Nearly Normal…

Covid is still a thing. Anyone who denies this is kidding themselves. But it’s not the “thing” it was two years ago. We hear the term “living with covid” bandied about quite liberally these days and I suppose it’s accurate. Most people have returned to some semblance of their pre-2020 lives, but no matter how much we wish it was the case, a world without covid is simply not the real world. But this week my professional life here in Dublin took some big steps toward getting back to whatever normal is now. 

My company has been completely remote since March 13, 2020 and, while we were very lucky that we were able to switch to remote working fairly easily, being 100% remote has had its challenges. But this past week we got the keys to our new studio space – on Merrion Square! Those familiar with Dublin will know that this address is… fancy. We have two floors of a gorgeous Georgian building, across the street from a beautiful park and smack dab in the middle of Dublin city centre. Even though it’s still just empty rooms, we had a studio happy hour on Friday to christen the new space. 

And it was lovely. 

Our company has grown by leaps and bounds during the past couple years so we were not only reunited with familiar faces, but finally got to meet the people who have joined us since covid started. Everyone was so happy to see (or meet!) each other, and being in the new studio space was really exciting and energizing. Being in a studio space again really drove home what we’ve been missing these past couple years. I know that I am very excited to have a place to go to again. And it doesn’t hurt that there’s a lovely pub on the corner for more company happy hours! 

After our “little” studio get-together it was time to move on to the main event – the Women In Animation Summer Party. WIA is an organization that, pre-covid, would plan events for the Irish animation industry (not just women!). The two big events have always been the Summer Party and the Christmas Party – they’ve always been great craic. But, of course, covid put a stop to them. We held the last Christmas Party in December 2019 and were not able to hold another event until this past Saturday. 

And it was lovely. 

The woman who basically organized the entire thing herself was worried that not many people would show up. Let’s just say she had absolutely nothing to worry about! The turnout was incredible – there had to be at least 300 people there, probably more. It was a beautiful summer night and we had the roof terrace all to ourselves. And people were just so happy to see each other, so happy to hug and drink and catch up and celebrate the amazing professional community we have here in Ireland. 

In addition to being lovely, it was also needed. So needed. You could feel the joy and the energy. Energy that had been building and joy that had been missing for nearly two and a half years. It felt like a turning point. 

So, while covid is still very much with all of us, these past few days felt like the start of something nearly normal. And it really is lovely. 

Kiss me, I’m Irish!

I don’t know what the saying “Kiss me, I’m Irish” is actually supposed to mean. A google search reveals that it’s something to do with the Blarney Stone. I remember it being on St. Patrick’s Day decorations and T-shirts when I was a kid. I don’t think I’ve ever heard an actual Irish person say it. But, the saying is oddly apt (“for the day that’s in it” – an actual Irish phrase I’ve heard people say) because…


On Monday, 20th June in Killarney, County Kerry, I took the oath of citizenship along with approximately 450 other people. It was very special, made perhaps even more special because this was the first in-person citizenship ceremony in two years, since covid put a stop to so many things. I had to cut a work trip short and make my way to County Kerry on Sunday so I was there for the ceremony on Monday morning. At first I found this rather annoying. Other friends, during covid restrictions, were able to get their naturalization certificate via post  – why couldn’t I do that?! It would certainly have been easier and more convenient.

But when I arrived at the Killarney convention centre and sat amongst all the other citizenship candidates, the excitement and joy was palpable. There were young people and elderly people. People of every color of the rainbow. I heard so many different accents and different languages being spoken. All of us had our own story that brought us to this place and this moment. And we were all about to become Irish, together.

I may or may not have gotten a bit teary as we recited the Declaration of Fidelity. This is my third citizenship but the first one in which I’ve had to make such an oath. I was born in the US, so got that citizenship automatically. I had to work hard to get my Italian citizenship but that was to get my citizenship recognized, not granted – I’d always been an Italian citizen. With my Irish citizenship it’s different – it’s a privilege, not a right. It’s something I wanted and chose to pursue, rather than something I just always had. It was a conscious choice, and a choice I’m so glad I made.

