Three Years

Three years. That almost sounds like a sick joke. How the hell has three years gone by without you? I can't even remember who I was before losing you. I know who I am because of you, though.

You helped form me into a passionate learner; a fiery independent woman who gets sh*t done. I've learned how to take care of myself and am pretty proud of who I've become. I started my career as you were dying in the hospital. I had not one single clue what I was doing. Still don't, some days.

I remember the day you died too well. Sometimes I get angry that my memory resurfaces that day instead of the 22 years of life I had with you. It's not something I can control. But each day brings a glimmer of you. Some, even, bright rays of sunshine.

Sometimes it's when I'm driving to work, daily passing the funeral home we had your service at. Other days it's a powerful punch to the gut remembering just how hard your last months of life were, how hard you fought, and how painful it was seeing the man I saw only as strong suffer so intensely.

Most of my memories though, are of the countless ways you've helped make me into who I am. Your sharp, gifted mind is something I long to pick over current events and American History, now that I actually crave to learn about it. I get this swell of pride when I take care of stuff like buying new tires, signing retirement account documents, and getting the best value on things at the store.

In the fresh wind hitting my face as I drive, I picture you on your bike, coasting through Vickridge. In the smell of a package of microwaved frozen peas, I taste your baked chicken thighs that were a staple growing up. When I learn something new, I think about how much you held inside your brain. When I finish a book, I soak up memories of debriefing over Harry Potter late at night, devouring the books as soon as you finished. When I feel tired or worn, I think about how much you lived through with dignity and grit. The taste of green bell peppers reminds me of pre-dinner snacks and chats in the living room bay window with T. Marzetti's ranch dip. You'd be proud to know I love me a good Gin and Tonic. On my days off, I'm reminded of how well you got things accomplished as I run needed errands, frazzled by the constant to-do list. Every. single. time. I open a new tube of toothpaste your face illuminates in my mind, reminding me of the extra stock we always had and the hum of your electric toothbrush after every meal. As I fight to understand that state of our world, I feel both sorrow and hope for the future. You taught me to learn about the past to impact the future.

The list of memories and flashbacks are endless, and mostly ones I keep as treasure for my own heart and mind. I long for a tight hug against your scratchy face. Three years feels like a breath being sucked in all too quickly, all the while feeling like it's all I have ever known.

For all I've learned, encountered, battled through, processed, and hoped for over the last three years, I know there are years to come of even more. More life, more hardships, more depth, more community, more growth. Your imprint on my life permeates through everything. To you, Dad.

China 2018

Precious friends and family,

               I wanted to give you an update on my life, while telling you about an incredible opportunity I have this summer.

LIFE.

What a year it’s been for Ms. Klunder, the name I hear approximately 389 times a day Monday through Friday. I am finishing up my third year of teaching fourth grade in Wichita and learning an abundance about where I have been called and what it means to be persistent in love. This school year has been my most challenging so far, but also full of evidence of the daily sowing. I have taken on more roles within my school and district, having completely packed weeks every week. I started the school year as a “Master Teacher” for incoming fourth grade teachers to our district. They got to sit in my classroom for 3 hours and learn about classroom management, expectations as a new teacher, and see what a model classroom looks like. It was super humbling to share with new teachers, as I am still very much learning how to do my job and by no means have mastered anything. I will finish my ESOL classes through Newman and take my Praxis test in May. I plan to begin my Master’s in educational leadership this fall and am moving to fifth grade! All very exciting things, but the best moments have been the laughter, learning, and love I experience with my students. The life lessons my students have absorbed this year and the ways they have applied many of my “sermons,” as I call them, has been profound. Just this week I was teaching about acting on impulse, and half an hour after I had a student come up and say, “You know Ms. Klunder, I realized that I acted on impulse last week at recess when I got upset at *student* and ran after him.” WOW. That’s the good stuff.

OPPORTUNITY.

A couple weeks ago I was approached by my friend Leslie about a need this summer in China. As many of you know, I had the honor of going to Baoding, China last summer with International English Cultural Studies, IECS, with my sister Erica and Leslie.  I was a part of a team that helped with the English Week at Hebei Finance University. We left for China about 12 hours after I finished my last day of school, which was crazy and exhausting. And to be honest, as much as I would’ve loved to go back this year, I didn’t consider it with how challenging it was to finish school and go straight into traveling across the world and running hard for two weeks, despite it being one of my top 5 life experiences.

