin become human torches, screaming in horrible agony before turning into a pile of ashes.

I didn't cry.  There was nothing but a hard wall of rage and there was no room for sadness.

People were being terrorized in their own homes.  Tear gas and flash bangs were being thrown at peaceful resisters.  A young boy wearing a bunny hat was used as bait to lure his guardians outside and then sent to a detention center.

And still there were no tears.

Then on January 24, nurse Alex Pretti was executed.  He was tear gassed, beaten, and executed.  Some of his last words were "Are you okay?" directed at the woman he was trying to help after ICE accosted her.

I read the breaking news, and the tears came.  But they were rageful tears without a drop of sadness in them.  My hands started to shake with wrath and fury.  I wanted to punch something.  I spent the day unsettled and so angry, had a hard time falling asleep because my brain wouldn't stop.

By Sunday morning, a lot of the rage had drained away, and I cried tears of sadness.  The anger was still there, banked embers glowing hot, flaring up while I read the obscene lies spewing from the feds.  In the novel 1984, George Orwell wrote “The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.”

About the only thing that has kept me from going on some sort of rampage has been seeing the stories coming out of Minnesota about the brave and resilient people standing up to this fascist regime.  Their safety is not assured.  As we've seen, people are being summarily murdered by monsters who feel untouchable, who feel they'll never face any consequences for their hideous behavior.

Neighbors are helping neighbors who are too frightened to leave their homes. People are mobilizing with whistles to warn about ICE in the vicinity. Minnesotans are standing toe-to-toe with soulless creatures who would like nothing more than to cause destruction and pain. Folks are donating supplies, keeping watch over memorials, attending vigils, coming together against a common foe.

They are afraid.  They are exhausted.  They are suffering.  But they are holding the line, refusing to let evil win, resolved to drive every last aggressor from the state.

The following is from Lord of the Rings, and I have posted it MANY times over the past year.

A new day WILL come and, as Sam said, the sun will shine out the clearer.

I hope when that day comes and Minneapolis/Minnesota has begun to heal, people will hold onto the friendships and neighborships that were forged in this crucible of horror.  I hope they still check in on neighbors, offer to hold space for those who are struggling, continue to patronize the businesses that provided shelter and sustenance for the community, remember how strong and brave and passionate they were in the face of danger.

There is a Japanese art called kintsugi where broken pottery is repaired by bonding the pieces back together again with a lacquer mixed with gold.  It symbolizes healing and finding beauty in brokenness, suggesting that repaired objects are more beautiful and resilient than the original.

I am so damned proud of my home state and its unyielding grit and determination.  May the brokenness experienced by so many be transformed into stunning beauty.

The Good Doctor

"People pay the doctor for his trouble; for his kindness they still remain in his debt."

― Seneca (4 B.C. - 65 A.D.)

I haven't seen a doctor since we moved to Ireland.  Going to a clinic makes me anxious, which ratchets up my blood pressure.  My BP at home is usually pretty good but as soon as I step foot into a medical facility, it shoots up despite my efforts to be calm.  It's called "white-coat syndrome" and it's gotten worse as I've gotten older.

I have a couple of chronic conditions that require medication and to this point, I'd been able to access an online doctor to get refills of my prescriptions.  However, once it had been more than a year since I'd seen a doctor, the online service refused to do any more refills.

A new clinic opened up recently a couple of miles from our house, so I sent them an email, asking if their physicians were sensitive to white-coat syndrome.  I received an answer very quickly from one of the doctors themselves, Dr. Feeney.

He said he and his fellow physician were aware of and sensitive to patients who experienced anxiety while at a visit; he said many of their patients were afflicted with this issue.

A few days later, I called to make an appointment.  Even that seemingly minor and safe task was something I needed to psych myself up for - making an appointment meant I'd actually have to go.

The gentleman who answered my call was warm, kind, and funny (and married to the other physician at this practice, Dr. McConnell).  It really helped put my mind at ease.

