1st June, 2003

Today was my Sister, Niki’s, birthday. Another one on that very small list of people who’s birth dates I have memorized. I thought of her some while I was at a small and fancy market at BrookLodge. No concrete idea what she’s up to really, but I know she uses her time well.

Me? I was selling vegetables. I did take a long break to walk around and see what was there. It was one of those alternative, homeopathic, massage therapy, vaguely Buddhist, love and light, artisanal, organic, free range, essential oils, sacred geometry, liberal, progressive, all-inclusive, magical-thinking, fancy candy made of carob instead of chocolate kinds of places.

Oh and there were these two dudes selling poitín (po-CHEEN), which is a kind of Irish moonshine. They didn’t fit in or not fit in. They just spent the day laughing through their beards. I already forgot what they were legally selling because they were so ready with an offer of the strong stuff.

A red headed American girl, Sam, walked by and told me she was just going around with no plan, looking for work too, so I brought her over to Denis and got her a job. She’s short and skinny, with a wide friendly smile. I think I’ll like her.

At the end of the day- same ending as every market day, we tear down our umbrellas and tables and load everything back into the van and glow with the warm feelings of teamwork, accomplishment, and physical activity- Denis asked Henrike and me to wait for him in the van.

We watched him laughing with a woman some and the feeling in the van was extremely tense. He was obviously and publicly flirting. It hurt Henrike’s feelings terribly and it made me feel so embarrassed for her that I, still kind of a stranger, was seeing all this.

When he came back I got to sit in between them literally be stuck in the middle of a classic girlfriend/boyfriend argument you will no doubt recognize in its bullet point reduction:

-You were flirting!

-No I wasn’t!

-I saw you with her!

-She was just a friend!

-You were treating her like more than a friend!

-We were just having fun! Relaxing!

-Well I wish you would relax with me.

You know that old song.

I spent the rest of the trip home contributing my share to the silence. I do not know what was going through their minds, though I can guess, but I can tell you I was thinking uncharitable thoughts about their relationship and judging Denis harshly for his lack of respect towards Henrike’s feelings.

Then I judged myself even more harshly for judging them without all the information. It’s just not fair to any of the three of us for me to judge and label their relationship.

I realized I have a tendency to idealize people and their relationships and then to lose respect for them when they are somehow less than I imagined them to be.

But perhaps I was only turning inwards so hard because of the damn tension in that van.

Who knows? But by the time we got back, I was chilled out and laying contentedly sleepy in bed, wanting nothing more than to read. Well, there was one thing I wanted more than to read- and that was to not climb down the thin ladder from my 6 foot bunk and creep down the steep narrow stairs and across the house to find my book.

29th May, 2003

I had to harvest four pounds of nettle tops for BrookLodge in Aughrim, a fancy resort and spa hotel in the Wicklow Mountains. They wanted to make fancy nettle top soup.

I waded through a field of stinging nettles about 4 feet high, pinching off their tops. I quite enjoy the sting now. The tingle is shocking and then pleasant with heat lingering in the skin for a long while after. I do have some raised and red ugly looking bumps all up and down my arm, but there also is that giddy heat!

I wonder if stinging nettles are used in Ben Gay or a product like that? Were they ever used in right of passage ceremonies? Could that tingle go to your brain if you, say, brewed beer with them? They hurt and they’re annoying, but they feel so good. What a strange plant.

I realized it was Chris’ birthday today. We’d been friends since high school and he was no off on his own journey- somewhere in the Persian Gulf, operating radios for whatever unit he got attached to. He is one of the very few friends whose birthday I have memorized, and I hope he gets out of this stupid pointless war ok.

After I got my four pounds of nettle tops (and if you think that’s easy, weigh a bag of leaves next time you rake!) Bryan told Denis he wanted to bring me with him to BrookLodge to help him.

Drink.

I mean, what else? We pulled into this fancy, lovely place, gave the chef his bags of nettle tops, and then went straight into the spacious and well appointed bar for a “liquid lunch.”

We “talked politics,” which, as it does about half the time, meant we complained a lot. I guess it was fun. I did approach real rage at the stupid wars and Bryan told me to run for President. Which actually would be cool. I’d be amused to cut military spending and increase domestic aid.

I lost the rest of the day in a drunken daydreamy haze. It was nice, but in the evening, I felt this ridiculous pressure about not having achieved enough that day and an equally ridiculous resolution to be more productive tomorrow.

Heh, President. Relax.