Long story short, Leslie is leading her own team this summer to Langfang University, a city close to Beijing. She has a team of mostly college students, many who have never been to China. One of the biggest ways we get to know students and build relationships is through our teaching. She asked if I would consider going again, in hopes that I could help with music for the English nights, bring teaching experience, plus help carry her load as the team leader. Immediately my heart fluttered. There have been so many little ways the Father has shown me this is exactly what I am suppose to do. The trip leaves two weeks after school ends (hallelujah). I had all these classes and trainings scheduled for the weeks of the trip, but everything ended up moving into April and May. The two weeks were wide open in my calendar. I took a couple weeks to process about it, then last week said yes to go!

 Through teaching English in the classroom setting, participating in “conversation corner” where we casually engage students in conversation so they can practice their English, inviting students to join with us one-to- one on trips to local sites, and hosting “English nights” to meet for songs, skits, a lot of laughs, and a lecture geared to start significant conversations, we are able to foster deep relationships.

GIVING.

Financial Need:

$2,500 (covering airfare, in-country transportation, food, and lodging)

Would you please consider being a part of this opportunity with me as you feel led? Financial and prayer support are both essential to this trip.

There a few different ways to give:

·        For a tax deductible donation, please visit online at www.iecschina.org and click on "support us" to donate. Be sure to enter Catherine Klunder in the comments field.

·        If you would like to send a check, please message me for my address.

·        To send money through Venmo, my account name is @CatherineKlunder

With expectancy and love,

Catherine

Dad

This poem rings so vibrantly in my mind as I think about my dad. I can still hear his voice in the words. When my sisters and I were little kids, my dad would recite poetry to us every bedtime. I remember being in elementary school and being able to recite that poem along with my dad. Today, as a 22 year old, this poem truly speaks to me about love. I feel honored to say my daddy was the only man I have (thus far) given my heart to. And I deeply feel the effects and seriousness of giving your heart to another.

 Many of you know my dad as Dr. Klunder, his preferred name after his relentless dedication to education and learning. I am sure that many of your memories of Professor Klunder include insightful and sometimes humble interjections. My dad was a ridiculously smart man, always learning, reading, and growing his mind. He was passionate about so many things. Our home is stuffed with books after books, layering two rows deep on the shelves. When we were in elementary school, my dad bought us each a personal dictionary to keep by our desk or bed for reference. He would review new history books, help write tests for other states, and served fervently at Wichita State. Every time a scholastic book order was passed out at school, we ordered a new slew of books to stock our bookshelves. I used to joke with my dad about his lecture notes. He spent so much time editing and reviewing his notes before each lecture, and I would say “Dad, can’t you just use the same notes from last semester? History hasn’t changed that much, right?” Although I was teasing him, his commitment to higher education and being prepared to teach his students to the best of his ability shone brightly in all of his work. So much of my passion for learning and teaching comes from my father. Even with his title of Associate Professor, previous Faculty Senate President, and many other accolades over the years, his role as Father to three daughters was his best and most prized title of them all.

My Dad was an incredible man, servant leader, and loving daddy to his three girls. I think the Lord knew just how good he would be to daughters, so he gave him and my mom only girls. To this day, I laugh about how much he put up with having only females in the house. Sorry for all of you daughter-less men in the room, but there was once a time in middle school when we were grocery shopping at the Tallgrass Dillons and he asked me in the feminine products isle what I needed. I remember being so embarrassed and getting mad at him for asking me. I think I ran down the next isle with embarrassment, but he humbly helped his daughter with no more questions. His hugs were warm, tight, and one of my favorite things. All three of us girls called him multiple times a day to chat. Any time I was driving, I would call home just to catch up with my dad and tell him about my day. He got way too many “Hey dad, it’s me Catherine…” messages. When Erica and I studied in England for a semester, not a night went by we didn’t Facetime our parents. We would email back and forth all the time, and he always ended the message with Love.

Besides loving so incredibly well, my dad taught me how to be independent, responsible, and hard working. When I was in elementary school, he started a bank account for me to help teach me about finances. My dad was always thinking ahead to how he could better his girls and teach us about life. When we shopped Dillons, he would teach us how to compare ounces to price, because a lot of times, the “value size” isn’t the best value. His subscription to Consumer Reports has consistently been a great resource when we think about purchasing important items like cars or laptops. He was never rash in making important decisions, and his opinion on pretty much anything was highly regarded.

