JP left on Monday morning from Dublin.  We should only be apart about ten days – but even that seems far too long! *Sniff*

The time alone, however, is a good chance to reflect and look back on our two months of premature seaside town ‘retirement’ at the beginning of our marriage.  It has probably been a gift to us more than we can even know right now, laying foundations that we will continue to discover for years to come.

Life is about challenging ourselves in new ways, we think so anyway.  Some of us enjoy that more than others. Some challenges are more enjoyable than others.  But one thing is certain, overcoming a certain challenge or managing to do something that you thought was beyond you, is always a good thing (provided that it’s something morally correct, of course.  “Wow, I never knew I was capable of killing someone…I thought it was so beyond me!  Look at me go!” is not what I mean).

Strange as it may seem, life in Newcastle for two months has provided some very important challenges to overcome.  I, for one, have never known such a prolonged period of rest and renewal in my life.  I spent a number of years of my life genuinely petrified at the thought – like someone who is frightened to retire.  I consider it an achievement to have found this quiet period so deeply satisfying.  Plenty of ups and downs, plenty of learning, and growing – and as a sum total, a very rich and plentiful experience of living ‘with my eyes open’ one could say.  Only with the help of a handcrafted bespoke husband (I should hope there is no other kind), I ‘overcame’ the challenge of resting.  Why is that worth sharing?  Because I think I’m one of a very common breed these days of people who don’t know how to rest…some of it is just how life’s circumstances are, hard times, long hours etc…but I’m convinced that if I can learn a bit about resting, others can too.

During our two months in Newcastle, JP and I have distilled a lot through our ponderings and wanderings.  Here’s a sample.  For the first time in more than a decade, I have…

…passed several days at once with hardly a glance at my ‘To Do’ list.

…happily and contentedly said “Ok, that’s enough for today,” even though my ‘To Do’ list had plenty still pending.

…gone without wearing my watch almost everyday – mind you, I have a husband that faithfully always wears his, so a bit of a cheat there…

…learnt that I don’t ‘need’ the internet anywhere as much as I thought.

…discovered so much more time for reading, cooking, walking, talking, listening, praying…anything but scrolling the screen or surfing the channel, or revising my To Do list.

…not cooked a single meal requiring a microwave, or a freezer.  We’ve had neither.

…genuinely had moments where I asked myself “Hmm, what do I feel like doing?  I might read the paper.”

…learnt to get a lot more sleep before midnight than I ever have before; and sleep before midnight is well understood to have more effect than sleep after midnight.

…discovered that not only do we (JP & I) both enjoy cooking – even cooking together! – but that we can be quite good at it. I’d lost a lot of confidence in my cooking after years of living in Africa or in university hostels.  I’ve gained back that confidence and it’s such a good feeling.  All hail Jamie Oliver and his Ministry of Food cookbook.

…discovered that I am much more athletic than I thought. I just need a hunky husband-cum-personal-trainer who knows about fitness to show me how to bring it out.  The fruits are now coming back to bite him, as I can genuinely give him a run for his money during a beach sprint.

…learnt that exercising doesn’t have to take hours, and that 20 minutes of intense effort is better than nothing at all, blamed on having ‘only’ 20 minutes to exercise.

…cooked and baked until I had no one left to give it away to, and then some.  The joy of cooking a scrumptious, nutritious meal for those dear to me, and then enjoying it together, is without comparison.  Except, I imagine, the joy of eternity with God…home-cooked meals are one of the little ‘reflections’ of eternal joy, a foretaste of the best meal ever, the eternal banquet.

…truly had time to think and mull.  I’m a very reflective person as it is.  But I’m also a very impulsive person.  Hence I’m capable of thinking, and acting, up a storm, but occasionally in a very wrong direction.  However, I’ve discovered the value of thinking over time.  Like trying to marinate a steak.  If you just keep pouring more marinade over, then, once the marinade is spilling out the sides of the bowl and making a right mess, you immediately throw your steaks in the hot pan, you haven’t really marinated them at all.  You’ve got to put a reasonable amount of marinade on, and leave them just to do their thing as only time can allow.  Letting ideas sit on the backburner, and spontaneously addressing them with my soul mate as they float to the surface again, has a natural rhythm to it quite different from the analytical ‘mad scientist’ frenzy that I could generate each time I landed on a new idea.  Just ask my folks, my ‘mad scientist’ frenzies have occasionally left them feeling like very confused and exhausted cheerleaders, receiving contradictory instructions about which team to cheer for – “So last week you were absolutely determined to do X.  Now you’re telling us you couldn’t do anything other than Y?”

…gotten a glimpse into the beauty of permanence.  As the Devil-siding Uncle Screwtape says in C. S. Lewis’ ‘Screwtape Letters’ (more on that later…), “The horror of the Same Old Thing is one of the most valuable passions we have produced in the heart.”  We value change and growth, which is not intrinsically bad – but Uncle Screwtape and the like have a great way of twisting that value for evil.  We don’t just value change and growth, we idolize it. It’s real food for thought.  As C. S. Lewis points out, something of importance that remains unchanged over time, unless it is gifted the title of ‘classic,’ is likely to be labeled ‘stagnant’ – a derogatory term when placed alongside something neutral like ‘unchanged’. However, God gave us natural means of change – the seasons, day and night etc – to sit alongside the permanence in life that allows for relationships and roots to form.

I have not understood this beauty of permanence more clearly as when I’ve spent a little time with JP’s grandmother, Angela, especially walking down the main street of town.  Where I hurry down alone, to the fruit shop or the library, and know not a soul that walks by, Angela stops past every second person, simultaneously waving a hello to another across the street.  When I see a garden or a street, Angela can see the detail of each plant and flower, it’s sort, origin and even when it was planted, and she can see a street with a history and a community with idiosyncrasies. Angela, whether originally by preference or not, has invested some 50 years of her life in Newcastle.  The dividends are awfully evident.  And as for me, having spent no more than a year living in any one location for the last six years, my transitory lifestyle is ‘poor’ in a certain sense next to her dividends.  All the constant change in the world would not give the invaluable, intangible good that she has.  The friendships I have formed, as critical as they were at the time they were formed, and as affectionately as they continue by distance, have often not had to weather the storms that demand recurring patience, forgiveness or humility like when we commit to something of permanence – like marriage, funnily enough.

