abwarten und tee trinken!

-Will you have a cuppa? [phrase, say ‘Will yea have a cup-pa’]
An invitation to a social act of sharing a drink made from brewing dried leaves of an Asian shrub.

If tea does the body good, then I’m well on my way to superior health. It all started the first moment I arrived to Northern Ireland and I sat with Peter and Jim sipping my tea watching BBC NI news. From there it became a disease- tea drinking (Tee trinken) invaded nearly every corner of my life. In the morning I was automatically flipping on the kettle in to pour out a cup for breakfast with my toast. At 47A I used tea breaks to lure John and Michael away from their computers. And this dark drink even wove itself into my work day.

My work day is charmingly divided into sections, a cup immediately upon arrival, at tea break around 1030, after lunch, and finally at 1530. These breaks are usually initiated by the comforting sound of the kettle gurgling and someone poking his or her head in the office to ask, “Angela, have a cuppa?”

When I arrive home Jillian or Michelle usually brew a pot before dinner and finally one in the evening around 2100. Punjabi tea is the best, contained in tidy circular packet that fits neatly at the bottom of a cup. It must be made with a bit of milk till it reaches a lovely tan colour. It goes without saying that an abundant supply of McVitties milk chocolate digestives accompanies the pot at every tea episode.

Of course if you decline any- Mrs. Boyle from 'Father Ted' with come after you with her tea tray repeating "Go on, go on, go-on, go-on, goan goan!!"

My time at the 'bracken

After waiting ages for a call I finally took some initiative. I laid out all my business cards on the desk in the order of importance. I got some information regarding a job at Knockbracken Health Care Park. Denise informed me that it was quite easy to get to only straight down the Ormeau road on the 15 route. Being a bit of a tightwad I wasn’t sure I wanted to pay bus fare.. and to where? I walked down the road that night following instructions from the S&E Belfast Trust website. After about an hour I approached the Knockbracken Park. Things were getting a bit dark and I felt somewhat suspicious nosing around the Park at that hour so I returned home.
The next morning I allotted myself the 90 minutes to assure timely arrival. Once at the gates of KHCP I looked at the map quite puzzled. Past the entrance, the Health Care Park took a literal meaning. There were rolling hills dotted with distant buildings and wards. I navigated around a wee forest to an impressive red brick building. I saw signs posted for Finance, Physiotherapy, Occupational Health but nothing for Mental Health. After wandering aimlessly around the grounds until about 0905 I became frantic. I stopped a man wearing the S & E Belfast Trust Badge and asked for help. He walked me to the department and smiled knowingly as I exclaimed, “Gosh, this place is so big, didn’t expect to get lost! What a great first impression I must be making.”
I was let into the Social Servies Dept and met my boss. She introduced me to the staff and explained that today would be a bit unusual. The staff was using the day to clean up and unpack after some remodelling had been done. This accounted for their very casual apparel. The day began with a meeting with tea and scones. I politely perched on an unsteady chair pecking at my scone like a bird. I hadn’t ate breakfast that morning and didn’t want to appear as famished as I was.

During the meeting I quietly observed my colleagues.
The boss was leading the meeting with a casual air. She wore a comfortable smile and had loads of laugh lines around her eyes. Her darkened skin implied hours spent on the tennis courts.
Throughout the meeting E R interjected a few comments. She had the transient manner of someone nearing retirement. Her pastel linen dress coordinated with her gentle character. When she smiled it was a sort of bemused smile as if she was refraining from some clever comment.
Opposite Elizabeth sat TW who had more of a loquacious personality. Her slight frame could be deceiving as she was not one to go unnoticed. Her previous job had been the one I was filling thus I paid close attention to her advice. To hear of her weekend exploits and carefree attitude one would never guess she had five children to her credit.
A young mother herself, M B only worked part time. Though calm, she had a lively sparkle in her blue eyes. Her sapphire nose ring and loose hanging blonde curls gave her a young, trendy look.
As the only male on the team, H M compensated by commuting in on his motorbike. He kept his hair trimmed short and his clothes were surprisingly neat for a bachelor. His scrawl on the other hand could have used some ironing out. His mischievousness was well matched by A M. When they were both in the office, something was always brewing. A M was the youngest social worker and always had a joke or story to tell. She was very bouncy and the office seemed dull when she was away.
Despite the seriousness of their jobs, the office was always ringing with laughter and it was unusual for a week to pass without a prank being pulled. I always looked forward to tea times when I could and be entertained by my co-workers. AM, TWand HM were usually the raconteurs while E, MB and I sat assiduously.