I am so like my dad in so many ways. When I think about who my dad was as a person, I am grateful to my core that so much of who I am came from who my dad was. Many of his colleagues probably didn’t see his tender and affectionate side as much, but my dad loved all of us so well, as well as others. He would go out of his way to see his favorite banker instead of going to the bank close to our house. He befriended a sweet 85 year old man, Paul, at Dillons. He would do anything to help others who needed it, and truly wanted those he interacted with to feel valued.  

The thing I admired most about my dad was the way he served our family. Sometimes I forgot he had a full time profession of teaching undergraduate and graduate level courses because he was SO present in my childhood and did so much for our family. Of course we didn’t know then that he would leave this earth so soon in my life, but all the rides to and from school, trips to the grocery store, and time spent helping fold laundry are treasured in my heart. I am forever grateful that he pushed me to learn and grow as much as I could, teaching me how to use power tools when fixing our fence or learning the importance of financial responsibility. He held our family together like glue, and his presence is terribly missed. I get angry when I think about losing my dad at 22 years old, but if that meant having him as my daddy, I couldn’t be more thankful that I was loved by such an amazing, loving, brilliant man.

You probably already knew this if you knew my dad, but he LOVED to travel, and made sure we had enriched lives through diverse experiences. We would pack his mini-van full of suitcases and travel the US. He planned the most spectacular trips for our family. Before my 16^th birthday, we had been to Lake Taho, Salt Lake City, San Fransisco, Boston, Gettysburg, Maine, Philadelphia, Washington DC, Niagara Falls, New York City, Wisconsin, Wyoming, Florida, Chicago and Indianapolis countless times, covering most ends of the United States. This summer we took our last family roadtrip. My dad began planning our Rocky Mountain extravaganza over a year in advance. He was so excited for this trip, unlike I had seen before. When he pitched the trip last summer, my immediate thought was “a whole month in the car with my family?!” I even had a conversation with my friend Leslie about how I thought it might be too much concentrated time together.    Our trip this summer was magical.     My dad totally outdid himself this year. We started in Estes Park, then hit the Grand Tetons, up into Glacier National Park, then the big finale in Lake Louise in Banff Canada. I am so, so thankful for those weeks with my dad. At the end of the trip was when he got sick, and never in a million years did I think this is how things were going to end. I will forever hold on to those memories with my daddy, experiencing one last family roadtrip. 

My dad never complained about anything, even in the 9 weeks he was in the hospital. My dad fought so hard and loved us unbelievably well. Even though I ache and ache with the loss of my precious dad, I feel honored to have had a father who cared for me, loved me, fought for me, and fathered me the best he could. My life is forever changed and imprinted by his love. He held a huge piece of my heart, and like Housman says, love is paid for with sighs of plenty, deeper and stronger than any other thing. Daddy, I love you beyond what I will ever be able to express. I miss you so much it seems unbearable. Thank you for loving me and helping make me the woman I am today. Your presence will forever be missed, but the imprint you left on my heart and life will forever linger.

 

Dad AKA Professor Klunder

I have been processing a whole lot internally, and I decided to write out my thoughts tonight as I sit here with my dad.

 

Yesterday, I raced out of school to get to Wesley. The paramedics had come to transfer my dad from the ICU (where he was for 4 weeks, after 3 weeks in 6 different ICU and normal rooms at Wesley). I rode with him in the ambulance to Select Hospitals, a private long term acute care facility within St. Francis downtown. Last night, I kind of lost it. I let myself feel sorry for everything that has happened, and just wept and wept.

 

My family has now been walking this road of sickness, hospitals, and pain for seven weeks. That number for some reason really got to me this weekend. In the seven weeks, my dad was in 8 different rooms within Wesley. He had an abscess surgery, open heart surgery to replace his mitral and aortic valves, was sedated and ventilated for 2 and a half weeks (the scariest weeks of my life), and now has a trachea tube and feeding tube. I will back up a little for those of you who don’t know the messy, long details of the last 2 months.

