"America is my country and Paris is my hometown." - Gertrude Stein

I'll always feel that way about Dublin.

It's the middle of March, and for many high school and college students, it's the time of the year they look forward to next to the Christmas holidays...Spring Break. I walked across campus today and couldn't help but smile and enjoy the sunshine, the breeze and the lack of craziness on campus. Probably because the students have started their break early. As I strolled through our Sombrilla I found myself thinking back to Spring Break of my senior year in high school. It's 14 years later and I remember it like it was yesterday.

Sr. Jo was our senior English teacher, our Art teacher, the junior class moderator and our friend. She made going to school bearable and, more often than not, enjoyable. She'd be the one to teach me to write a true research paper while Sr. Agnes worked on my creative side. Sr. Jo would also be the one to open my eyes to the world. She offered the girls of my small high school an opportunity of a lifetime, to travel the world, to cities we'd only read about in class. I was fortunate enough to be one of those girls. Sr. Jo made sure to not let this experience interfere with school, so her trips every year were scheduled during the week of spring break. Originally, we were supposed to go to the Scandinavian countries - Denmark, Norway and Sweden. It was the fall semester of our senior year when she got word that the countries we were to visit would be under snow during the time we were scheduled to be there. She was given two options: #1. Take the trip as scheduled. We would get a private tour and it would just be us. (No offense to my fellow travelers, but I saw them everyday, the idea was to go and meet NEW people.) OR #2. Change our destination. And so she did. When she told us we'd be going to England and Ireland I about fell outta my chair; March couldn't get here any sooner.

I can't begin to describe the excitement and fear I felt days before we left. There was so much I would experience. I had a passport. I had traveler's checks. I bought luggage. But I also had never flown, so, much of my fear was focused on my flying experience. As we boarded our plane, I looked back at my parents and I realized what an opportunity they were giving me; little did I know it would be the one of the greatest things they could have ever done for me. I knew that when I returned I would not be the same daughter I was when I left.

I didn't own a CD walkman, which was the hot item at the time; but I took cd's just in case I borrowed someone else's. In the meantime I journaled my trip (big surprise, right?). I took pictures. Loads of pictures. I visited with strangers on the plane; anything to pass the time. In between flights we'd do the Macarena at the Cheers tavern in Memphis airport and ride the indoor child's merry-go-round at Minneapolis airport. When I did have a chance to borrow someone's walkman, I listened to the Cranberries. I usually only had the chance to borrow one for a little while, so throughout the trip I only had it long enough to listen to 2 cd's in their entirety, both by the Cranberries. I bring this up because those of you that know me, know that when I hear "Dreams" or "Linger" I get lost in thought. I smile at the memories, remembering my amazement as we flew over the dark Atlantic or how grown up I felt as I made my way through customs all by myself. I still remember the sense of adulthood I felt as I had my passport stamped for the first time. I was really here.

England was everything I imagined it to be and more. From the double decker bus to the red phone booths to Big Ben, I saw it all. I stood at Tower Bridge and in front of Buckingham Palace in awe, taking in every moment, every sound, the people, the accent, the life of another city. At that moment I realized that Von Ormy and San Antonio was not all there was. There was a whole other world out there, and I was in the middle of it. Andrew Lloyd Webber's "Starlight Express" gave me a new sense of appreciation for theatre - I was at a musical in London's West End; even as I type this I have to stop and think and realize, yet again, that I was really there. I really went to Westminster Abbey; I walked through Windsor Castle, admiring the vastness of the rooms, the ornate furniture, the paintings that hung on the walls and then drank a cup of hot chocolate at Shakespeare's Coffee House just outside the castle walls; I saw Queen Mary's Doll House with details one could only dream of, from the monogram stitching on the tiny pillow cases to the replicas of the paintings that hung on the walls of Buckingham Palace that were now the size of a postage stamp to the tiny china that was laid out on a dining room table the size of a mini-Twix candy! The intricate details that this doll house was made of was truly astonishing. I walked through Trafalgar Square being careful not to let the pigeons bother me too much; I stood at the doors of the original Hard Rock Cafe and imagined all those that had stood there before me; I walked through Shakespeare's birthplace and Ann Hathaway's cottage and found myself in a literary story, every poem and sonnet I had ever read took me to this place; and of all the places we saw I'll never forget our time standing in the middle of Picadilly Circus - the lights, the people, the rich culture that flowed throughout this place was enough to make me miss it even before we left. I didn't think this trip could get any better....but I was wrong.