Bradley Business

The Mid Ulster Garden Centre was far more than I expected. I suppose when Peter spoke of the family business I imagined a couple of greenhouses and a wee shop with a few pots, seeds and the till. I was fairly impressed with the Bradley operation.

There is a main shop with 4 areas containing house wares, potted plants, seeds, and gardening books. Within the shop is a café with an excellent selection of sandwiches and beverages. One exit from the shop leads out to a partially enclosed plant display. These plants are the eye-catchers, parading carnations, geraniums, roses and showy grasses. The other departments contain trees, grass, shrubs, azaleas and hydrangeas, decorative statutes and rocks. Peter hovers around the Water area- selling Koi, water plants, and pump systems. If your intent is not to purchase any living things, there is a wide selection of garden and patio furniture and BBQ equipment. In the event of loosing your place in the maze of vegetation, trendy signs designed by Michael direct you in the right direction.

The Centre employs a diverse group of people for a wide range of job descriptions. At half eight, gardeners, chefs, waitresses, sales clerks, cashiers, cleaners, secretaries and baristas arrive wearing black shirts with the trademark green logo.

I worked with two Polish gardeners, Adyta and Evelyna, tending plants and arranging displays. As a new employee I inadvertently became a target for wandering customers searching for a special addition to their lawn. Thanks to my gruelling Botany education and tips from my Grandma Fitkin, I was able to navigate around the array of foliage directing customers to various selections. The alternative was to hunt down Adyta for her expert counsel.

When the customers caught my accent the questions turned from, “we’re looking for this one” to “whereabouts you from?” Depending on the customer I got a variety of subsequent questions. The older ladies would quietly ask, “so how does this Garden Centre compare to the ones back home?” The old men would compare weather, Middle aged women inquired, “Did I have any family here”, and the younger crowd always asked, “whatever possessed me to come to Maghera?” My answers were always the same: “Very tidy and well stocked”, “Yes, its very wet and much cooler here”, “No family that I’m aware of”, “I came to visit a friend who studied at my University”.

Due to Peter’s workaholic tendencies, hanging around the Centre is the best way to catch a glimpse of him. I usually joined him for a grilled sandwich and cuppa at half 12 to hear about his sales and bizarre customers. Then at six I drove down the road with Peter, Michael and Jim from 35 Station Road to 60B for dinner.

Greater Life

The following Saturday I received a call from a member of Greater Life. MaryCris is the Worship Leader and coordinates carpooling to Gilford. We arranged to meet outside Queens near Botanic Ave.

Sunday came and at 1330 I sat on the wall facing Queens. After 1340 I decided to move down the street closer to the Botanic Gardens. Sure enough, a grey Vauxhall pulled up, its front seat passenger was scanning the path for someone. I stepped forward and identified myself. Driving the car was a woman from Zimbabwe, named Goodrun. MaryCris was from the Philippines and 11 year old Peace was from South Africa.

The drive to Gilford took nearly 40 minutes, probably shorted by Goodrun’s ‘lead foot’. We took the M2 out of Belfast and drove through Moira, Lurgan, and Gilford. The church itself is situated in between two hills in the countryside. It is a long white cement building divided between the parsonage and chapel. Most of the equipment and furniture within the chapel was sent from Headquarters in Illinois. Due in part to the feeling that I had just stepped into a home missions church in rural America.