 

It feels like another lifetime that all of this started. My family went on an incredible vacation this summer. My sweet dad planned it over a year in advance, and it was magical. We went to Estes Park, CO, the Grand Tetons, Yellowstone, Glacier National Park, and up to Banff Canada to Lake Louise. I have never seen such beauty or felt the majesty of creation before. On that trip, I got tonsillitis and was very sick for the first week. Just as I was getting better, my dad began to get sick. We were up near the border to Canada in the middle of Montana. He wanted us to continue on the trip up to Lake Louise, despite him not being well. He was incredibly weak, not eating, could barely walk, having horrible fevers and just really sick. If only we had known, then, what we know now.  While in Lake Louise, we stayed at the Fairmont Chateau, the nicest and most incredible hotel I have even been in. My dad truly outdid himself planning this trip. He did not leave the hotel room except for one time in those three days there. We were supposed to be there for 6 days, but left on the 4^th morning for our 1,700 mile drive home. That drive and those three days were long and hard. I think we all knew something more was going on, and my dad wanted to get home so we could take care of things in Wichita, not in the middle of Montana or Wyoming.

 

July 24^th my dad was admitted into Wesley for what we thought was a hernia. It turned out the hernia was an abscess, and the infection from the abscess spread to his blood stream. Because infected blood was pumping through his body, vegetations grew on his mitral and aortic heart valves, and on August 6^th my dad had open heart surgery. He had been in the ICU for two weeks before his surgery, so his body was very weak going into a major surgery. The thoracic surgeon said his valves were way more deteriorated and damaged than he thought, so the timing of the surgery was vital. The surgery went great, and the road to recovery began. While in recovery, he took a very sharp turn and was moved to the ICU at 3 in the morning on Saturday August 16^th. His body went into multi-organ failure as well as respiratory distress. They sedated him and ventilated him that next morning. His kidneys were failing, his lungs were failing (he has pneumonia), and his blood was essentially attacking itself. We were so confused what happened, because he was doing so well after surgery. While recovering from heart surgery, they gave him a blood transfusion, but his body had developed an antibody to donor blood. This antibody began attacking his blood, and caused his whole body to go into sepsis. They had him on dialysis to do the work of his kidneys, daily lung treatments for his pneumonia, and so much monitoring. I had come by that Monday (August 17^th) morning before making my way to my classroom to prep for the first day of school the next day. The ICU closes from 7-8 daily, so I came around 6 to be with him. My mom and I were both there and about to leave for school when the hospitalist came by and told us he was extremely critical, and it was unknown about his progress or potential to overcome his multi-organ failure. I remember that day so well, and even writing this hurts my heart all over again. I was on the hallway floor bawling, having to call my sister in St. Louis (on her first day with her students) to tell her to come home as soon as she could. I have never cried so hard in my life as I did that entire day. I missed my entire first week of teaching of my first year being a teacher. My school and principal were unbelievably supportive and took care of everything. I remember sitting next to my dad while he lay there, so critical and sick, feeling so empty and pained that this was our reality. None of what happened was how I had planned it to be or wanted. I am forever grateful for that week with my dad. He was sedated and unaware of what was going on, but I know he knew we were there for him. The second week, we all went back to work (and had my first day with my students). Overwhelmed, exhausted, aching, and anxious I went into my first week of teaching. It was so great to meet my kiddos, and despite my own doubts of myself, my students seem to like Ms. Klunder. J

 

After many rounds of dialysis, his kidneys began to bounce back. The day I walked into his room and saw urine in his catheter bag, I was yelling at the nurse about how cool it was. He looked at me like I was a little crazy (and I am not even sure he was actually my dad’s nurse that day), but it was a victory. After two and a half weeks being sedated and ventilated, they took him off sedation medication. Those next couple days were even more terrifying that the days he was sedated because he was completely unresponsive. What happened was that his kidneys were taking longer to filter out fluids, so the medicine was still in his body. 3 days later, my dad woke up. And what a sweet, needed thing that was. I wept all day seeing him look at me, and was so so grateful to know he was there. Even with all the tubes, wires, and ICU things, he was still his sassy self.

 

They ended up having to put the trachea tube in because he wasn’t quite ready to breathe on his own, and it is less damaging to his vocal chords and throat. Once the tube was in his neck instead of his throat, my dad seemed so much more himself. He could now kiss us, talk (with no sound…and trust me, lip reading is a nightmare), and somewhat communicate what he needed. There was one night shortly after he woke up that Erica and I explained to him what all had happened in the previous 2 and a half weeks. That was a hard night.

