Lonely -- Emly, Ireland

I’m starting this post from George’s kitchen. A beef tagine simmers gently on the AGA behind me, Leon slumbers and rumbles at my feet, Kiki and Tubby have commandeered the extra chairs, and George sits with his computer, pressing refresh every few seconds to keep an eye on a Thoroughbred sale two of his three-year-olds are in.

It is another soft day. I spent a few hours weeding the back yard and my hands still tingle from pulling up nettles. I am thankful to be sitting inside with my back to the open AGA, the heart of the house.

The Knockara kitchen is brown, red, and off-white. The pots are a rusty, orangish, ruby color. The floor is copper covered in dust and mud (tracked in by the dogs, not me), and the table could be described as the color of poo, but as that is not an appetizing way to view a table, I will say it’s the warm bay of Lithai, one of George and Maria’s mares.

Today marks my first week away from home, and my decision to leave loved ones and good work is finally sinking in. This morning, I wanted nothing more than to be practicing yoga with Kelly (my most stalwart and consistent student) and then ordering a Cuban Cremoso at Main Street Bagels with a filled out punch card. I wanted to make a cheese fondue with Sara and to hot tub with Janet. I wanted to order cocktails with Miki, chai with Jomas, and to slowly sip tea with Kenton in his plant-infested apartment. I wanted dinner parties at Jason and Chelsea’s and to tease my mother about her absurd love of chickens. I wanted to listen to my little sisters talk about the love lives and my little brother (not so little anymore) talk about how freaking hard Latin 3 is.

Um. Duh.

“Travelling is only glamorous in retrospect. “

-Paul Theroux

For me, I believe my Grand Junction routine is only glamorous in retrospect. I was happy at the time, sure – but there was something else I craved, and I left my life in Colorado to explore that craving.

I miss all the things I’d thought I’d miss. Living with strangers is beautiful and difficult in the way I’d imagined it would be. It’s beautiful because it’s clean. It’s difficult because I’m a klutz and soil up the clean in no time. Everywhere I go, I am the novice. I am the chameleon who must adapt. This is invigorating and mind-opening, sure, but --

-- but being an absolute beginner all the time is hard on the ego. Being constantly corrected all the time can make me a bit unsettled.

“Zere is vater on za table.”

“Zere is grass on your backside.”

“Zis dish is too acid.”

“You alvays lock za horse food so dat za mice do not get in. Ve haf mice eferyvhere.”

“I do not like your interview project. Za qvestions do not seem relevant.”

Sometimes I have a difficult time saying, “Yes, George,” and not taking the brusqueness personally. I’m afraid I’ve become a rather delicate thing, and must toughen up a bit.

I am thankful that George is the fellow who will toughen me up. I know that no matter how “straight” he is, George does truly care for me. He is a good friend. He alvays speaks his mind and what's on his mind can hurt me terribly, but he is a good friend.

George says I have “grown into a voman.”

Today, I feel like a little girl. I just want a big bowl of my mom’s ubiquitous Mexican chicken tortilla soup, dammit.

Stories of George.

We had a close call yesterday. It probably wasn’t too alarming to George, but I felt anxious for a good while, and he had to calm me down. Which seemed a little odd, given the circumstances.

I was practicing yoga on the back lawn. The rain was holding off and I wanted to get some stretching in before the “softness” returned. Unfortunately, Kiki, Leon, and Tubby found a way outside and decided that my towel was the most inviting space around. Normally, I’d humor them as they trounced around my towel, wait for them to get bored, and then carry on with my salutations in peace. This time, I had no patience. I ripped my blue, superabsorbent REI towel off the wet grass and glowered at the three squirrelly dogs.

“Can’t you just leave me be?” I growled in annoyance as I hopped back to the house. There’s a small space to the left of my bed where a yoga practice was possible (although not perfect), so I set up there. I was just lifting up from eka pada raja kapotasana II when I heard George call me from downstairs.

“Aimee? Aimee?”

“Yes, George?”

“Aimee? Come here.”

“One moment,” I hurried to tear off my yoga paws and put a sweater over my scandalous top. I rushed to the kitchen, opened the paint-chipped door, and saw George slumped over the table.

“I misjudged,” he said slowly, “I am too low. Open up za fridge and bring to me za jam. Za apricot. Yes.”

I handed a spoon and 1/3 of a jar of apricot jam (boasting 50% fruit) to the collapsing George.

“Sank-you. I voke up and saw za little suns vis za blue around zem. Normal blood sugar is between a four and an eight. I voke up and vas 2.5 Two more points and I vould haf been unconscious. It is a good sing zat I alvays vake up before I become unconscious. Open up za fridge. In za orange box in za door. If you efer find me unconscious, you must administer one of zese shots. Za whole sing.”

He saw my concern as I fingered the syringe. “I vill be fine. I vas just like zis last time you vere here, only Maria vas here also and she knew vat to do.’”

George went to the sale to pick up a horse he didn’t sell. Met an old friend. Greeted him with, “I am still alife,”

“You alvays surprise me. Vhat is za news?”

“I haf cancer, Parkinsons, diabetes...”

“Stop, stop, zat is enough.”

"Do you still have cancer, George?" I asked after we'd finished chuckling at the exchange.

"No, za cancer has stopped. Hopefully. But I don’t mind. Vhen I retired to Ireland, I vanted only two sinks. A horse to compete in za Olympics – vhich I haf done. And a horse to compete in top level Irish races. Which is Knockara Beau. His picture is in za vindow. So, I can go at anytime. Not now, but soon."

George paused. 

 

"I haf to finish cuttink za hedges before I go."