In the packet of materials we got on the day of the ceremony, along with our Naturalization Certificate, a copy of the Irish Constitution and an Irish flag pin, there was a letter from the Minister for Justice. The last two paragraphs pretty much sum up why this day was so special and why it is my absolute privilege and joy to now be Irish:

It’s important to know that becoming an Irish citizen does not mean giving up your identity from your homeland. It is an integral part of who you are and how you have come to be here today. We want you to share your culture, traditions and stories with us. Over time they will become part of the fabric of our soceity and we will be richer for it. 

Today marks the start of a new chapter in your life, one that you have chosen to share with us, your fellow Irish citizens. We will celebrate your achievements, support you in difficult times and ensure that you always have a place to call home. 

So yeah – kiss me, I’m Irish!


Last Saturday, I was having a picnic with friends in the park near my apartment here in Dublin. It was a lovely afternoon filled with conversation and laughter and prosecco. But then, when I got back to my place in the early evening, in my prosecco-filled haze, I saw on twitter and facebook that something was happening in my hometown of Buffalo, New York.

And it was the worst thing one could imagine – a mass shooting. At a grocery store. On a saturday afternoon. A lone gunman, armed with automatic weapons and wearing body armor, shot 13 people, killing 10 of them. Details were sketchy when I first heard the news. I immediately tried to figure out which Tops market the shooting had taken place at. When I found out the location was Jefferson Ave. on Buffalo’s East Side, I knew in an instant that everyone in my immediate family and friend circle was safe. I also was 99% sure that the shooting was going to be a young, white man and that this was a racially-motivated hate crime.

I was right.

The terrorist, whose name I will not write here, purposely picked this Tops market because it was located in a black neighborhood. He posted a hate-filled manifesto online and live-streamed his shooting spree on twitch. What has happened so many times before in so many places in the US has now happened in my home town. I spent the rest of that evening crying as details of the massacre started to filter online and onto the news over here.

Buffalo has been experiencing a renaissance in recent years – at the same time some would argue that Dublin has experienced a bit of a downturn. Buffalo now has amazing restaurants, wonderful entertainment, cultural and sporting events, and areas that were once abandoned and derelict factories are finding uses as some of those restaurants and entertainment venues. Winter or summer, there’s now amazing stuff to do in Buffalo.

But there is still a segregation of neighborhoods – hence how I knew immediately when I learned the address of the store that it was a racially-motivated attack. There is a difference being white in Buffalo and being black in Buffalo – just as there is a difference being white in America and being black in America. It’s my white privilege that allowed me to nearly immediately know that my family and friends were safe in the aftermath of this attack – my zip code wouldn’t have been targeted by a racist, gun-toting terrorist.

I could go on about white privilege or start in on gun control but I’m not going to do that today. Today, I just want my hometown to know that I love it and that no matter how long I’ve been away, it will always be home. And, while I won’t write the name of the terrorist, I will write the names of those he killed.

They deserved better and now, at the very least, they deserve to be remembered.

  • Roberta A. Drury, 32, of Buffalo
  • Margus D. Morrison, 52, of Buffalo
  • Andre Mackniel, 53, of Auburn, New York
  • Aaron Salter, 55, of Lockport, New York
  • Geraldine Talley, 62, of Buffalo
  • Celestine Chaney, 65, of Buffalo
  •  Heyward Patterson, 67, of Buffalo
  • Katherine Massey, 72, of Buffalo
  • Pearl Young, 77, of Buffalo
  • Ruth Whitfield, 86, of Buffalo

Rest in power. Rest in peace.

A Matter of Choice…

It’s been quite the week in the States with the leaking of a draft Supreme Court opinion that would repeal Roe Vs. Wade. Once this happens, abortion would immediately become illegal in more than a dozen states, legislating what a woman can and cannot do with her own body and, as far as I’m concerned, catapulting the US back about 50 years. This was big news world wide – it was the lead story here in Ireland when the leak happened. The ramifications of the repeal of Roe Vs. Wade are far reaching and in some cases, still unknown. But none of it is good. And I am so angry.