The atmosphere was amazing. I must be said that the moment I walked through the threshold I knew I had found my church. It may be in part of the familiar surrounds and music, but mostly due to the sweet spirit of the Holy Ghost that just permeated every corner. The worship service was very simple. Piano, bass, and guitar played songs in the style Matt Redmond. If you listen carefully you can pick out all the voices. Cooke has a very sweet and light soprano voice that compliments the tenor voice of her husband, Miguel. voice Bro. Larry’s rich baritone voice carried the harmony in a thick Rwandan accent. Goodrun is hard to miss, she paces the front singing boldly. At first I began singing hesitantly, but after the second line of ‘How Great is Our God’ I got carried away and started belting it out with everyone there. I thought I could be very low key about my love for singing, until MaryCris fell ill and had no replacement for leading worship. Before I knew it, I was up on the platform plunking on a YAMAHA and attempting to lead songs. They are a very forgiving congregation and tolerate my lack of ability.

Even on my worst day, spending time at Greater Life leaves me feeling complete.

Sunday Dinner at Granny Margaret's

On Sunday after mass everyone meets at Granny’s house next to the Garden Centre. She cooks a scrumptious roast with all the fittings, peas and carrots, boiled potatoes, gravy, spinach, rice or rolls, salad and of course, the desert. After this eye-popping feast there’s always room for tea and biscuits.

Following the meal, Peter and Jim cross the yard to work the afternoon and Barbara, Michael and I sit in the parlour while Jesse munches on the leftovers. Auntie Anne joins them for dinner as well. She is well into her upper 80s and doesn’t look a day over 67. It is very much the same for Margaret, she has very youthful skin. I hope it is all the tea they drink that preserves them so well. If that is the case, I’m on my way to a healthy future.

Thou art most fair, my beloved Botanic!

After a week living on Fitzroy I found that I longed for a lawn. I needed green, lovely, luxurious grass. Surprisingly for Ireland, there wasn’t a speck of green on the entire street. Then I had a brilliant idea, the Botanic Park!

On the sunniest day I could find I grabbed my book and headed towards Queen’s. Apparently, my idea wasn’t all that original because the expanse of grass was full of sunbathers. The scene was familiar but somewhat odd. That was it! This was grass, not the beach. Everyone looked like they had been abducted from a brochure for the white sands of Cancun. Beach towels, soccer balls and coolers cluttered the ground and the scent of coconut sunscreen filled the air. On the corner an ice cream truck was parked, keeping the multitude well fed.

I was quite happy to settle between a cuddling couple and a guy playing his guitar. With nice Jack Johnson tunes playing in the background I devoured the remaining content of my book. By the time that I had turned the last page, the sun was hanging relunctantly behind a cluster of trees and a cool breeze was wafting through. Encroaching shadows acted as a kind old Usher, nudging people from their places on the lawn. I lingered on to observe the unhurried exodus. By the time the last sunny patch was gone, the Botanic was nearly vacant.

Big Fish

It is said that goldfish only grow as big as their bowls allow. If you drop the fish into a pond (granted there is no ‘welcoming committee’ higher on the food chain), he can grow to massive proportions. So it is with people.

I’m told, “Everything is super-sized in America!” Europeans assess the length of our cars, the height of skyscrapers, the ever-increasing sprawl of suburbia, and even the diameter of our tenderloin sandwiches. However, for those who have never visited America, contrasting imagery in American advertising leaves them perplexed. A commonly asked question is one that is whispered close to my ear. “Do you think people are fatter in America or here?” They breathe a sigh of relief when I refute their greatest fear. (Don’t become lackadaisical UK, those fish n’ chips may soon catch up with our Big Mac!)

It is common knowledge that combating obesity begins with reduction. Countless diets and meal plans recommend leaving those last few bites on the plate, serving smaller portions and even serving on smaller plates. I think it goes much further than that. America should reduce the metaphorical ‘bowl’. Cars in the style of Mini or Vauxhall would not only leave us conscious of our increasing mass, but also would be fuel-efficient and allow more space on the roads for cyclists and joggers.