On Saturday, Eli and I went out to do a dry run from the house to the clinic.  We took the tram to Carrickmines with the intent to take the L26 bus to a stop near the clinic.  The bus was supposed to have arrived within 10 minutes of our tram exit.  The electronic board said the bus was due in 22 minutes.  And then 21 minutes.  And then 20 minutes.  And then 22 minutes.  And then 32 minutes.

I said to Eli, "I'm done."

We got back on the tram and exited at the Ballyogan Wood stop, planning to walk to the clinic.  It was a decent enough day, and my rage about what's going on in Minnesota right now powered me through the walk.

For my appointment yesterday, I called up a taxi.  The weather wasn't great, and I wanted to make sure I got to the clinic in good shape and in good time.

Dr. Feeney was the epitome of kindness and concern.  I had sent some of my medical records from Minnesota, and he got more of my history while we talked.  He said he wasn't going to take my blood pressure since that was stressful for me; I had brought him a list of my recent BP readings, and he was pleased with the numbers.

He said he wanted to do some blood work.  I may've hissed at him and made the sign of the cross.  He was wearing a medical mask, but I'm pretty sure he smiled.

He directed me back to the waiting room and said he'd put in the orders and let Moira (the nurse) know I needed her services.   As I settled into a chair, he was pulled into another conversation with the other doctor.

I sat for about 10 minutes or so.  Dr. Feeney came out to consult with the receptionist on something, so he was in the vicinity when Moira came out of her room and asked "Are you waiting for me?"

When I said I was, she replied, "Why didn't you say something?  How long have you been waiting?"

Dr. Feeney heard our exchange, and he said "I am so sorry."  Even the receptionist piped up and said, "That's awful that you had to wait."

They were truly appalled, and while I really appreciated their concern, it amused the heck out of me.

As I told both Moira and the receptionist, in the US it was common to sit in the waiting room 20-30 minutes past your appointment time and then sit for another 10-15 minutes in the exam room once you were taken back.  Sitting for 10 minutes was nothing at all.

Happily, the blood draw went well. The veins in my arm tend to collapse pretty easily, but she was able to get what she needed.  And I didn't pass out, so that was a win all the way around.

One of my "goals" for the new year was to see a doctor and get some of my health-related issues addressed.  I was proud of myself for overcoming my fear and getting it done.

Home Away from Home

In the Before Times (pre-Covid), I started a tradition of taking a weekend sabbatical at a local hotel once a year.  It was always nice to get away from the responsibilities at home and have a reset.

Then Covid reared its ugly head, and my ritual fell by the wayside.

Recently, I felt like I needed to get away again, so I booked a two-night stay from Monday-Wednesday of Christmas week at the Clayton Hotel in Charlemont, which is about 35-40 minutes away from our house by tram.

Eli's office was shut down (he was still working but from home) so it was a perfect time for a sabbatical as he would be home with the cats and they wouldn't be alone all day.

Parts of the hotel had a different function in a previous life.  The following information is from Wikipedia:   Saint Ultan's Children's Hospital was a paediatric hospital in Dublin, Ireland. It was named after Ultan of Ardbraccan, patron saint of paediatricians.  The hospital was founded by Dr Kathleen Lynn and Madeleine ffrench-Mullen with the help of Sinn Féin activists in 1919 and was housed in an old Georgian house constructed around the year 1770.  The committee opened the hospital with a fund of just £70 and 2 sleeping cots. The building was in a state of disrepair and was reputed to have once been a shooting hall used by Lord Charlemont.  It was the first hospital for infants in Ireland and hospital physicians in the early years included Ella Webb and Dorothy Price. Earlier in her career, Lynn had experienced discrimination in applying for hospital positions due to her gender, and Saint Ultan's was the only hospital in Ireland entirely managed by women. It was the first hospital in Ireland to provide the BCG vaccination [used for tuberculosis] and from 1937 became the centre for BCG in Ireland. Dr Barbara Stokes, specialist in children with disabilities, also worked at the hospital.