And I’ll leave it there for now.  There is plenty else that we have ‘distilled’ in the last couple of months.  The even nicer thought is that that is only the beginning of a lifelong stroll into understanding what makes life worthwhile.  I may have spoken a lot in the singular during this blog, but none of what I have said would have become evident to me without the plural of my husband to illuminate it with me.

And maybe I should write about our trip down south.  We took a three day road trip down south.  It was delightful.  Very delightful.  Thrilling to explore new territory.  We ate brilliant food – oh man, food to make you weak in the knees.  Food really can be a foretaste of heaven.

The folk of Kinsale know this, and a handful of them have turned it into a force for change and growth (a good thing!).  We met Liz, a key player in the Transition Initiative which began in little Kinsale, the charming fishing village with an unusual amount of energy and vibrancy, ‘punching above it’s weight’ as Liz said.  Transition Initiative could be, to the cynic, just another lot of cymbal-clanging on the sustainability bandwagon.  However, we beg to differ.  It hasn’t gained the press to make it mushroom into the mainstream or become vaguely present in the consciousness of the masses.  Instead, it’s like a creeper plant.  The Transition Initiative has crept, and at an impressive rate for something creeping, from Kinsale, to Totnes, England, to a sizeable number of towns and cities in the United States and United Kingdom and Ireland.  Anyway, there’s no point in me regurgitating – I just encourage you to check out their website.   And consider whether you can join this creeping phenomenon.

To return to our road trip, we drove through the most pathetic, foggy, useless weather of the south west (Kinsale, Clonakilty, Kenmare, Kerry, Killarney…) and the blue clear skies of the west (Connemarra, Cliftden, Kylemore Abbey) that showed off the mountains and illustrious landscape.  We thoroughly enjoyed Galway, it charmed our socks off indeed – most especially the local traditional music, which is so prevalent that it couldn’t possibly be just for the tourists.

Oh, and we ate our way through Galway too.  At one point we started a reverse-pub-crawl with crepes, ice cream and melted rocky road at 5pm…moving to another pub for a pint…then some Sangria and tapas at Ireland’s best Spanish restaurant, Cava…then about 8pm, another pint while listening to a traditional guitar duo in a subdued pub, and finishing with another pint in Tig Coili, a pub that fully justified it’s reputation as ‘The Home of Traditional Music’.  We were home by 10pm though, lest we betray the myth of being a boring married couple.

It’s fruitless trying to describe these experiences any further…it will be nothing more than a series of “…and then…and then…” We can only say that, while the Irish may be in the throes of a grueling economic recovery held up by one word (austerity), that ‘Irish Spirit’ that the whole world seems to intrinsically understand is alive and well – in their food, and their music.

“The Irish came back to Scotland and said to their mates…”LOOK! I’ve found a place even REEEAIN-ier (rainier) than Ireland…ScORt-land!””

With that in mind, we set off for Glasgow, JP having never been to Scotland and myself many years since I made it to Edinburgh.  Well, we were charmed.

Glasgow’s West End, where we ended up staying, is the home to the city’s namesake university and the tranquil Kelvingrove Park.  A quick read up of the sites and sounds, and we discovered the Stand Comedy Bar, the sort of place you can imagine that Billy Connolly began his stand up comedy career. For four pounds a punter, it makes for a very cheap night of comedy – however, buyer beware if you sit in the front few rows.  You can guarantee you’ll get questioned and that your privacy will be breached. It was with such wisdom in mind that JP insisted we sit in the back row…all four rows back!

Glasgow felt like a smaller, cozier Edinburgh, with a definite ‘café culture’ like in Wellington, and a plethora of free wireless internet – we could only have been in a student town!  Or at least the student neighbourhood…

With an hour to spare in the morning, we wandered around the Glasgow University neighbourhood, and found our way onto the main campus complete with students teeming in and around us.  We suddenly felt very old, plain…and very non-conformist watching these young’uns (ha) walking around, exerting great efforts not to conform to the non-conformists, in fashion terms. A Columbia raincoat, a Kathmandu polar fleece and three year old jeans are very rebellious when placed amongst a world of H&M-wearing avant-garde, cutting edge kids in their early ’20s. *Cough* Lucy, you’re not much older yourself… *Cough*

To keep warmer, we wandered into the Hunterian Museum.  It was five minutes before opening time, so we knocked on the door anyway.  A chipper gentleman opened up.

“Good morning, we’re a few minutes early…” I chimed out of politeness, wanting to acknowledge that we had seen the sign stating the opening hours.

“What’s a few minutes to friends!” he replied in his Scottish lilt.  It’s that lighthearted, easygoing nature that we have found almost without fail in Ireland and Northern Ireland also.

The Hunterian Museum is the ultimate tribute to one of the world’s best hoarders – William Hunter, also known for being a leading Scottish anatomist and physician in the 18th century.  To mark his place as an incredible hoarder, the medical collection of body parts and bones and the like are not for the weak stomach.

It seems he had a lot of time to spare in spite of his taxing profession, because his collection of everything ELSE you can imagine…apart from bags and shoes – he left that up to a good friend Rosie Dawson-Hewes.

Our favourites in particular were the real birds nests, the display of bugs, beetles, weevils and creepy crawlies of sizes much larger than you’d care to meet in your own home, the collection of gemstones and minerals from every corner of the world, the 6 ft x 6 ft Chinese map of the world drawn up by a Jesuit priest for a Chinese emperor, the bones of a dinosaur’s leg – three times our height, and of course, the collection of Maori and Pasifika items – cloaks, treasure boxes, carvings and the like.

