First time home. The first Wednesday I was here I walked east on the Dublin Road about a mile to the large roundabout that defines the eastern edge of AthloneTown. My destination was the Creggan Court Hotel where the Weight Watchers meetings in Athlone are held. When I got to the desk to pay I explained that I was visiting from America. “Grand!” said the woman stamping the books. “Is this your first time home?" I missed a beat or two as the question registered and then replied, “No, this is my fifth time home."
A week and a half later in Dublin, Maura McKevitt asked me the same question in the bar at The Teacher’s Club after the Yarnspinners. It caught me off guard again, just briefly. I don’t recall being asked that question the previous times I was here. I love the question, the casual way it is asked, and all the assumptions that support it.
Is this your first time home? Wherever else you’ve been, however old you are, whatever your family history – you’ve finally figured out where home is. No matter the reason you strayed so far, no matter what other places you’ve called home – you’ve finally arrived at the real home.
Speaking of Weight Watchers. I went the first week and my weight was up. Of course, they don’t let you take off your shoes here, nor do the women strip down to their tank tops. Anyway, the next week I was down a little. The following week I was out and about with Liz Weir and couldn’t/didn’t go. The fourth week it was raining, pretty hard, and I wimped out on walking the mile down and back for the meeting. Today is meeting day again, but I’m on my way to Dublin for a storytelling event. I figure I’m up a few pounds, but I’ll get back on track when I get home while I huddle beneath an air conditioning vent.
Speaking of food. They put corn in tuna salad here. Tuna, mayonnaise, corn and they don’t mash up the tuna all that well either. There are usually big chunks of it unincorporated with the mayo. Every deli and sandwich place I’ve been served it like that.
Another food connection. One of my students this summer was Sean Covington, called Skippy. He got the name Skippy because when he was a little boy he was devoted to peanut butter, and not just any old spread. It had to be Skippy. Hence his nickname which, not surprisingly, stuck.
On to drink. Did you notice my great Guinness ‘stash’ at the beginning of the post? That was taken by Jeff Aspland during our first week here outside on the deck of The River S bar right on the River Shannon in downtown Athlone. That was when I was still harboring illusions of counting Weight Watchers points and didn’t want to have to count a pint of Guinness in my daily allotment. I took a sip, or two, from Jeff’s and he got this shot which ended up in the slide show on a big screen at the end of session party. Got Guinness?
Speaking of students. One of the students who came to hear me tell at the Dublin Yarnspinners told me later that she had really enjoyed it. “I couldn’t believe it,” she said. “It was better than an episode of South Park.” She assured me that this was high praise, since South Park represents an entertainment benchmark for people her age. She said what made it even better was the surprise factor. “No offense, but I wasn’t really expecting much.” None taken.
Another awkward moment, fortunately unobserved. I was doing laundry in the communal laundry room this morning, when I noticed a familiar black lace bra perched perkily on a large pile of linens taken from the rooms of the students. Mine. I have no idea how it happened to be there. Did I leave it one of the washers or dryers the last time? Did I drop it in the car park? Who knows, but there it was. It appeared clean, but I washed it again just on general purposes. It’s a really good bra and I’m glad I didn’t lose it. A girl likes some support on her fifth trip home.
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