I grabbed this image from the internet.  See those two windows in the upper left corner of the white building?  That was my room.

This is that part of the building as seen while standing in the lobby. It was almost like looking at a castle keep or something - just had that vibe to it.  The entrance door to this area (in the middle of the photo) had very little height to it.  I'm about 5'6" and the top of the door was only a few inches higher.  There were only four rooms to this section, on the second and third floors.  My room was all the way at the top to the right.

I checked in a little after 3 p.m. on Monday afternoon, and this was my home away from home.

The lights to the room confounded me at first.  None of them responded to flicking on a switch.  I finally figured out that I needed to put my hotel card key into a reader right next to the door (and leave it there).  It would've been nice if there had been some instructions indicating this peculiarity.

After off-loading my stuff, I ventured out again, walking a couple of blocks to a Tesco Express.  I wanted to get some snacks and easy foods for lunch/dinner, as I wasn't planning to go out for these meals.  The room had a mini fridge so it was nice to get some chilled foods along with the usual chips and chocolate.

One of the bathrooms at our house has a bathtub, but it's quite narrow (and I'm not a small person) so I hadn't been able to take a bath.  The stand-alone tub at the hotel was a bit wider, so I indulged in a nice, long soak on Monday evening.

I slept okay Monday night.  It was funny because I woke up around 1:30 a.m. and immediately tensed, expecting to hear Patrick start yelling.  After a few moments, I realized I wasn't at home.

During the week, breakfast service began at 7 a.m.  I was there at 7:02 a.m., wanting to arrive before things could be picked over by other guests.  Usually the breakfast selection at a hotel is pretty weak but Clayton's spread was an exception.

All of those silver domes in the first photo (at the right in the distance) housed the fixin's for an Irish breakfast:  scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, black and white pudding, potatoes, beans, mushrooms, and tomato.  They also had yogurt, cold cuts, cheeses, fruit, cereals, juices, tea, cinnamon rolls, pain au chocolat, coffee, and assorted breads.

I loaded up a plate with good stuff (scrambled eggs, OJ, sausage, bacon, pain au chocolat, croissant, potatoes, pineapple) and thoroughly enjoyed plowing my way through it.  Had to go back for seconds of eggs, bacon, and potatoes.

Completely stuffed, I headed back to my room and just chilled.  Did a lot of reading, played around on the internet, figured out my focus word for 2026, watched some TV.  It was so nice not to have to worry about feeding the cats, cleaning the litter box, doing laundry, and any of the other mundane things that comes along with living in a house.  Having a different environment or surrounding seems to help bring me clarity because it throws me out of a usual routine.

I didn't sleep as well on Tuesday night.  I couldn't fall asleep until closer to midnight and then I woke up around 3:30 a.m.  The early wake-up time was just as well because people were slamming doors and my downstairs neighbors had their TV on a bit loud at 4 a.m.  I don't know what it is about people slamming doors in hotels.  If the door has a recoil you weren't aware of and it slips out of your hands the first time, I'll give you that one.  But to purposely allow the door to slam shut after that?  You should have your hotel privileges revoked.

I arrived for breakfast around 7 a.m., and we weren't allowed in right away as they were still getting things set up.  A line began to form behind me, and I was like dude, there's gonna be a riot if you don't let us gorge ourselves in the next few minutes.  The spread was just as wonderful, and I enjoyed it just as much.  I smuggled out a pain au chocolat to take home to Eli.

Check-out time wasn't until 11 a.m. but I actually left around 8:15.  As much as I liked being away, I wanted to be home again.  It was still fairly dark (sunrise this time of year doesn't happen until 8:30 or later), and my walk to the tram was pretty quiet.  It was Christmas Eve Day so there was very little traffic on the streets or people out and about.

There was an unhoused man huddled under a blanket at the foot of the stairs leading to the tram platform.  He was holding a sign asking for money.  I know that there are many times when people are only pretending to be homeless and don't have a need to be panhandling.  But I also know there are people who ARE in need.  I don't usually carry much cash with me, but I put a euro into his cup.  Even if he were just grifting, I figured I could part with such a small amount.