 

His kidneys are functioning again, and he is no longer in the ICU. For some reason, the move really got to me this weekend. My dad has now been in the hospital for 7 weeks. SEVEN WEEKS. It aches me so deeply that he has to go through all of this. I wanted so badly to talk to him about everything , especially those weeks he was sedated. We can talk to him now, but it is important that we are strong and encouraging for him. The move was extremely hard on his body, and just change in general is hard. I found myself so agitated by everything last night. The hospital is further from home, the parking is more difficult and getting to his room takes 4 times longer than at Wesley. We don’t know any of the staff yet, and saying goodbye to our ICU family at Wesley was heart wrenching.

 

It is hard to explain how I have been feeling through all of this (moving, starting my career, and dealing with my dad). We have had so many friends come sit with us at the hospital, bring coffee or a meal, listen to me weep and vent all of life on them, etc. Some days I am so utterly overwhelmed with learning everything at school and trying to make sure I am doing my job as a teacher that I can focus solely on school. Other times, times I think and process everything that has happened and is going on, I feel like my insides are turning out and my whole body will just turn into a ball. I ache and ache for my dad. Some days I feel completely overwhelmed with life and just sob in my car. If you are reading this and are a teacher, you know what kind of intense stress comes with your first year. I have been waking up at 5:30, getting to Wesley by 6am so I can spend an hour with my dad before they shut it down until 8am, going to work, then coming back as soon as school is over. Most nights, I come again after shift change and stay until 10 or so. After school, I love getting to share with my dad what happened. He always told me I would be a great teacher. I show him pictures of my kids and important things like my newly organized cabinets.

 

My whole world has been consumed and affected by this. It affects me every day, and not a minute goes by I am not thinking about my dad. I feel tired every day. I hate that I haven’t been a good friend to all of my incredible friends. I am bad about responding to texts or calls. I get home and go right into bed. The tiniest of things can annoy me and I find myself getting short with my mom and sisters. The times I go do something for myself (like run to Target for groceries or work in my classroom on the weekends), I feel guilty that I am not at the hospital. When doctors or nurses tell us “your dad is very sick,” I want to punch them in the face, (but I still love them). When a person you love so deeply it hurts is suffering, it doesn’t matter if you are tired, or overwhelmed with a new career, or feel stressed about the little things like how far you now have to park. Being there for my dad is the most important thing to me. There is no place I would rather be than with him, showing him how much we love him and how undeniably incredible he is. The nurses in the ICU all came to his room the day he woke up, and many cried tears of joy alongside us. Man oh man, I miss my people in the ICU. Love you all.  

 

I guess I just wanted to get it out there that I am hurting for my dad. That life has been a bit of a hot mess. When I see him in his bed and think about everything he has gone through, it physically aches my body. I feel so completely helpless and wish I could do more for him. I had a friend, shout out to Mary Ashton, who walked through her own dad being very ill, and she sent me an article about how God never says he wouldn’t give us more than we can handle, but he will BE THERE when we are going through more than we can handle. I can say that I have about filled my cup of “things I can handle without losing my cool completely”, and then some. But through this, I have seen God’s faithfulness in little things. Just last week I was deeply moved while leading worship at church, and was reminded that the Lord has been in this process the whole time, even when it has seemed unbearable. And even though seven weeks seems long, my dad is slowly improving. The fight is not over, but I know my dad. He is a fighter, a doer, a champion who never complains. I love him so much.

 

Thanks for sticking with me. This was very cathartic for me, and might help some of you understand a little better where I have been coming from, especially all of the unanswered texts…I am the worst. But on a serious note, please pray for my daddio.  

 

Reflections

In four days, I will landing in Wichita. I am at a loss for words. This semester has completely flown by and half of what I have done feels like it happened in another lifetime.

After an incredible weekend in Dublin, Erica and I came home to two weeks of time left to soak up in England. We knew these two weeks would be filled with many Word Documents and tabs open, researching and writing four 2,000 word essays. I have felt incredibly frustrated at some points this week, feeling sad that my last few days are being spent locked in my room or the library writing papers that don't count towards my degree and for classes I am less then enthused to be in. I am not joking when I say this semester felt like a super long vacation. Not having a job meant I have had an unreal amount of free time. Being away from all of the craziness of home meant that I had no requirements and nothing holding me back from doing whatever I felt like. Being in random classes that sounded interesting based on the online description meant that my passions weren't being stimulated. What can I say, I love education and 6 year olds. I guess talking about stone axes and henges and bones of ancient neanderthals isn't as exciting as I thought it would be. 