When I moved to Dublin nearly ten years ago abortion was illegal. Irish women had to go to the UK if they wanted to end a pregnancy. Excited as I was to move to Dublin and begin my life as an expat, it troubled me that the church seemed to hold so much power over the government and the lives of its citizens. Divorce wasn’t legalized in Ireland until 1995. You read that right – 1995!!! Is it any wonder that women didn’t have the right to chose what happened with their own body?

But during my decade in Ireland things have started to change – for the better. Ireland is by no means perfect. It still has issues – lots of issues. The church still has a hold here but that hold is loosening – at the same time the religious right in the US seem to be tightening its grip. Primary schools here can no longer require that a child be baptized in order to attend school. Yeah, that was a thing here until the Education (Admission to Schools) Act of 2018. Is it still a problem that the majority of tax-funded primary schools in Ireland are Catholic? For sure, yes. Big problem. But still, progress in the correct direction.

And Ireland is making forward progress in other important areas as well. In 2015, Ireland became the first country in the world to legalize gay marriage by popular vote. Take that, church! And then, in 2018 the Irish public voted to repeal the 8th amendment of the Constitution and make abortion legal. Women in Ireland now have access to legal, safe abortions. It was a long time coming, but Ireland finally made the choice to let women have autonomy over their own bodies.

Ireland is actually a pretty socially progressive country. In the 2021 Social Progress Index, calculated every year by the Social Progress Imperative, Ireland lands in Tier 1 at lucky number 13 – higher than the Tier 2 countries of the UK, France and the US. Are we up there with the Scandinavian countries? Haha! No, not by a long shot. But where we are is not a bad place to be. Like I said, Ireland is far from perfect but at least it feels to be headed in the right direction.

Rights are being taken away in the United States and it has me feeling pretty hopeless. But Ireland’s trajectory gives me hope. Not only for Ireland but for the US as well. And I, for one, am quite happy I made the choice to live here and have been able to witness this change.

Lá Fhéile Pádraig sona daoibh…

St. Patrick’s Day was this past Thursday and Ireland is currently finishing up a four-day holiday weekend in celebration of it. This Paddy’s Day was extra special because it was the first “real” one Ireland’s had in two years. In 2020, if there was any doubt about the seriousness of covid-19 that evaporated when Ireland cancelled St. Patrick’s Day that year. Everything was closed down, including the pubs. It was all so surreal, and so scary. 

Last year, things were still not back to normal but they were a bit better:

Screen Shot 2022-03-19 at 2.47.36 PM

This year though, St Patrick’s Day was back. The pubs were open, the parade was back on and, perhaps most shockingly of all, the weather cooperated. Now, I didn’t go anywhere near a pub or the parade, but even pre-pandemic, I would tend to stay away from pubs and parades on Paddy’s Day because I have always hated crowds. As I walked around in my neighborhood though, there was a happiness and lightness to everyone. No, the pandemic isn’t over and the war in Ukraine hangs over everything, but on that day, I could feel the joy – and it felt lovely.

St. Patrick’s Day is an interesting holiday in that I can’t think of another one that is so specifically tied to one country and yet celebrated so enthusiastically around the world. Last year, 690 landmarks in sixty-six different countries were lit up green in honor of St. Patrick’s Day. It’s a day where everyone embraces Ireland. A day where everyone is a little bit Irish. A day where this little island I call home gets to shine in the world spotlight. And it’s nice. Even with the shitstorm status of things these days, it’s nice.

Lá Fhéile Pádraig sona daoibh!

If You’re Not Livid, You’re Not Listening…

If you’re not livid, you’re not listening.

Amanda Gorman tweeted that message on February 24 – only a week and a half ago but feels like a lifetime.

I’m not even sure what I want to write about in this post. Words feel like they don’t have much meaning these days. I’m trying to understand what is happening but, despite my best efforts I can make no sense of it – perhaps because there is no sense to be made.

Russia has invaded Ukraine. A million people have been displaced and are now refugees – Ireland is set to take in 20,000 of them. Civilians are dying – and also taking up arms, determined to save their country from these invaders. Ukraine did not roll over, which it seems like might have been what Putin expected. They are fighting. The EU, the US, and other countries are helping via sanctions and supplies – both military and humanitarian – but is it enough?