In addition to Hunter’s regular collection, a brand new exhibit about the Antonine Wall had opened just that week.  For those who don’t know (and we were in that category until we saw this exhibit), the Antonine Wall was the physical boundary of the Roman Empire in Britannia almost 2000 years ago, established by the Emperor Hadrian, stretching from the Clyde to the Firth of Forth.  A mere twenty years later, with the arrival of Emperor Antoninus Pius, the wall was abandoned as the Roman territory stretched all the way into the north of Scotland.  For anyone who has done any studies of classics or the Roman Empire, it’s an incredible collection…that must have been discovered by Scottish farmers as they ploughed their fields over the last hundred years or so.

With time on our side, we tried a different route home to the Emerald Isle, by train and boat, taking Scotrail from Glasgow to Stranraer then the Stena Line ferry from Stranraer to Belfast Port.  Three hours, with all the amenities you could need, and some spectacular views coming in and out of the respective harbours – it’s a nice alternative to the cattle-pen style of budget airline travel, a bit nicer on the environment, and even cheaper depending when you buy.

As for right now…we’re currently in the cute-sy little town of Kinsale, right down in southern Ireland, County Cork.  Plenty more to say about Kinsale and this breathtaking part of Ireland, but that’s another blog post.

And let’s be fair, we spent less than 48 hours in Glasgow, and there has been at least 700 hours since our last blog post.  So, just for the sake of, er, transparency, a word on life in Newcastle…

Admittedly, one family member does continue to ask us “Are you bored yet?”  Far from it.  Maybe keen to get back to work, but that’s in the pipeline.  We’ve got the unusual luxury of reading the entire paper AND some of a book each day, cooking scrumptious food (thanks to Jamie Oliver’s Ministry of Food) that we bought locally on the same day, baking for family, musing over the Northern Irish ‘way’ or the Irish lilt, jogging along a spectacular beach, mulling on the future, and for JP, building a fire most evenings.  The bank balance might be dipping ever so slightly, er, but we also keep in mind that a period like this in our lives might never happen again!  Think of it as an extended honeymoon!

In the meantime, I type on…

Current Location of the deployed: a small seaside town on the North East coast of the Emerald Isle – Newcastle, County Down, Northern Ireland.

We arrived in Newcastle about two weeks ago, after a few days in Dublin. While JP and his father commiserated in the stands of Landsdowne Stadium as the English whipped the Irish rugby team on Irish home turf, my mother-in-law and I spent the afternoon wandering the promenade of Dun Laoghaire (said ‘Dun Lear-Ree’) south of Dublin.  JP and I took it upon ourselves to tourist ever so slightly, enjoying the Guiness Storehouse and a fascinating visit to the Book of Kells housed at Trinity College.  We wandered St Stephen’s Green and Merrion Square, gorging on a (singular) Chocolate Brownie Sundae from Butlers (one advantage of married life – you can share indulgent things, making them practically guilt free!), taking a pint and leaving our namesake legacy (see below) at the famous O’Donoghues Pub, home of The Dubliners, or stopping for a late breakfast at the famous Bewley’s Café on Grafton Street.

As is the custom, 0ur NZ$5 bill is posted up in O'Donoghue's Pub in Dublin, in honour of our status as the newest O'Donoghue couple. Thanks to JP's dad John for the donation

Not so tranquil, and rather peculiar, were the brash interruptions to our street strolls from the Viking Splash Tours.  If you spend any length of time in Dublin city you are sure to come across this unusual tourist jaunt.  It looks like a bright yellow and blue open-aired army tank-cum-boat with smiling parents and children alike wearing plastic Viking hats and a zealous tour commentator/driver who encourages the passengers to yell “RAAAAH!” at unsuspecting people on the sidewalk.  I assume they’re trying to recreate a feeling of a Viking onslaught.  Cute.

(Note, the power just came back on.  The librarian: “Ooh! Let there be light!” she cries delightedly.)

That was Dublin.  And now we have moved up to Newcastle, where JP’s father was born and raised and JP’s grandmother, Angela, still lives right behind the stunning coastal Royal County Down Golf Course.  But don’t worry, lucky for Angela, we’re not living in her spare room.  JP’s aunt, Marie, has graciously offered us their holiday home two doors down.

Newcastle is about the best place you could find to unwind.  A quiet seaside town, where there’s two butchers, two bakers, and a few grocers and a small couple of supermarkets. Fresh salmon or cod fillets are only £12 a kilo…as cheap as chicken!  Anyone who enquires who we are – and this is common as people are very friendly – seems to know Grandma Angela – “Ah yes, Mrs O’Donoghue!”. The only public wireless internet is found in one of the pubs, and the library offers free internet for an hour at a stretch.  No television in the house. Great way to ‘dis-engage’ from the constant presence of communications technology.

JP hanging on the promenade of Newcastle, with Slieve Donard, the tallest of the Mourne Mountains, in the background.

The library isn’t open on a Sunday, and the supermarket is open only 3 hours on a Sunday afternoon.  Here is a place that understands the need to balance rest and work.  Or as my Mum reminded me, it takes me back to one of my favorite childhood books – ‘Peace At Last’ by Jill Murphy - though that is about a father bear who struggles to get to sleep in spite of all the little noises in the house.

Newcastle, for the history buffs, got it’s name from a castle built by Felix Magennis in the late 16th century which stood at the mouth of the Shimna River, but was then demolished in the 19th century.  Newcastle is famous as being the foot of the Mourne Mountains – “the place where the Mournes sweep down to the sea” as goes the song written by Percy French in 1896.  The Mournes provides breathtaking scenery, great climbs and wayward (not wild) horses on the trails.  With our new GPS (thanks to the Doehner’s, possibly JP’s favourite wedding present…), we’ve been finding our way around from the Tollymore National Outdoor Centre to Slieve Donard and home again.

JP and his love of silly poses, as we reach the Ice House on the way up to Slieve Donard peak in the Mournes.

From the top of Slieve Donard looking down to Newcastle, Royal County Down Golf Course and Dundrum Bay, the inlet of water.

JP and his newest friends, the wayward (not wild) horses on the way to Bloody Bridge, Kilkeel.

One of the horses takes an interest, but they mostly wanted to hang out with JP...it's alright, I get the message.