You know how you sometimes do the thing where a server brings you your food and says "Enjoy your meal" and like a dummy, you respond "You too!"  Yeah, I did that with this unhoused gentleman.  He said "Thank you" when I dropped the coin into his cup and instead of saying "You're welcome" like a normal person, I responded with "Thank you."

It was nice to be able to escape up the stairs to the tram platform at that point.

While I was waiting for my train, an inbound tram pulled up, and it was interesting to see that the cars were fairly empty.  At that time of day on a usual Wednesday, I'm sure they're packed with folks going to work.  I think my outbound tram actually had more people on it.

After an uneventful ride through the early morning gloom, I greeted Eli and the kitties.  It's nice to get away, but it's always good to come back home again.

Unanticipated Pizza

Each week, we place a delivery order for groceries from Tesco, one of the major grocery chains here.  Tesco has a delivery-saver program where for €15/month, we get unlimited deliveries - we could have one delivery a day if we wanted (which we don't but it's an available option).  Typically, each delivery costs anywhere from €6-10 depending upon the date/time so we're saving a lot of money and getting a very convenient service.

Our order was scheduled to arrive Saturday evening between 6-8 p.m.  I'm able to track our delivery status and when the driver gets closer, the tracking status provides a small map that shows exactly where the truck is at any given time.

He was slated to arrive around 7 p.m. last night.  I watched the truck icon get closer until it was about 5 minutes away, and we were the next scheduled delivery.  Then I watched the truck icon start moving in the opposite direction, back toward the store from which he'd picked up our groceries.  7 p.m. came and went and eventually, the map on the tracking screen disappeared.

Eli called customer service to inquire about our delivery.  The representative put him on hold twice while attempting to contact the store, and the rep was unable to get ahold of anyone.  He said he'd put in a complaint form and someone from the store would call us today.

I talked with a nice customer service rep this morning named Nathan. I explained that I was watching the tracking map and got very confused when the truck began going in the opposite direction.  Nathan said sometimes the drivers will teleport and it confuses everyone when it happens.  🤣  He set us up for delivery today between 4-6 p.m.

We received a phone call from the delivery driver a little before 4, and he said he was about 5 minutes away.  Eli greeted him at the door and pulled in the three crates of food.  I was making sure the cats were staying away from the door and not paying attention to the crates, but I thought it was odd we had three of them since we didn't have a large order this week.

We began unpacking, and it became clear why we had three crates.  One of them was full of frozen goods we didn't order - 9 frozen pizzas, 2 bags of chicken nuggets, and a huge bag of french fries.  Missing were the 2 frozen items I DID order.

I called the driver, hoping to catch him before he got too far away, but he shot out of this area and wasn't able to return.  I called customer service and explained the situation; the rep said he'd contact the store and get someone from there to call me.

While I was awaiting a return call, I shoved what I could into our freezer so it wouldn't continue to thaw sitting on our table.  Our freezer is tiny and couldn't hold everything, so I wound up putting five of the pizzas into the fridge, just to slow down the thaw.

A gal from the store called.  She thought my only issue was the two items I ordered and didn't receive, so I had to enlighten her to the fact that we had a multitude of pizzas and nowhere to put them all.

She said she would talk with her manager to see what he wanted to do and give me a call back.

And the end result is that we have four pizzas, two bags of chicken nuggets, and a huge bag of french fries to eat.

I felt terrible that we had to trash five of those pizzas, although it helps a bit that we were able to put both the pizza and the boxes into our organics recycling bin.  (All of the pizzas had meat on them, which Eli wouldn't eat; two of the pizzas were a brand I had tried before and didn't like.)

I also feel kinda bad for the person who ordered these items and didn't receive them.  It looked like they'd been planning to have a party, so I hope they managed to get this stuff delivered to them at some point.