I find myself thinking about everyday Russians as well. I traveled to Russia in 2015 and I loved it. It was beautiful and the people I met were wonderful. And I have friends who live in Russia. It’s hard not to think about how the actions of their mad leader are affecting them. There have been massive demonstrations by Russians in Russia – something they do at great personal risk as there is no right to assembly. I remember how I felt as an American about the second gulf war. My government most definitely did not act or speak for me then – and I think many Russians find themselves in that situation now.

But for obvious reasons, the focus must say on what is happening to Ukrainians in their now war torn country. This weekend, the ceasefire to aid the civilian evacuation was broken by Russia. There are convoys dozens of kilometers long heading toward the major cities. This isn’t happening as quickly as Putin wanted but how long can Ukraine hold out? And if Ukraine were to fall, what next? Putin is a madman – if he isn’t stopped here will there be any stopping him? Ukraine is not a NATO member (fun fact – neither is Ireland) but if the attacks spills over into Poland or another NATO country where an attack on one is considered an attack on all, are we looking at a full scale war on the European continent? Ireland is a neutral country and separated from continental Europe but it’s folly to think a war on that scale wouldn’t affect us, badly, here.

Those are a lot of what ifs though. What is happening now in Ukraine is a fact. I’m struggling with what I can do to help other than donate money. Posting the Ukrainian flag or a sunflower on my social media feels empty. War has come to Europe – what do we do about it? How do we stop it? Can we stop it?

I’m listening. I’m livid. But I know that isn’t enough.

Home Sweet Home…

I finally made it back to Dublin in the wee hours of last Sunday morning, and I was a bit apprehensive about returning. This trip ended up being the longest I’ve ever been away from Dublin, a total of 8 weeks when all was said and done and I was worried that I’d forgotten how to Dublin. 

The minute I walked into my apartment last Sunday morning though, all apprehension evaporated when I saw a lovely Welcome Home surprise on my dining table. My dear friend, writing partner and apartment sitter had left me all sorts of treats – flowers, chocolates, a bottle of cava and… covid tests! It was so lovely to get such a thoughtful gift and so nice to know that I was missed while I was away. 


My lovely Welcome Home surprise.

Those covid tests came in very handy as I wanted to test myself everyday for several days before I let myself be with people again – just to be ultra safe. I feel very lucky to have not gotten covid while it was making its way through my close circle in the weeks after Christmas. Anecdotally, in my immediate family the only people who got covid in this round were those hadn’t been able to get a booster jab yet. I decided to get my booster while I was in the States rather than wait until I got back to Dublin and I’m so glad I did – I firmly believe that if not for that booster, I would’ve got covid. So, if you haven’t – get your booster!!!

After six negative antigen tests, I finally allowed myself to be around people on Friday afternoon. The same friend who gave it to me came over to my place and, after working for a couple hours, we got more than a little drunk on that bottle of cava. Yesterday, I met up with two more friends that I’d not seen in forever and we had a lovely catch-up. It felt so good to spend some time with some of my people – and I really hope 2022 allows me to spend more time with more of my peeps.

I extended my trip back home by about a week in an effort to ride out the omicron wave since it was seeming to peak and then drop rather quickly. And turns out, my timing was nearly perfect. Here in Ireland, omicron has peaked and as of yesterday, most restrictions have been lifted. I’m still wearing masks everywhere and I’m not itching to be in a super crowded pub or attend a concert anytime soon. But still, it was so nice to get some positive news about things.

This year I will mark my 10 year anniversary of arriving in Dublin. I should be hearing about my Irish citizenship application very very soon. Dublin is home – and it does indeed feel very sweet to be back.

2022, Here’s to you?

Here we are, on the cusp of ringing in another new year. People were, quite understandably, very happy to see the backside of 2020 a year ago and I certainly can’t see many being all that nostalgic for 2021. Now it’s 2022’s turn.