When we’re not climbing the Mournes, we’ve been doing plenty of jogging on the beach, adopting each dog that runs past and hanging with JP’s aunt and her two daughters, Lucy & Helen, who are great for collecting shells and picking blackberries with.  When the weather or the night calls us inside, we find ourselves at Grandma Angela’s kitchen table, reading the paper, drinking tea, or maybe wine, or maybe even whiskey or a ‘Hot Toddy’, and good solid fare for any meals – always potatoes, maybe roast meat, soda bread, boiled eggs at breakfast, berry crumbles and apple tarts…scrumptious.  And of course, a complimentary story from Angela about someone in the family, something they got up to as a child, as she raised six children through the tumultuous times of Northern Ireland in the last fifty years.  No one is spared in her story telling!

Hunting for shells on the beach with Helen & Lucy, JP's cousins.

When the big city calls, we’ve made the trip back up to Belfast, which JP has been surprised to find is quite different from his memories as a child when the troubles were still happening.  We stay with JP’s uncle, Frank, and his wife and kids, and the ‘craic’ around the dinner table is always good!  In spite of a heavy workload, Frank made time to come down and get us from Dublin when he heard we had five big bags…we hadn’t thought through the logistics of our getting our mini-version of ‘Our Life’s Stuff’ to our temporary new home in Newcastle.

Editor’s note to author: YOU NEED TO MENTION IN THERE ABOUT YOUR NEW FOUND GOLFING APTITUDE!!!!

Oh yes, and so my editor-in-chief, aka my husband, reminded me I must mention my newfound golfing aptitude.  I putted for him as I followed him and Uncle Frank around the golf course, unveiling a dormant excellence that I had gained as a child from all those years of Mini Golf on a Saturday afternoon with Dad and my brother.   I had two good golfers genuinely impressed…!

Lastly, we’re getting used to being married.  We’ve had intricate ‘conversations’ about how to load the dishwasher, how to cook this or that, whether we need to buy more food or we have plenty in the fridge, whether the weather is too poor to go mountain climbing (he says no, I say yes)…but those are the minors amongst a special time in our lives where we have a place to call ‘ours’, even if only for a little while, and time to find a routine on our own.

In no particular order, after a bit of brainstorming, here is what we have learnt since getting married…all three weeks of it.

• Lucy gets more satisfaction than JP in doing vacuuming and laundry.  We both like cooking, but when cooking needs to be done concurrently with laundry and vacuuming, JP ends up cooking by process of elimination.
• Chutney stains on the carpet might cost a bit to get removed, but they’re not the end of marital harmony as we know it.  First major nuptial hurdle overcome.
• Be careful on the plastic swings in Central Park, NYC – one too ambitious who chooses to go ‘higher, higher, HIGHER!’ may find his or herself flat on the back in the bark below with a nice collection of bruises, not least of which one to the head from the swing that hit her on the way back down.
• It is very easy to leave an iPod in a New York taxi on your way to jogging in Central Park…try it one day.

This billboard in the New York subway must have been thinking of me and my mis-placed iPod...

• Parking wardens in Taupo DO fine you for parking for longer than 60 minutes in 60 minute spots.  $12 later…you learn the lesson.
• It is possible to fit two mountain bikes into a little blue Nissan March.

With a little dismantling, two mountain bikes, one Nissan March. Presto.

• For every one friend that JP has, Lucy has ten.  JP’s skills are in the triage and shortlisting of friends.  Lucy’s skills are in the accumulation of friends.  Somehow, both are so very necessary as the years go on.
• When JP is being silent, it’s because he doesn’t know what to say…not because he doesn’t want to say anything.
• Molly O’Donoghue, the darling Bassett Hound, does pee on the floor occasionally.  Be careful not to tread in her, er, business, when you stumble out of bed at 4am to go to the toilet.  Go easy on her, she is still dealing with the fact that there is another woman in JP’s life now.

Molly, the beloved Bassett Hound

• Family and friends will come long distances (overnight buses even) to celebrate with us, regardless the time passed since your last decent gasbag together.   This is priceless and means the world to us.
• The celebrations in New Jersey brought together more of JP’s family than any other occasion since the wedding of John & Debbie, JP’s parents, back in 1983.  First grandchild to marry, big deal.

The Hartmann side of JP's family...

The O'Donoghue side of JP's family...

• Great wedding videos and photos don’t have to cost the earth…come to us for suggestions!

Our photographer, Matt Olsen, works it all out...

• Nor do centrepieces…thanks to Greg & Louise and Eva & Joe for pulling off our amazing edible, consumable, take-home centrepieces in New Zealand!

Our scrumptious centrepieces

• It is possible, if you have the most brilliant bridesmaids there are, to make from scratch a lovely petticoat for a wedding gown in one afternoon…and hem three dresses and make alterations.  Jenny & Anna, you are wonderful!

Jenny with a mound of netting, Anna busy at the sewing machine. You rock, ladies!

• Women are statistically more fearless when jumping off the Skytower than men – at least within the confines of our American entourage at the wedding.  Go McHugh girls!

Crazy jumping fools...Brendan O'Donoghue with his 'sisters', Sarah, Molly & Jillian McHugh

• Sursum Corda is one of the finest sounds around in Auckland religious music and is made up of people who sing for the sake of the beauty that it adds to the sacred celebration of the Mass.  Absolutely stunning.

Sursum Corda choir warming up before our Nuptial Mass began.

• No matter how chilled out and carefree of a bride you want to be, a little bit of nerves, tears and stress are probably healthy and unavoidable.
• Simple is generally always better.
• It is impossible to get married twice, legally, even to the same person.  Indeed, when we wanted to marry legally in the US, in addition to NZ, we in fact had to re-marry.  “I, JP, re-take you to be my wife.  I re-promise to be true to you…Lucy, re-take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity…”
• We must decide whether we will spell like Brits (and Kiwis therefore) or Americans.  Colour or color? Centre or center?  Herbs or ‘erbs?  Serious marital issue…serious.
• It’s best that the Best Man babysit the wedding bands until the big day.  They might get lost otherwise…

Our simple but beautiful rings, so well looked after by the Best Man, Brendan.