Smaller houses would act as a catalyst bringing families closer together to work out grievances as they arise, instead of driving 40 miles to a therapist. As space becomes a premium in homes, fewer televisions and videogames would clutter bedrooms and basements. The lure of spacious parks and open porches may draw families out to discover they have neighbors.

Of course, along with this reduction plan, Super Wall-Mart would become superseded and MegaMalls replaced by soccer fields and nature trails. As a result, a revival of family owned shops would flood the city center. Words like butcher, market, confectionary, free-range eggs, delicatessen, tailor/seamstress, and bakery may soon be restored to our vocabulary.

Schools would have to be reorganized into smaller county districts. Placing students within walking distance to their playground and schoolmates. Consequently, the student teacher ratio would become closer allowing teachers to accommodate both the advanced students as well as the challenging ones.

Corporate farming would become obsolete placing the land back into family run farms. Without the domineering competition, it may actually become profitable to be a farmer again.

Cleaner air, closely-knit families, smarter schools and self-sustaining communities may be an absolutely ridiculous idea, especially one that stems from a weight loss strategy. Therefore, any objections should be directed to:

Mr. Gold Fish

C/o Glass Bowl

159 Tattynuckle Rd

Fivemiletown

BT75 0TA

It's time to move on

Ahh.. travel is full of its adventures and new experiences.
My first experience being burgled.. and in 47A Fitzroy Belfast. I arrived home from a wonderful trip in Donegal and received a call from Michael Rice to Michael Bradley. He was walking back from work and noticed the curtains pulled down from my window. (The curtains I had just cleaned, ironed and rehung.) Upon entering he found the door wide open and his T.V. gone..
"is there anything of value that may have been stolen?"
my LAPTOP!! my lifeline, my connection to home... yes it was gone.

Luckily, that was all that was taken and my clothes and papers were left alone. I had on my person my passport and mp3 player.
In the end the police dusted for prints and took the proper photos. I later found the knife used to pry the window open, tobacco and a lighter in my drawer. I must take these things to the police station for their documentation. I felt like a bit of a detective using the socks in the drawer to cradle the knife out without touching it.
I am very glad that the boys are so close to check on me and that I wasn't present when they broke in. I still have my important papers, my music and clothes. That's really all a girl needs. Though I sorely miss my sweet connection to the internet and I must apologize if these updates are few and far between.
'All things work together for good..' and I have more time to read and draw in the Park, time for prayer and bible study. If I get terribly desperate for some BBC I just run down to flat 16 and hang out with the guys.

My Irish Family

After catching up on my beloved sleep I learned that Peter had Thursday off and would show me around Belfast. We looked around the Queens Quarter and along the Lagan-side. It seemed like a slightly harsh industrial city. The Botanic was a diamond in the rough, though the museum was a bit odd. We headed back around 5 and had a wonderful evening in Maghera.
I was kept busy during the week working at the Garden Centre and touring bits of Ireland with Peter's Mum Barbara, his sister Jillian and the dog Jessie.

The Bradley’s quickly became my favorite. Jim 'The Gardener' is a very gentle and wise man. He travels frequently around the world speaking about business innovations. He's got his pilots licence and knows every detail of the weather. Barbara works in administration regarding Healthcare training standards and conquers her commute to Belfast with classical music. I walked with her most night up the mountain and heard her amazing stories. Michael is an Apple fanatic, graphic designer. He keeps me supplied with 'Football Special' and his phenomenal orangey chocolate drink. His friend Megan describes him as a ‘spaz’ which is somewhat appropriate has he occasionally has these crazy spurts of energy manifested in conversation or on his computer working like mad. Jillian only comes by Maghera occasionally. She has just finished her Nursing requirements and has a job in the Mater Hospital. She was gracious enough to allow me to take over her room for 5 days. Peter, what can I say? Peter is Peter. He has his own brand of humour and style that’s hard to describe. He tries to make me believe utterly ridiculous things. This was the same at Coe, but after 3 years away I had forgotten this tendency. I took him at his word for about 45 minutes until I remembered.
Now going to Maghera to visit the Bradley’s is a treat. I feel wonderfully at home putting dishes away, walking Jessie, watching EuroNews and sometimes attending Mass on Sunday. I am blessed to be surrounded by such good people.