In my New Year’s Eve post from last year I focused a lot on hope. And in fairness to 2021, a lot of the hopes I mentioned came to fruition: I got vaccinated, I got back to see my family and friends in the States, I got back to the pub, and I got back to Paris. After 2020, checking those items off my 2021 list could not be taken for granted. But I think it’s safe to say that, while better in many ways, 2021 wasn’t exactly everything we (or at least I) hoped it would be.

I have had a great Christmas break at home in Buffalo, New York. Maybe it was because I had to stay in Dublin last year, but I had such an especially lovely time on both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Now though, fecking Omicron has taken hold and things have gotten extremely Covidy – that’s the highly technical term my sister (the doctor) used to describe it when she cancelled New Year’s Eve dinner at her house. Here in the US, in Ireland, in France, pretty much everywhere, Omicron is rolling along like a tidal wave. Even though it appears to be a milder stain, with far fewer hospitalizations and deaths, it’s hard not to worry about Omicron.

I am currently writing this post from my sister’s basement, where I am spending the next few days. One of my nephews tested positive for covid this past Wednesday. On Tuesday evening, I’d sat across from him at dinner. So, out of an abundance of caution I left my parents’ home and took up residence here. It’s actually not that bad – sure, there are no windows and the walls are painted chroma-key green, but I’ve got the telly, wi-fi, my own private bathroom and a comfy bed. There are also frequent visits from my niece, Saige and her dog, Kalli. I’ve got a steady supply of Cote du Rhône and snacks. Is it what I envisioned for the last leg of my holiday visit? No, of course not. But things could be worse – a lot worse. I have several friends who are grieving recent losses and I found myself thinking of them often during this holiday season, knowing how hard it must have been for them and wishing I could ease their grief a bit. Knowing what those friends are dealing with, I think I can certainly deal with New Year’s Eve in a green basement.

So, 2022. I’m not sure what to expect of you. I’m not sure how I feel about you. I’m not sure what, if anything, to ask of you. You do you, I’ll do me and, I guess we’ll see. I always like to include a quote of some sort in these New Year’s posts. This year’s isn’t from a poet or an historical figure – it’s from some random someone on twitter or facebook or whatever. I honestly don’t remember where I saw it, but it perfectly sums up how I think a lot of us may be feeling as we head into another New Year in these covidy times:

‘Nobody claim 2022 as ‘your year’. We’re all going to walk in real slow. Be good. Be quiet. Be cautious and respectful. Don’t touch anything.’


The Grand Auld Stretch…

When I moved to Dublin a little over nine years ago, I arrived on the first full day of winter time (in Europe we refer to it summer time and winter time, rather than daylight saving time). I was already feeling quite fragile on this first day of my new life in Dublin and the profound lack of daylight really threw me. It continued to throw me for the next several weeks where, as I set up my new life, I felt like I was chasing daylight from the moment I woke up in the morning.

Nine years later, I still dread the darkness of winter in Ireland. What we get in return though is something called the Grand Auld Stretch, which refers to the long day-lit evenings of summer. In the height of the summer the sun doesn’t set until around 10pm and the light lingers for well after that. It’s glorious. Even if we must pay for it in the dead of winter.

In 2018, the EU unveiled plans to abolish the seasonal time change in all its member states. The last time the clocks had to change was supposed to be March 2021. But as with many things, Covid threw those plans off. It’s unsure when the time change will stop or if it even will now. And there’s debate amongst the countries about whether winter or summer time would become permanent. I, personally, would love it if summer time became permanent. That extra hour in the winter evenings would make such a difference. And if Ireland’s Grand Auld Stretch were to become a thing of the past, I would be very sad indeed. I think lots of Irish would be – it’s something we really, really look forward to in Ireland.

The reason that I decided to write about this today is because I follow this twitter account that tracks the Grand Auld Stretch and was very excited to see that tomorrow, the sun sets a whopping two seconds later than it will today – the Grand Auld Stretch is beginning! Sure, it’s only two seconds, but two seconds will become four, and soon after a whole minute and before we know it we’ll be picnicking in the parks at 10pm again!

Okay, that last bit may be a ways away but still, that two seconds means the Stretch has started and after nearly two years of Covid’s not-so-grand auld stretch, I’ll take it. 