I will admit I have exponentially increased my "watched" movies this semester, and have read many interesting articles and parts of books. But I am looking forward to coming home and having some sense of normalcy and structure. But, I bet the minute we land I will weep with sadness that I no longer live in Chester England. 

I have been thinking through this semester in the rare occasion I am not thinking about papers, and I have come to some conclusions. 

1. People are so much deeper than the first impressions you have of them. I am thankful and grateful I have learned this. If you want to hear more about this, we should meet up for coffee. 

2. Life doesn't have to be about waiting for what is next. Before coming to England, all life felt like was a big waiting game. For the first few weeks, I was waiting for it to feel real. I have come to understand every day is so rich and there are always opportunities to meet new people, encourage others, and step outside of your comfort zone. Like this past Monday, I met a girl who was in my class all semester. She sat across the room and until this week, we had never spoke. We ended up meeting and talking, and I was just refreshed by the small interaction. I have been refreshed from small, simply interactions many times this semester. But hey, it may be because I am an American and the Brits love Americans.
3. The English dress way nicer on a daily basis. And by way nicer, I mean they don't wear sweats, tee shirts, or hoodies...for the most part.
4. Walking is so peaceful and lovely. I am going to miss walking everywhere. I am never bothered by having no car. Chester is gorgeous, and walking allows me to actually see what I am passing, rather than rushing from one thing to another. I wish I logged the miles my feet have journeyed this semester. My TOMS and boots sure have taken a beating and are evidence of the walking.
5. There is no such thing as a drive-thru. And America should do away with them. Seriously. I think this is directly related to...
6. The English are (generally) very skinny. Which baffles me, because they eat plates of chips (fries) smothered in baked beans as a meal. Oh, but they walk everywhere and don't drive through places at all hours of the day and night.
7. Everything closes at 5 or 6 pm. Except Tesco Express, which closes at 11pm.
8. I have been blessed beyond measure. I am totally aware that these past three months are something not everyone gets to experience. And I cannot even verbalize how grateful I am. To my family, friends, and anyone who worked in any way to get me over here, I am forever grateful.
9. As much as I said I didn't like sharing a room with Erica this semester, I wouldn't have wanted anyone else here with me. We've laughed, cried, fought, laughed, danced, acted like fools, and been ridiculous. I am so thankful we got to experience this semester together. I sure love her.
10. Saying goodbye is one of my least favorite things in the world. I am an emotional wreck and sob like a small child. I am dreading saying goodbye to the people I have met this semester. 

Dublin Day 3

Erica and I were left to our own devices Friday morning while Paula and the rest of the family attended a funeral in Mayo. We slept in, got ready, and walked into the city centre. We intended on just walking around, but I wanted to see Trinity College as well.

It took us about 40 minutes to get to the campus walking casually, and when we walked through the gates, there were stunningly dressed people everywhere! Turns out it was graduation day, and everyone has to wear black or white. Guys were in tuxedos and the ladies had on dresses and massive heels. They all looked amazing and it seemed so lively and celebratory.

We navigated through the crowds and went to the Old Library. I was in awe at the history in the one room, as well as how incredibly stunning the hall was.

We shopped around a tad on the way home and then had an hour of down time before another Brogan brother picked us up. Steven and Anne, another sweet couple of the huge 9 sibling Brogan family came to the house to collect us for the evening. We went for a drive and then headed into Hole in the Wall. This is one of the oldest pubs and one that Steven went to when he was growing up. The pub spent 20,000 euros on decorating for Christmas. And let me tell you, it was INSANE. Literally, every inch of the place was covered. Lights, wreaths, garland, and any and all Christmas decor you can think of was in this precious pub. You know in the movie Elf when Buddy stays up all night and completely renovates the store? The pub was exactly like it. Brilliant, people. We had a coffee and a bowl of soup to hold us over until our dinner reservations at 9.