*Shhh* We're not alone...

It was the end of the day, another fruitless job hunt. I had planted my C.V. in various agencies at the beginning of the week and was now liberally watering them with calls and visits. My harvest of jobs was slow in coming.

I was discouraged and wasn’t looking forward to the empty flat. Following 18 years living in a full house and another four years in the dorms, I wasn’t sure what to do with myself with such little human contact. It sounded ridiculous, I had all the amenities I needed there at the flat. It was fully furnished, complete with a clothes washer, high-speed Internet, TV and DVD player, and cooking pots and dishware. However, human contact was what I required the most.

After finishing my shower I went to my room. I greeted one of my flatmates as I passed him down the hall. [WAIT! Did I say real, live, breathing, flatmate?.. You’d think I would have seized the opportunity to introduce myself, maybe make a new friend. Nope, I just said “hi” like it was an everyday occurrence to see strange men in the flat.] Three lonely days passed before I saw anybody again.

My subsequent contact consisted of passing ‘the flatmate’ the phone and meeting ‘the flatmates friend’ at the door when he was out. Finally both ‘the flatmate’ and ‘the flatmates friend’ were in the flat together working on the computer. Somehow we managed to make conversation and I discovered this was Michael Rice of 'Room 1'. I was still unsure who ‘the flatmates friend’ was. They invited me to the shop and I awkwardly accepted. Along the way I discovered they were both working odd hours at the call centre, which accounted for the strange appearances at the flat.

I began to look forward to the unexpected visits from Michael and John (yes, he finally had a name) and some of the treats they would bring. I sampled a the various Tayto crisps flavors as well as Cadbury chocolate and Fruit Pastels. I also met Joe, the inhabitant of 'Room 3'. He was only in for the evening as he worked full time in his hometown.

This bout of living inhabitants in 47A Fitzroy lasted only two weeks. They moved very, very far away: 15 doors down and across the street to 16 Fitzroy.

Moving to Belfast

On Wednesday, 14^th of June, I accompanied Barbara to Belfast for my new accommodation. I was glad to see that I was on the familiar Ormeau Road. I had visited this part of the city on Monday to help at her rental property. She turned about three blocks before the Lagan River and followed Fitzroy to Dudley Ave. The flat was on the corner in a three-story brick building. It was exactly like every other connected house on the block: Bleak, brick and broken down. But hey!! It was my first apartment- you don’t land in a penthouse fresh in the rat race.

We deposited my things into room 2 and headed back into the city and parted ways. I visited a couple agencies and booked interviews for later. As my first interview was only 90 minutes away, I happily explored the city centre.

Following my interview I made a pathetic attempt to find my street again. With Barbara’s words of advice ringing in my head I quickly found a newspaper shop and purchased a city map. This directed me out of my aimless circle on Ormeau Avenue and correctly dumped me onto Ormeau Street.

Back at the flat I made a careful appraisal of my new place. Upon entering the front door a hall led you either left to flat A or up the stairs to Flat B. Flat A had L shaped hall, the short end with rooms 1 & 2 on the left and 3 on the right. The other end connected to a bathroom on the left and ended at a kitchen/sitting area.

Where the halls met at the door a giant poster hung. It was styled in the ‘1940s Gee wiz’ style and reads: “Breasts, helping men avoid eye contact since 1857.” The rest of the flat reminded me of Greene Hall in a happy sort of way. The fridge was well stocked with Budweiser and room 3 had a few nearly empty bottles of whiskey stashed.

In the kitchen, a Rat Pack poster hung above the ‘entertainment center’. This consisted of a number of eclectic electronics: a TV that only works when you stuck a knife into the gapping hole where the power button used to reside, a Ntl satellite box, four random remote controls, an old Nintendo and a off-brand DVD player.