• Our mothers collude by email to the point that Mother A knows before we do what Mother B has planned for us next week…

Our wonderful colluding mothers, Helen & Debbie

• Our fathers speak a universal language of red wine and golf (and most recently, cigars).  No translations required.

"We've both won..." as our fathers, John & Clive, said during dinner the other night. New family, new friends..

• There is a Shell Station in Tokaanu, a tiny town on the south west corner of Lake Taupo where we honeymooned.  We had fuel gift vouchers to use at Shell Stations only and were silly enough not to top up in Taupo before leaving.  We had said we’d fill up at the next town…and in all it’s glory was a rundown Shell Station.
• There are two wineries in Omori, a small lakeside town, also on the south west corner of Lake Taupo.  They are NOT open in winter it seems.  It is wise to check this before starting the 1 ½ hour drive from Taupo to avoid disappointment.  However, the jetty in Omori is a nice place for a picnic lunch, and there is a petrol pump available but you have to ask the store owner to turn it on.

The Omori Jetty, the site of one of our honeymoon picnics.

The petrol station in Omori...never were we so glad to see gas.

• The sheep in Omori do not give very good directions if you’re lost.  Don’t bother asking, JP already did.  In fact, they’re decidedly rude and gave JP quite the cold shoulder.

The useless sheep of Omori, giving JP a cold shoulder.

• Grandma Nancy and Grandpa Lee (JP’s maternal grandparents) are still kickin’ it, loving and laughing, at 54 years of marriage.  If we reach that long and keep such a spirit as theirs, we can be very content with life…and a Manhattan on the side!

Aren't they lovely! Grandma Nancy and Grandpa Lee...

• Tim McLoone and the Shirleys have been playing wedding receptions for over 25 years.   They’re as good as ever and we’ll never forget the dancing at the New Jersey reception! *Cough* Conga Line *Cough*

Tim McCloone's band in NJ belting out some great music to twitch to!

Even we were up for a dance!

• Packing up and storing most of our life’s possessions takes some serious restraint.  We leave NJ with 5 bags between two of us, and a sum total of maybe 10 bags at folks’ homes.

We could become professional "Stuff Sorters"...

• Home is where we are together.  If we are on the couch together, home is on the couch.  If we are jogging in the forest together, home is in the forest.  If we are in the pub in Newcastle, County Down, Ireland, home is in the pub. Home is no longer a geographical place but a frame of mind of being together.
• Our parents love us so very much and it brings them a lot of joy to see us find each other and take that plunge into marriage.  They’d probably quite like not to babysit a fair portion of our life’s possessions, but it’s a means for them to keep hold of a part of their little one…ey!
• Married life, three weeks into it (so who are we to talk), is proving great.  It’s fun and games, in every sense, but we feel very blessed to be sitting alongside our very best friend throughout.

With those lessons, we will say hasta luego to dear New Jersey where we have been since 8^th August and hit it up to Dublin, Ireland.  Dublin? We hear you say.  A generous family offer of temporary furnished accommodation in Newcastle, County Down, Northern Ireland, cannot be refused.  We’re looking forward to a quiet wee time to re-group after a whirlwind of fabulous celebration.

The adventure starts here...

Listening to Brooke Fraser’s Flags album, what else?  It was there in the early weeks of our first online encounters.  Cheesy, ok, but when it’s my wedding day!

There’s been some nerves, some tears of all genres, lots of laughs and prayers.  Here we go!

Grampy, Grandfather Joseph and Grandma Pearl are probably getting their front-row seats ready, hopefully from heaven.  Hogan, JP’s beloved mutt of 12 years that passed away only a day before JP’s folks flew out to New Zealand, will be racing round somewhere, under the watchful eye of the three above.  And then there’s all angels and saints hanging out too…cause they all love marriages too.

Back to Hogan for moment….he was a very faithful, loving and loyal companion to JP.  He was just what you’d expect of a Border Collie and more.  While we could have seen the timing of his passing as a spanner in the works of a big operation, instead, JP’s mom, Debbie, convinced us all that he’s going just when he feels he needs to.  Has he figured out that JP now has someone who can take the baton of care for the rest of JP’s life?  Has he sensed that JP has someone he can give himself to and love forever?  We like to think so.

It’s Sunday night, this time next week we’ll be dancing to Bruce and Van Morry and hopefully enjoying a cuppa as we square away the day’s celebrations.

We’ve been a bit silent on the blog for the very reason that we’ve been like little beavers preparing for hibernation – if you want to consider wedding preparation in such a way.

We’ve been meeting and catching up with some of our nearest and dearest – JP has discovered my family, with all it’s lovely quirks, and all the more the lovely hospitality (especially Dad’s nice red).

To shake off any wedding stress, we’ve been keeping active. JP’s rugby cleets have remained woefully in the wardrobe without occasion to give them a run for their money, however we’ve managed to enjoy the scenery of Takapuna, Milford and Long Bay with a few jogs, and early morning kayaking on the Puhoi River. We’ve also made it out to the beautiful Waitakere Ranges twice over with dear friends Laura, Karen to Mercer Bay and Roseanne to Whatipu and Omanawanui…that truly felt like the ‘end of the earth’ according to JP and Roseanne.   Suffice to say, the blustery wind, the heights and the steep rock faces gave JP ample opportunity to play the hero as I remembered a semi-fear of heights.

Laura & JP enjoy a sunny Sunday on the Mercer Bay Loop Track in the Waitakere Ranges

Mr & Mrs Squinty-to-be and the breath taking backdrop of Mercer Bay, Waitakere Ranges

Roseanne & Lucy battle the black sandstorm at Whatipu, Waitakere Ranges

JP leaning to the wind somewhere high up between Whatipu and Omanawanui.

Roseanne, a picture of calm. Lucy puts on a brave smile despite the fear of being blown off the cliff...

