The Day the Pumpkin Died

Let me tell you.

I am not one for homesickness. In fact, I don't think I've ever been homesick in my life. Peace out; I'm off adventuring.

But there are some things that just make me shed a little tear. (Figuratively, not literally. I've cried while I was here, but that was only because I was reading Deathly Hallows, and if you can get through that book without crying, then you're probably Voldemort. In which case stop reading my blog. No evil wizards allowed.)

Sure, the stores close ridiculously early. The pharmacies that are advertised as "late night" close at 9 on weekdays and 6 on weekends. They clearly missed the memo defining the term "late." But, whatever, I tend to peace out of town by 6 p.m. anyway since 6 is when my dinner is served. And I'm not going out after I eat. Because I stare at the internet for hours upon end after I eat. That's just how the world works.

(For the record, I do more than just stare at the internet while I'm in Ireland. Sometimes I go sit by the seafront and read. Sometimes I sit on the pier and read. Sometimes I sit in People's Park and read. Sometimes it rains and I choose to take pictures of pigeons because that's what normal people do when it rains. Don't judge me. You don't know me.)

(For the other record, I also do things other than read in various locations. On the weekends, I go frolicking about the country. I've been to the National Museum of Archaeology, the National Museum of Natural History, the Sea Life aquarium place, Dublinia which is a museum about Viking and medieval Dublin, the Listowel horse races, Cork, and Kinsale. And maybe other places. It's not my job to remember things.)

And, yeah, all my frands are at home. But they're part of the internet, and since I neglect them while I'm at home in favor of the internet, whatever. And at any rate, the large amount of time I spend alone helps me to not hate people for being people.

And my Big Black Dog is not in Ireland. And he is a handsome man. But, srsly, for the past x number of years, I haven't lived with him. So. Yeah. And sometimes when I'm chilling at the park, dogs walk up to me. They're like, "Hey bro, I'm a dog. Just chillin'. You wanna pet me?" And I'm like, "Totally." Then we pet. It's good times.

The one thing that could force one into homesickness is the lamentable lack of pumpkin products that plagues Ireland.

Has no one thought to can pumpkin here?

This is October. In 'MERICA, one should eat nothing but pumpkin product starting in September and going until at least mid-November.

It's a sad day, really. You say "pumpkin pie," and people are like, "Wait wait wait. You put pumpkin in a pie? That sounds ridiculous."

No, Irish people. Pumpkin belongs in everything.

The only salvation is Starbucks, which, bless its American heart, has that delightful beverage known as the Pumpkin Spice Latte. Pure bliss in a cup.

Oh, and I did find a street vendor selling "pumpkin bread," but I don't think there was any pumpkin in it.