Homeward Bound (in more ways than one)

          Another Friday night in. I got home earlier than expected from work, ate some left over dinner and curled up with a book. I couldn't be happier to be a hermit for awhile. As I lay low, trying to spend the least amount of money as possible, I can hear the drizzle of non-existing rain. I can hear my long,lost Irish sister's voice, and maybe a wee one or three. I can picture 9 Quakers in a van, (Boy, that's a bad joke waiting to happen isn't it?) exploring new places, and meeting new people. Exploring more about my faith, and the connection with a culture I feel so drawn to.
         I've decided after I say goodbye to my new friends, that I'm renting a car for a few days and doing some genealogy work. That's right Ladies and Gents, Once again Abbi hits the tiny back roads of Ireland. Except this time, I don't have Dion to guide me. Or Rinny and Karisa freaking out in the back seat. Just me. And possibly Sleepytime Pooh. He hasn't decided if he wishes to stay behind or not. Its a more grown up adventure this time.  A little more than a rucksack and a journal. A little less than all my earthly possessions preparing for the inevitable move. Yes, I promise I'll be back. This time.
  My return trip will be 4 years almost on the dot that I was last there. Four years of dreams where I'm headed toward the airplane... but always wake before we actually take off. Four years of me saying to friends "Maybe in the spring/fall". A part of me longing, always.
          Someone was snide with me two weeks ago and chastised me for referring to my trips to Ireland as "going home". Calling it a silly romantic ideal. Its such a strange thing to feel like you belong to two cultures at once; and never once have I expected anyone to understand. I love Maryland. I love my room. The furry creatures that make up the delightful zoo I reside in. I love my roommate, my co-workers and even the eternally aggravating red line. But not a day goes by where a part of me doesn't long to be on a tiny little cloudy island, so far from, and yet at the same time- the very essence of- home.
         I visited the Smithsonian Native American  museum this week. While exploring I found this quote by Jolene Rickard & Gabrielle Tayac that sums it up pretty well.

          What part of you is Native? Is it your head? Your heart? Maybe it's your thoughts.
          But it is not just your blood. We are the sum of all our parts. All human.
         One hundred percent. And fully Native.

         I found myself identifying with that quote on many different levels. By blood, I'm part Native American. I'm also biologically Swedish (Shuttup Lucie), English, and Irish. In one corner of my family tree, I am can name and possibly put a face to it, of revolutionary war soldiers. I could be a  D.A.R candidate if I felt the need to be that pretentious. A small part of me, biologically is directly connected to what Ms. Rickard and Ms. Tayac are speaking of. But it resonates to me in a completely different manner. Why don't I feel as connected to the other cultures that make up my heritage? Interesting thought.

            On a completely unrelated note- before drifting off to sleep a few nights ago, I came up with this question that I'll pose to you all for conversation. Say you have the opportunity to have an immediate, complete and utter understanding of a topic of your choice. Within 10 minutes you could be fluent in another language, know how to fly a plane, play any musical instrument,  know the history of the roman empire etc. But had to endure 10 minutes of the worst pain imaginable in order to obtain it.  would you do it? If so, what would you choose to know?