We should be in bed as we type this, with an early morning airport pick up of the McHughs, close family friends of JP’s side…Jim, Cathie, Sarah, Molly and Jillian.  Instead, JP is putting the finishing touches on the playlist…”Norah Jones, good for dinner, gees, but all her songs sound the same…”

We’ve begun the dance practice (yes, for those who believe JP can’t dance…it’s just like an officer’s march! Right?)…jumpstarted by the pious yet sassy Eva Fernandes during last night’s Ethnic Dinner at St Thomas More Parish.

We’ve got all the essentials…marriage license, super priests, rings, dresses, shoes, suits, flowers, a cake (baked and well brandy-doused by Sandie, decorated by Nana), great music all the way from start to finish…about set, we are!

Thank you for those helping to bring the day together, and to those travelling from far and wide (and near!)…especially to our folks.  Champs.

The next few months will be a wonderful mish-mash of wedding prep, celebration and wind down, plus integrating one another into the other’s ‘world’. It’s a whole other ball game introducing someone to a new family and community…and of course, having time to be just JP & Lucy.

On top of all that is of course the question of after it all, yes…like, ‘real life’…It’s a question that we know many people will naturally ask us.  And a question that we’re asking ourselves too.  But let’s be honest, we really haven’t a clue.  We have lots of ideas, we’ve been ‘casting seeds’ as my Mum would say, and we have a plan of somewhere to hang out for a couple of months, but as for ‘settling’ somewhere – no idea.

It’s a fascinating question because both as individuals and as a couple, we’re in the unusual position of trying to decide what we actually feel called to right now, how we could make that work location-wise, and who might be willing to actually pay us for some of that dedication.  We’re not quite sure…we feel we’re getting closer…but one thing that is utterly certain is that we’re called to do this together.

There’s a few more things that complexify (not complicate) the question…

Both of us currently work in the humanitarian field, where recruitment often has a very quick turnaround and postings are generally fixed term in very specific locations (ever tried recruiting for a disaster that hasn’t yet happened?).  Matching up so you end up in the same spot is not for the fainthearted and we have many a colleague whose partner is posted elsewhere.  We know that the more we can compromise, knowing that it won’t always be a 50/50 compromise, and the more flexible we are, the easier of a job we’ll have trying to find our way.

There’s also the visa and ‘stuff’ questions…in many ways, it’s harder to settle in either of our home countries.  Neither have any ‘stuff’ to set up home because we’ve lived field lives for several years. Work permits aren’t forthcoming. Funnily enough New Zealand makes it harder for couples who choose not to live together before marriage. US immigration want to either keep you in or keep you out for at least a year while they process it all.  I need police checks for anywhere that I lived longer than six months…yes, including the DR Congo.  All things considered, the easiest places for us to settle would be back in South Sudan, or Kabul, Afghanistan.  How romantic.

That leads to another consideration – stability.  While we enjoy field life and that’s part of what we love about the other – our ‘his-and-hers’ items include Ironman watches, Leatherman knives; headlamps, workboots and backpacks… – we also know that field life often equals insecurity and volatile contexts that can be highly stressful.  While South Sudan has been a great taste of what that would be like, and we’re extremely grateful for how it stretched and grew our relationship enormously, we also recognise the need to just have a bit more ‘normality’.  Like a nursery tree transplanted to the ground, you don’t leave it to battle the winds and elements instantly – you’d give it a splint and maybe put up a mesh fence around it for protection.

Proverbially, we need to do the same thing for our marriage. If we don’t, we could do our marriage a serious dis-service in the long run.  It’s foundation-laying time.

We also have to be systematic (well, that’s what we think cause we’re both systematic people…whatever floats your boat).  We realised we needed to come up with a strategy for dealing with the question about ‘the future’.  We can’t simply know right now, but nor can we just bury our head in the sand and wait for it to happen.  We want to avoid both extremes of obsessing or procrastinating on the issue…particularly in terms of the time we spend searching, talking and thinking about it.

So, we’re giving ourselves 15 minutes a day.  We figure if we start now, hunting around, trying to hone our ideas, throwing our hats in a few rings, and we keep it limited but regular, then all we need after that is to trust in Divine Providence that He’ll fit the rest of the pieces together.  We like to think of it as ‘cooperating’ with a greater will than our own.  Indeed, as I’ve said to Fr Frank who will be marrying us, in some ways it takes a lot more faith and trust in God to be together than to be apart.  If we were alone, it’d be simpler to decide where to go because we’d only have ourselves as individuals to think about.  But then we’d be without each other, and that would be something we don’t want to even think about.

So we are learning to accept and embrace that the next few months is going to be a good dose of ‘trusting and trying on’ lots of ideas, thinking outside the square and encouraging each other to keep really honest about gut feelings towards every new idea.  We know life has a funny way of working out when you just do your bit and let Divine Providence do the rest.  It won’t be easy, but it’ll work out.

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Here we go. Posted.

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Well that was boring. Let’s actually post about something.

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Last weekend we put a digital thermometer outside in the mid-afternoon. Previously it has been capable of reaching 120 degrees Fahrenheit. This time it just read ‘HH’…I guess that means ‘Hot Hot’? Over 120 degrees Fahrenheit, that’s over 49 degrees celcius.
No wonder we feel slightly limp and lethargic.

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However, we treated ourselves to a special birthday treat that Sunday…coal-fired pizza, a little bit of Drodsdty Hof red wine in our tin cups, and stacks of chocolate brownies baked by our friends from Samaritan’s Purse (see what you can get when you have an excellent supply chain, everything from vehicle injector pumps to cooking chocolate). YUM.

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It’s begun raining sometimes. When it rains, the winds howl first. The dust gathers and everyone scuttles around shutting the windows and doing our best to secure everything. Then the downpour begins and semi-floods the living quarters, and three hours later all that is left is mud and a puddle or two, trying in vain to seem as ominous as their flood-worthy origins.

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Wet is now synonym for good. Wet is good because wet keeps you cooler…and wet is easier than dry, because rain keeps you wet and you’re wasting energy to avoid it. So sleeping in a slightly damp bed and putting on slightly damp clothes because the tent leaked, is a plus…because it’ll dampen (ha, excuse the pun) the effects of the scorching heat to follow. Why dry off after a shower when the heat will naturally do that? The wet will keep your skin cooler that few minutes extra.