We took our coach to Wales and rode a ferry across the English chanel into Dublin. If I had to give one word to describe what this city means to me it would be: breathtaking. Dublin is my hometown. It's where the grass is always greener and everyone is Irish. Where daffodils grow in perfect square plots in fields so green I had to sit in the middle of it just to make sure it was real (I have a picture to prove it). A city where I kissed the Blarney Stone upside down with help of an old Irish countryman who called me "love" in his thick, Irish accent as he took my hand to help me lay back and called the boy behind me "lad" to help him do the same. A city that welcomed me to the country of Ireland with open arms and unknowingly opened my heart. I spent the last four days in Ireland soaking up all that I could as fast as I could...making a visit to St. Patrick's Cathedral, hanging out at an Irish pub where I had my first Guinness and got hit on by an old man (I also have a picture to prove this), and a shopping trip where I would buy my mother an Irish linen tablecloth and my niece Leslie an Irish linen baptismal bib. People ask me what it is I bought myself and I tell them, "nothing". I think I bought a tshirt for myself at the Hard Rock in London, but for me, my souvenirs were my pictures...all 16 rolls! Some of mother's advice before I left was to make sure I didn't take pictures of "things", but to make sure I was IN the pictures. It was some of the best advice, because I have some of the best pictures of my trip.

It was outside St. Patrick’s Cathedral that I made a decision. I wasn't going home. Dublin was my home. Ireland is where I wanted to be. Of course, Sr. Jo wouldn’t hear of it; I remember her telling me, “Your mother will kill me if you don’t get off that plane with me in San Antonio!” She was right. Tanya, our lovable tour guide, gave me another option. She invited me to come back and stay with her and her husband, who we got to meet in London, for the summer. She stressed the importance of me going back and graduating and finishing my senior year. While I dreaded getting on the plane, I knew she was also right. I cried twice on my trip, the first time being when we landed in Boston on our way back…I cried because I knew I was no longer in Ireland, but what I brought back with me is more than I ever could have asked for.

Yet, in the midst of all this memory-making and sight-seeing I can't make light of the friends I made. We were grouped with a group of students from Kansas. During our first hotel stay in London, the hotel rooms were a little small and the numbers didn't add up for all of us to room with our own group. Sr. Jo asked me if I would do her the biggest favor and share a room with two girls from Kansas who I had not met yet and the one freshman that was in our group. She knew I wouldn't complain and would agree, but it was probably the best thing that could've happened to me; it was my way in with the other group. I instantly connected with my two roomies - Heidi and Amy - and they made it so easy for me to get to know the rest of their group, including Norb. Yes, Norb is his name. I learned more about him in our last few days than I did about the girls I went to school with for the last three years. We had a lot in common and shared the same frustrations. We talked. We laughed. We became friends. It was on our flight from Boston to Memphis, coming home, that I realized the impact this trip had on the both of us. He handed me a letter and asked me not to read it until I was on my flight to San Antonio. I couldn't wait that long. When we landed in Memphis and went our separate ways, I read the letter at our gate. He described what the last few days meant to him and how he couldn't believe what someone could mean to him in just a short time. It wasn't a romantic letter, it wasn't filled with cliche remarks or sappy lines, it was an honest letter from one friend to another. In the envelope, he had given me a chain he wore and attached to the chain was a medal of St. Jude. He told me to take it and remember him. I was speechless, and so I cried for the second time on my trip, but who wouldn't? I was beside myself. I quickly took out a pen and paper from my journal and wrote as fast as I could. I knew I needed to give him something in return, but per Sr. Jo's instructions, we weren't to bring anything of value with us. I had nothing. At least I thought I didn't. Sr. Jo gave me an oak, pocket knife she always carried with her. She told me she'd had it forever and that it had saved her a time or two, but she knew that right then, I needed it more than she did. She told me I could have it, to give to him. And so I did. A couple of weeks after I got home I received a letter in the mail from Kansas, thanking me for what I had given him and for the memories of a trip we would both never forget. Life being what it is, we lost touch shortly after our first year in college and have yet to speak again. Regardless, I have my memories, my pictures and St. Jude.

Spring Break, for me, is more than just a beer fest at the beach for a weekend. It was a monumental moment in my life. It wasn't an accident that we ended up in England and Ireland; it was the way it was supposed to happen. So, as I listen to my students talk about their upcoming plans, I can't help but smile and think back to my own Spring Break, because it was the only REAL spring break I've ever had. It was a week filled with adventure and excitement, hello's and goodbye's and a bittersweet ending. I embarked on a journey that gave me new memories, new friends and moments I would never forget and at the end of that journey I wasn't just a girl from a small town, I was much more than that...to all those I traveled with, thank you. I owe 10 of the best days of my life to each of you, ..."May the road rise to meet you, May the wind be always at your back, May the sun shine warm upon your face, May the rain fall soft upon your fields, And, until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of His hand" - St. Patrick.

Till next time...