Steve and Anne have a daughter who is 21 called Laura. She was in the US last summer and my Uncle Mike and Uncle Wally were good to her during her visit. Those two uncles are incredibly gracious and the way Steven talked about them sounded nothing short of how they are to everyone. To give you an idea of my Uncle Mike and Aunt Paula's generosity, I called them in May one afternoon asking if I could bring a friend and stay with them for a few days. Mind you, I called the day before Sheradin and I left Wichita. (She was driving to go to the French consolate and wanted a driving companion. I thought it would be fun to tag along and visit my family!) We arrived one day after I called them and we had the most incredible stay. We were spoiled rotten and had the best time ever hanging out with my Aunt and seeing the family. But back to Steven Brogan. He was so thankful his daughter was loved on and cared for in Chicago that he wanted to do the same for us. He and his wife were incredible and we had such a fun time chatting and seeing Dublin.

Another Brogan brother (one of the 8) called Benny owns a pub right smack in downtown Dublin. Paula and Steven worked their family magic and arranged for us to go to his pub to pull our own pint of Guinness. It was 7:30 on a Friday night, so when we arrived the place was packed. I got all nervous and embarrassed. I said "Oh, it's fine. I don't really want to anymore." Truly, I had no clue what to do and I didn't want to look silly in front of the Irish drinking their pints. Thankfully, Steven ushered us the the bar and we slid behind. The manager quickly helped us pull our own pints. I was slightly offended when a man came up to the bar and said "I'll have a pint of Guinness, but I don't want the girls pulling it." The Irish, they like their Guinness. John the manager gave us the pint on the house and again, I was reminded of how fortunate we are to have been cared for and loved on this trip.We met up with Steven's daughter Laura and her cousin Helen and hung out in the pub until Paula met up with us.

I had never had a beer before, except tastes of light beer our friends order out (I think it tastes like soggy old bread), but I "nursed" my pint like my dad suggested, and enjoyed the flavor. I would never choose to order a beer out, but it was such a neat experience and to say we pulled our own pint in a pub in Dublin is fantastic.

After the pub, we walked to dinner. It must have been fate, because Steven booked dinner at a famous and incredible butchery F.X. Buckley's. We are Midwest girls...and we love our steak. I was a bit too excited to order a real steak considering it has been a long while since I had a proper one.

I had a starter of warm Irish rye fields goats cheese with pickled beetroot, dressed rocket, balsamic reduction and toasted walnuts. Oh my lands, it was magnificent. 

 The main attraction was a perfectly cooked Ribeye steak. I can't even begin to tell you how perfect that steak was. It was perfect, paired with a crisp glass of wine and hot fries. I was trying my best not to keep carrying on about how perfect my steak was. I love food and have always loved cooking. Good food speaks to my soul, and this was chattering away. Seriously, it was brilliant.

This picture does not do it justice, but you get the idea.

 We all ordered desert as well, because you can't have a proper meal without it. I had an americano and a trio of homemade ice creams, and was completely stuffed. We talked for hours and had the best time. Steven is hilarious and so conversational. Each course was brought out a long while after each other, so we had loads of time to talk and enjoy each other's company. The atmosphere was lovely as well, and the service was excellent. I was so grateful and truly had an incredible evening with Steven, Laura, Helen, Paula, and Erica.

We left the restaurant at midnight, and had plans to go listen to music down the road, but with everyone so tired and full, we called it a night and said our goodbyes. Like I said in the previous post, traveling is incredible, but getting to spend your time with people who know you (or very distantly know you) and want to take care of you is magical. I can't really describe how comforting it was to sit down for another fabulous meal and just talk and laugh with sweet relatives. I know we didn't actually know Steven and his wife and daughter before the evening, but it felt like we had known each other for years. If you are ever abroad, you will know that sense of amazement of seeing new things, but also a slight feeling of loss or loneliness because you aren't surrounded by people you know and love. The Irish are welcoming, kind, and friendly. I am at a loss for words at the amount of love, kindness, and generosity that has been shown to Erica and myself since arriving in Dublin. 

The day was delightful and the company was even better. I can't imagine a more perfect way to end our semester over here. 

Dublin Day 2...THANKSGIVING

Erica and I slept in Thursday morning and Helen and Paula went to work. After the best sleep of my life, I did not want to crawl out of bed. We lollygagged and had some breakfast of toast and a latte. Helen has a Nespresso machine, which makes the best cup of coffee/espresso in the world.