There were piles of sticky dishes around the sink so I was glad to get to work washing them all. Apparently, these guys ate loads of Chinese food. Rice and gooey, sweet n sour sauce liberally coated the plates.

After surveying the bathroom I wondered if there were only three guys residing here. Along with six toothbrushes and bottles of body spray, I counted 13 razors. Maybe they were just really hairy?

My bedroom was the size of a grown man’s coffin 4.5 x 12. The two rooms were once a small living room with a central window. I unpacked my suitcases and plugged in my laptop. I was officially moved in.

Celebrating Independence from Britain..... in the UK?!?

As the 4th of July approached I began making plans to celebrate the American holiday. Michael told me that his American friend, Megan was visiting for two weeks beginning that week.

Megan’s family, the Glens, are involved in a program committed to promoting integration among Irish students. It places a Protestant and Catholic together with a religiously mixed American family. The Glens hosted Michael in 2003 and have come to Ireland on occasion. They have kept contact with most of the Irish participants, but have probably seen more of the Bradleys. It was obvious to me the Michael and Megan had kept in close contact through the years.

I was hoping that we, the two displaced Americans, could get together to celebrate. Michael was agreeable to the plan so I took the day off and caught the bus to Maghera on the 3rd. Megan was very lively for having just flown in and was up for touring the next day. The four of us went for a drink and made plans for the following day. Of course Peter wouldn’t take the day off so Michael, Megan and I were to drive up the Antrim Coast.

The next day we climbed into the green skoda and drove North through the ports and past Bushmills to the Causeway and Carrick-a-rede bridge. Since Jim asked Michael to plan the BBQ for the evening we made sure to make a quick dash back to Maghera after ice cream in PortStewart at 1500.

Once back in Maghera, Megan and I decided to make potato and fruit salads. Our other attempts to americanise the BBQ were futile as the sweet corn and watermelon looked very dismal. It just wasn’t right!

What is a BBQ without spitting seeds or having bits of corn stuck in your teeth and juices dribbling down your chin?

At the dinner Jim invited two other American business friends. Barbara flew a little American flag above the hammock. It almost seemed like home.. if you ignored the bleating sheep, the slate covered roofs and the cool climate.

I couldn’t quite sleep without fireworks to close the evening so I spun around a few times and shook my head until I could see stars. Content with the results I finally fell asleep.

*knock knock* I'm here now!!

After spending a bewildering day around Derry I began my detective work.
I had contacted Peter's brother, Michael, through an obscure website he had created 5 years previous. A linked page contained his address and phone numbers. I used Google UK and began the "Bradley +60B Station" search and finally found the site. I rang the number a few times only to receive an error message. Due to the site being so outdated I tried the BT phonebook to find nearly 30 pages of Bradley's. None listed at 60B. My next plan was to ring up all the Garden Centres in and around Maghera. If that didn't work I would just show up at the listed address. I found the bus to Maghera and decided to try the phone once before leaving for the bus station.
What would the family think anyway? Some random stranger showing up at their doorstep? And I hadn't really spoken to Peter in over 2 years..
Following the hostel managers instruction I dialed the correct numbers and heard a ring. At LAST!
"Is this the Bradley's?" I queried
It was, so I inquired about Peter's whereabouts
"He'll be on shortly, this is Michael."
Peter came on the line and began with small talk and chatter. When he finally asked where I was at the moment I realized he had no idea of my situation or location. Perhaps he thought I was just sitting at home giving him a wee call.
"In Derry", I casually replied
"DERRY?! Angela what are you doing there?!"
Yeeeaaah, that was what I had been emailing him frantically about. The attempted calls.. clues. HELLO! I'm in your country!
I explained a bit of my troubles and asked when I could meet him. He said there was a direct bus I could take through to Maghera.. then he paused, "can you be ready in 30 minutes? I can pick you up"
30 minutes!! I had been panicking for two days while my answer lie a 30 minute drive away?
I walked to Waterloo place to meet him.