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Outdoors is now synonym for good. Nothing is really ‘indoors’ here anyway because dust and all the elements of the outdoors somehow get in there anyway. Sleeping with the tent wide open for air flow, allowing me to look directly up at the stars, is quite the novelty.
In fact, wind and airflow are also now synonym to good. Once again, trying to avoid wind is just silly. Shut out the wind, shut out the airflow, let the perspiring begin. Accept, embrace, be one with the wind…and wear good sunnies to protect your eyes from the dust…and you will find eternal peace within.

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So, we’ve been doing a lot of that ‘becoming one’ with the elements…and the community.

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Upon return from a week’s breather in Nairobi (chomp chomp, fruit, vegetables…chomp chomp), Lucy found herself in the heat of a rather disruptive community brawl over one of her staff members. Arrested on the basis of rumours and acquitted innocently, but subject to categorical rejection by large groups within the community, the poor guy’s only hope was to have the political big guns descend to the village and stand alongside and, like a well respected school teacher, tell the cool kids to stop bullying him and leave him alone. There is no end to the surprises, the challenges, the unbelievable!

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We’ve also become ‘one’ with the animal kingdom. Apart from the journey along which life with puppies has led us (as we speak they’re not doing so well, come on little ones, hang in there), we’ve realized that the animals and humans share equally the control here. Cats wreak havoc in the kitchen if you’re dumb enough to leave the door open. Ant highways (the only kind of highways here) are to be duly respected. Mrs Bee, a very particular black hornet, arrives each day at JP’s ‘apartment’ to tend to her nest which is located on the wall inside his room. Goats regularly manage to penetrate our compound security measures, however if they’re not careful, we might just buy them up and eat them for dinner. As for cows, we’ve started acting like them on the odd occasion. Maybe it’s time for a break.

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To pass the time, we also play a lot of ‘pretend’. Saturday night rolls around…”What shall we do tonight, my dear?” “Hmm, shall we go out for dinner? Italian maybe? That nice little place in the market…” We’ve also managed to scrounge a few good books, including Last Order at Harrods: An African Tale by Michael Holman and King Leopold’s Ghost by Adam Hoschild, both excellent reads for anyone trying to get an inch of an idea what the African continent is on about, if it’s on about one thing or a thousand things at all.

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We seem to be starting a trend with our fitness regime. The regular ‘Hashers’ of Malualkon, for those familiar with Hashing, are mainly under-5s. However one Sunday morning we were joined by an aged man who kept up for a good four minutes as we ran…as best we could gather, he was having a joyride reliving his days of training and discipline in the military. Good for him.

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And finally, we’ve taken to attending the local church here in Malualkon. The priests are in short supply, so the community manages with a liturgy. Chairs are also in short supply, so we’ve learnt our lesson to ‘byo’…passing by the Save the Children compound next door to the church, to scrounge a couple chairs. While the liturgy is entirely in Dinka, occasionally the catechist wants to demonstrate his english as he sees us, that Kawadje couple with the puppies…”We are very happy you are here. God does not belong to the white man or to the black man, but to everyone.” Well said, mate. It’s far from glorious, it’s a bit noisy, but there’s praise happening and that’s a miracle given what these people have been through.

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We’re only a few weeks away from finishing up here. And so much more has happened than could ever make it onto the blog. It’s time to come home soon. But for now…it’s time to turn the generator off…

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Whether out of resourcefulness or simply desperation to get a (half-decent) workout, JP built a gym. The IRC Malualkon Health & Fitness Resort is officially opened. Services include a pull-up bar made from old tent poles, sand-bag bar bells and even a ‘yoga mat’. For that post-workout thirst quencher, an expiring supply of Tang (like Raro for the Kiwis) was found in the hibernation stocks…one step down from Gatorade or any other reputable sports drink.

JP O'Donoghue, Executive Director and Senior Personal Trainer of the exclusive and new Malualkon IRC Fitness Centre

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The above-mentioned ‘yoga mat’ also constitutes part of the décor renovations done on JP’s new ‘apartment’. Other titivating included the addition of an old door of which the ledges provide shelving, and the strategic placement of nails on the wall for ‘wardrobe storage’. If you can stand the invasive grind of the generator 10 meters away (which is currently broken down), it’s an ambient little spot and much cooler than Lucy’s tent during the day.

The latest in home decor from South Sudan's equivalent of Crate & Barrel

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And to complete the picture of domestic bliss, we threw a couple of puppies into the mix, especially since JP is so far from his dear mutts Hogan and Molly.

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Well, it wasn’t quite as intentional as that. The opportunity fell into our laps…literally. Five of us had gone out to the ‘bar’ in the market one evening. ‘Bar’ is a generous term, it’s more like a small space about 4 x 4 metres with grass mat fencing around it and an a bunch of plastic chairs and table where a child (or a least one clearly underage) serves warm Tusker or Pilsner because their generator wasn’t working to keep the fridge running.

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As we released about the stresses of work, the frustrations, as we debated the growing trend of commercial organizations being contracted to do humanitarian work and the implications ethically, practically (hi there Aecom, Dyncorp, ABT…!)…we noticed a tiny little pooch hobbling around in the corner, trying to make something nutritious of the Tusker-cum-urine-cum-rubbish-cum-bottle caps supply that could be found on the ground. Upon closer inspection we were sure this littlie couldn’t be more than a few days old and a mother was nowhere in sight. After some joking around about having a pet puppy, we thought ‘gees, why not?’ If they could have at least a few more weeks of life thanks to our care, to grow strong enough to head back into the market with the other dogs, instead of being stunted and possibly not make it past a few days, then why not?

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We tried to ‘ask’ the collective of ‘owners’ of the bar (simply everyone else sitting in the bar)…by holding up the puppy and pointing to puppy then to ourselves then to our house. They all nodded enthusiastically. We took that as permission to take the puppy. We settled just to finish our beer and minutes later one of the ‘owners’ comes in with a second puppy. Nothing was lost in translation there – a clear gesture of “Here, have another one!”
So we quickly found ourselves with two adorable hobbling affectionate little girls to look after.