We got ready and then Helen picked us up to take us to meet Paula and Jimmy. Jimmy is one of Bernards 7 brothers. There are 8 boys and 1 girl that make up that family. They are all Paula and Helen's first cousins. How they are related to my Uncle Mike, I can't be sure. I am learning though. And by the time I leave, I will be be able to draw the family tree.

We went for a lovely drive along the coast and through Dublin, while Jimmy and Paula added anecdotes and stories about each place. We got out and walked along the Irish Sea for a tad, and took some pictures.

Sweet Paula!

Jimmy took us to grab a bit of lunch at the neatest cafeteria/restaurant called Avoca. It reminded me of a mixture of Stonehorse Market in Tulsa and Fresh Market. Everything is really fresh, natural, and presented beautifully. It has a beautiful shopping area outside of the cafe. You grab a tray and then walk through and pick what you want. I had a spinach and pine nut quiche (OH MY LANTA...I was in egg heaven) with a trio of their fresh salads. After we ate, Jimmy so kindly went and grabbed us all coffees and an assortment of sweets.

We then drove back and got ready for THANKSGIVING! Which Erica and I were actually heart broken about missing with our family until we arrived in Dublin. Like Paula and her kind, thoughtful self, she booked us a real Thanksgiving dinner in Dublin before we arrived. She sent me a message asking if we wanted to go out to this place that hosted Thanksgiving and I got so giddy inside. So we freshened up and headed to the Beaufield Mews for the BEST meal I have had in a long time. This definitely made up two fold for missing my first Thanksgiving of my life. Thank you Paula for being so incredibly thoughtful and gracious.

When we arrived at the Beaufield Mews Jimmy and his wife Aileen were waiting for us. The place was tastefully decorated for Christmas, but had American flag banners all around and a chalkboard greeting us!

The server came over and asked if we would like eggnog. I will say this was the best eggnog I have ever had. This was true, creamy, rich alcoholic eggnog and was absolutely brilliant. I am 98% certain the eggnog part was made in the restaurant.

While we waited for the table, sipping our eggnog, we were given an America quiz. There were 20 questions about the good ol USA and we were competing with the other guests for a bottle of wine. We seriously needed my dear old dad, Professor Klunder, to help us with the true American History. We had a ball talking through the questions, taking guesses and not using Google until the end to check some answers. I may have sang the "Alabama, Alaska, Arizona.." song that we all learned in 5th grade. Some of the questions were really hard, like "Name the place in the US with the first subway." The Irish family we were with were brilliant at the questions and it was seriously a blast. We laughed a lot and it was a great way to start our Thanksgiving dinner.

We had a chance to read the menu before we sat down, and I about cried tears of joy. This place was classy and tasteful. Aileen ordered us a bottle of wine, which was fabulous, and the first course came out. Sweetcorn and garam masala soup with spiced onion and carrot fritter. Have you ever had corn pudding? Well this tasted just like it, but creamier, richer, and decadent. Absolutely gorgeous.

 The second course was caramelized pumpkin and baby beet salad with tahini and walnut caviar. Again, this was just wonderful. So scrumptious and light.

 The third course was the main event. And main event it was. Free range Irish turkey with chestnut stuffing wrapped in smoked bacon with whiskey and sage jus. This was beautifully plated and much more elegant than the giant mess of my normal Thanksgiving plate of goodies. There was a beet cream sauce on the side that was silky and perfect with the turkey.

They brought out a string been dish and creamy potatoes that made me think of my moms green been casserole. They even had the crunchy onions on top. SO GOOD.

The fourth course was fig and pecan pie with balsamic and honey ice cream. It was somewhat like a sponge cake but the flavor was spot on to pecan pie, which is my specialty. The ice cream was beautiful and paired so nicely with the pie. It came with the cutest tiny American flag stuck in it and I felt like a million bucks. Ireland sure knows how to make an American girl who misses home feel at home.

We finished off with a coffee and sweet conversation. I wish I could explain how perfect the night was. I actually cried on Facetime with my parents a few days before we left because I was so sad to miss Thanksgiving. We were surrounded by Irish relations who treated us like royalty and wanted our American holiday to be special. Traveling is fun and exciting, but can feel lonely when you are surrounded by thousands of people you don't know. We had an intimate dinner with family, and there is simply nothing better than that. It was a night I will never forget, and I am so thankful to have celebrated with Helen, Paula, Jimmy and Aileen.