Nothin' but blue skies

Today was absolutely and without exception the most beautiful day I have seen here--or anywhere, really, in a very long time. For some reason I had it in my head that Ash Wednesday would be a depressing day in Dublin. Not so. It felt like early May in Minnesota. I did find my way into a church to be blessed with ashes (it was interesting; there was a sign outside advertising all-day walk-in blessings, so all these business people were there on their tea breaks). Then my afternoon class happened to be canceled today, so I took the opportunity to revel, explore, and picnic in St. Stephen's Green.
I also took some long-overdue pictures of places from my everyday life.
My apartment building (that's my bedroom window circled, if you can see it; wow, I'm corny):

My bedroom. Last night I bleached the toxic mold growing on the windowsill and woke up this morning without a sore throat for the first time in a week. Note the 'Nuns Having Fun' calendar, a parting gift from Steph, safety-pinned to the curtain because we can't put tacks in the walls. Guess which bed is mine:

View from my window. Yes, it's just a parking lot. I never said that Dundrum was exciting:

Kitchen:

Living room:

View from couch of the lovely construction going on next door. The construction workers are our constant companions:

This is where I go to school--the IES center in the Rathmines district:

Grand Canal in Rathmines:

More Rathmines:

Moving on towards city centre:



The rest of these are in St. Stephen's Green and, let's be honest, are mainly to inspire jealousy:




Yes, this tree is flowering in February:




It's amazing how much a little sun can improve my mood.
This isn't exactly fitting the tone of the rest of this post, but I found out yesterday that my cat Cleo, whom we've had since I was eight, died earlier this week. It's sad, but she couldn't have asked for a more spoiled life.
Slán, Cleo.

Now? Homework. Of course. I have to write a 'cultural journal.' I think I'm going to write about how the Irish stereotypes are all about drinking and dancing and leprechauns and good all-around craic, and how a lot of Irish literature and film contrasts so sharply with that. We watched a movie yesterday in my Northern Ireland class about Bloody Sunday that literally brought me to tears. In my film class tomorrow we're finishing Song for a Raggy Boy, which depicts the horrendous brutality of a Christian Brothers school (my creative writing professor, who attended a Christian Brothers school, told us that the movie hardly exaggerates at all). I'm so grateful to have the opportunity to live here long enough to experience both sides of the coin.
Happy Ash Wednesday (a phrase that, until today, I would have called an oxymoron).