Happy Anniversary to me!

Guess what?! For the first time in well over a year, I am not going to write about some aspect of Covid. Not that there isn’t anything for me to write about – getting my EU Digital Covid Certificate, the rise of the delta variant, the on-going indoor dining debate, my upcoming travel – I’m sure I’ll get to all that in future posts, but this week was a celebration for me and I want to, well, celebrate that.

This week was my ten-year anniversary of becoming an Italian citizen. I still remember the exact moment on 13th July 2011. I would usually stop and get my mail from the box on my way up to my apartment after work, but my hands were full that evening so I didn’t. Later that night, I thought I might have a Netflix envelope (DVDs, remember those?!) waiting for me and I was bored and needed something to watch. So, I went down to my mail box and the letter that, quite literally, changed my life was waiting for me.

It had been such a long road to get to get that letter and at so many points along the way I thought it wasn’t going to happen. But I stuck with it because I wanted it so badly. But wow, the process of getting your Italian citizenship is a long haul. I got my citizenship through my maternal great grandfather and the final application was three inches thick. It took more than two years to get together with all sorts of bumps along the way.

The biggest was that my great grandfather’s records were destroyed in the 2009 L’Aquila earthquake. I ended up hiring Peter Farina who had a burgeoning business (Italy Mondo) helping people like me put their applications together. He went to the village in Abruzzi where my family is from, met with cousins of mine I never knew existed, who took him to the parish priest (church records are as legit as civil records in Italy). When that proved a dead end, he made a call – to the Vicar of Rome. He then drove to Rome for an appointment with said Vicar and was able to find what we needed in the Vatican records. Incidentally, the charge for Peter’s “worry-free citizenship” service was $1500 and it was worth every penny. Peter’s business has since taken off and the same service now starts at $8000. It would still be worth every penny but I’m glad I got in there early!

Once the application was done, I thought I was home free. Nothing left but the interview, right? Hah! That interview was one of the most stressful days I can remember. I was living in Los Angeles and my interview was at the Italian consulate in April 2011. For those who know LA, my appointment was at 9:30am – I lived in North Hollywood and the consulate was in Westwood. Yeah. And there was a last minute issue with one of my documents and I had to find a place along the way where I could receive a fax from Peter in Italy. (DVDs?! Faxes?! I swear, this really was only ten years ago!)

During the interview there was an issue. A big issue. A dream-derailing issue. One of my documents was a church document from the US because the civil document couldn’t be located. As I said, church documents are as valid as civil documents so we didn’t think this would be an issue. But Raffaella, my interviewer at the consulate, said that she couldn’t process the application unless she had the equivalent document that would have been filed in Rome. My heart sank. Finding that document in Rome was not going to be possible, I just knew it. So, that was it. My dream was dead. It took all of my self-control to not burst into tears right then and there.

But then Raffaella told me to hang on a minute and she left to talk to a colleague. I’m sure she was gone for about five minutes but it was an eternity to me. When she came back she basically said “never mind” and approved my application to move forward to be processed. I was so relieved and happy it again took all of my self-control to not burst into tears. Raffaella told me that the current wait for an application to be processed was 18 months. I knew that and was prepared to wait. But then, for a reason still bewildering to me, Raffaella decided that I shouldn’t have to wait that long and she marked my application to be expedited. In the span of 30 minutes I’d gone from the lowest low to the highest high. And what should have taken a minimum of 18 months, took me only three months. In the time I should have been waiting to hear about my application, I was already planning my move to Ireland.

And speaking of Ireland, I am now waiting to hear about my Irish citizenship application. This application was much simpler and more straightforward but my wait is definitely going to be longer. My application went in in September 2020. I’ve friends who sent in their applications in November 2019 and February 2020 and they haven’t heard anything yet, so I’ve still got some time to go. The average time for an application to be processed is 12 months, but between Brexit and covid, things are obviously taking longer. I’d be thrilled if I heard before the end of this year, but I’m prepared to wait longer, for as long as it takes.

And when it does (hopefully!) happen, it’ll be my Italian citizenship that made my Irish citizenship possible. I look forward to celebrating both in the future!