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The last few days therefore has suddenly become dappled with a ‘feeding-pooping-peeing-playing’ routine as we manage between three of us (Rachel, Lucy’s colleague got in on the act) a round-the-clock care. With no veterinarian services to speak of, we know it takes a bit of care to keep healthy and keep them as healthy as possible. Very tactical efforts were needed for the removal of impressive ticks from ears and body, and bathtime with dettol liquid in a beat-up old paint bucket are a must. The plan is to use a roofless old tukul as their ‘play pen’ and teach them to scrounge for insects so they get weaned off our luxury powder milk and potable water combination.

Luolabel's bathtime with daddy

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Laughs and curious smiles escape from our staff and other locals, who think we’re just a little bit strange looking after dogs. I don’t blame them…when there are children dying of malnutrition, why would you care about a dog? Because we’re already trying to care for the malnutrition too…

Luolabel gets into dinner (milk) while Wheelie-roll contemplates chewing daddy's foot.

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While it may sound like adding another stress to an already stressful and busy lifestyle, the effect is quite the opposite. In a bizarre way, their presence softens and humanizes life here, and gives us something else to think about and force us to take breaks from work…nothing like a Pilsner and a puppy cuddle at sunset.

Sunset cuddles with mommy and Pilsner beer

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Alternately, JP should also have been an orthodontist.  Well, at least he could be trusted in the case of emergencies.  Last week, Lucy had an unfortunate issue with some wiring in her teeth that, after behaving itself for eight years, had decided to undo itself.  The situation was stable but precarious…and finally on Saturday morning, some over-enthusiastic teeth brushing destabilized it all.  What does one do when one has orthodontic issues of an urgent nature in South Sudan?

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One goes “Aha…I have a handy dandy fiancé…armed with a Leatherman knife, a pair of nail clippers, matches to sterilize the ‘instruments’ and a headlamp to ensure good lighting for the whole procedure.”  Within minutes the wayward wire was removed and put to rest, and the problem solved enough that Lucy can continue unhindered until she arrives back in New Zealand.

JP gets all his instruments lined up for the procedure...(We'll spare you the shots of inside Lucy's mouth)

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It has been an ‘entertaining’ first week together to say the least.  We probably need to start a ‘frustration jar’…one Sudanese pound (38c US) in the jar every time we say the word ‘frustration’ or any variant thereof.  South Sudan is simply that in a nutshell.  Nevertheless, it keeps us out of trouble…and together.

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The highlights have included JP looking after a goat that had been requisitioned and tied up under a tree at IRC, as a substitute for caring for his dear mutt Hogan.  After several days of being fed leaves and water, and given refuge under a table, the goat clearly considered JP to be his savior from the desolate life of eating rubbish out on the village roads.  However, just after lunch today we saw the goat’s days come to an end…sounds like there will be goat on the menu for dinner.

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JP is also getting used to the pop star status of being a ‘Kawadje’ (white person).  Children shriek across the village as you walk by…some bold enough to race up to you and wave with a Nazi-style stiff arm, or shake your hands.  The bulk of kids are delightful and giggly and just plain fun, however we had some near misses from a few anti-social boys. “Ergh…look at that kid…I wonder why he is peeing into a coke bottle?” Five seconds later, we hear the thud of the coke bottle on the ground next to us. We burst out in philosophical laughter, grateful for his bad aim – what else should one do when one has a coke bottle of urine hurtled at oneself by a child who could be right out of Lord of the Flies?  Or when the other little boys with threatening sling shots were scared off only by JP’s clever ‘laser-beam weapon’ otherwise known as a cellphone? Or when a kid bangs violently on your car door when you refuse to give him food or money because that only encourages dependency, and you tell him to go to school…then he eventually gets so mad that he whacks you across the arm?  Some days, you feel like yelling at them “Look, we can leave. Honestly.  Just keep acting like sulky, ungrateful violent little sods and we will happily pack up and bugger off and leave you to your misery.”  But then you also have to remember that these kids probably don’t know much else than anti-social behavior, hardship and the sore end of the stick.  But still…throwing pee-filled coke bottles?  If nothing else, it reminds you that we all need to be loved, and as Lucy’s parents always said…hurting people hurt people.

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On the topic of kids …we’re also adjusting to the unfortunate reality of not just underage drinking, but underage sale of beer.  It’s one thing to sell alcohol to minors…however in South Sudan, it’s the minors selling the alcohol.  Granted, it’s watery cheap Tusker beer and the kid is clearly the mignon of a small family business reliant on their one asset, a box refrigerator and a clapped out generator allowing them to sell cold drinks.

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Preparing for marriage is great way to pass the time here, or at least it beats playing Monopoly.  We’re currently musing our way through the book “The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work” by John Gottman.  It came highly recommended to us and frankly it’s a rather refreshing take on marriage, that condones screaming matches and doesn’t rely on the old adages of “using I statements” and simply communicating better.  We’ll keep you posted…

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Finally, to work off the beer and the stodgy starchy diet, JP has instigated a fitness regime in spite of the heat…we’ve managed three very modest ‘jogs’ this weekend up and down the airstrip and down the main roads out of the village.

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However, we may have to get more creative about our jogging routes given that last Wednesday we had a ‘lock down’ of sorts due to concerns of militia activity in the area. The airstrip, main roads and the village market were shut down under orders by the state governor, and patrolled by police and the South Sudan’s military.  Fortunately, JP’s smooth negotiating efforts ensured that the scheduled humanitarian flights were still able to land and operations were minimally disturbed. All is calm once again on the Malualkon front, however you have to take each day as it comes here.

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In fact, taking each day is about all you can manage here…and making sure you enjoy the end of each day with a refreshing Tusker beer…(yes, even in Lent…)

JP sits on the 'porch' with his Tusker at dusk, catching up emails home...

The view from the 'porch' on a typical evening...not bad, eh?