Expletives included

You've been warned.

To quote Incubus, the country sky "resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it." A lot of holes, constellations I've never seen, like spilled salt across a black table, converging into warriors, ladles, beasts.

I get the nickname Spiderman because Ryan lets it slip to the Rhodes that, while we were sardine-packed in a Cork bar weeks ago for Patrick's birthday, a dude hits on me and says, "You should've been in Spiderman!" I pretend, as I have done in Dupont Circle, that I have no idea of what he's doing, and proceed to discuss web-slinging with the dude. Graciously, Monnica mentions something about my girlfriend back home, but it does no good. Phil, Ben, and Chris find this hilarious.

Weeks later, Ryan goes to the kitchen at the wrong time. He deposits his plate in the sink and comes back into the living room when he pauses, realizes he's forgotten something, and kind of turns back toward the food room. Phil says, in jolly vulgarity, "C'mon, Fat Fuck, get some more." So Ryan is Fat Fuck, despite his being the slenderest male on the farm apart from Dusty, the greyhound. Of course, all of this vulgarity is done with much good hearted joking and back-and-forth wittiness, so humorous that I think I hear Major––the most ornery of our billygoats––chuckling through his mouthful of hay and goat profanities.

Phil and Chris are incredible. When they lived in England, they took in foster kids, many of whom cried their heavy hearts away into the warm, absorbent coat of a loving wolfhound. When several goats are born––and Anglo Nubian goats can have anywhere from one to five kids––some are kept, some are sold, and several more are donated to an animals-instead-of-cash program similar to the Heifer Project; we watch a Discovery Channel program on Tanzania, and play "Where's Waldo" with the Anglo Nubian goats, seeing if any bear the Rhodes surname (though the one we spot isn't theirs). They are critical of military involvement we all should be critical of, saying "What right did [the US] have to be in Vietnam... The Brits [and UN] to be in Korea... England to be in the Falkland Islands?" Indeed, why did we try to play parent to these areas? Anyone with kids knows that kids don't always do what we want them to do (even when we think it's best for them). And they tend to diverge from some opportunities we set up by virtue of the parent setting it up. To make it worse, the U.S. and U.K. are not the most beloved of parents.

They are incredible because they make us a part of their family and never ask us to do something that they wouldn't do right beside us or in our place. Phil says what he means with a colorful honesty that is both blunt and endearing and, often, hilarious. Hence our admiration when he puts his foot down on bladder cancer and says, "I'm gonna fucking beat it," because the alternative is unlivable. Hence the humility when he says to Ryan, "Usually, when it comes to Christians, I don't give a fuck. But you and Adam, you're okay."

Our ministry is to love people where they are and share our joy, planting seeds and watering them and realizing God is the only one who can make things grow. Too often, we forget in ministry that we are all human, that we have common truths to our common lives. We love, we touch, we hope, we are impassioned... These are the truths of our common lives, which every being can relate to, even if they sound different in the vernacular.

Greyhounds going round and round

Time moves more humanly in the country. A sweet, Irish soon-to-be mum offers us homemade gingerbread people and I eat the one on top, whom she affectionately calls “The General”. She is Lorraine, and two happy dogs rolls around her feet, offering their bellies for a rub. She asks if the Irish curse more than any group of people I’ve met before. Ryan has some reservations, but I say yes, yes the Irish curse worse than any group of any language I somewhat speak or know the curse words of. She laughs and figures so. Visiting her friend in Seattle, she says, she scarcely ever heard a “Jesus Christ!” or “f***ing hell!” but that such a revealing trip still hadn’t changed her ways. We laugh, pet dogs, and eventually get around to talking about the trailer we’ve come to borrow. First, though, Rob – the husband – shows us novel bricks that he has formed out of horse manure from their stable. This is how they keep their house warm, and why one washes one’s hands every time the stove is filled.

Ben takes us to Lystmore Castle and we marvel at its hillside overlook of the river, which a few days ago had been a field. Further on, Ben shows us The Vee, a spot on the mountain road where the asphalt snake curls back on itself, near where a man asked to be buried standing up because he so admired the view. One can see seven counties of Ireland and forests and hundreds of square miles from a rocky perch of scrub brush.

That night, we go to the races with Phil and Chris. I win 3.70 Euro on 10 spent at one of the two biggest greyhound tracks in the country. The Dublin races are live-streamed between races at Cork, so one can always be watching, and betting on, six dogs in multicolored jackets chasing a mechanical hare as it bobs and wags and, after the race, buries itself in a metal box, the dogs gathering around, trying to scare it out.

In other news, I meet a young boy named Darragh. I'm pleased to note that it's pronounced the same way we USA Darraghs pronounce it and, though it's usually a girl's first name and he doesn't like it for that reason, I felt awesome meeting him while he challenged Ryan to MarioKart Wii.