Farewell

I thought I would start out by highlighting some of my most cherished memories from my 16 months of blogging. Then I started looking at my entries. I didn't find anything that...uhmmm cherished. Well, except for this: A writing exercise that turned out rather well. I mean...I posted about things I already have memories of so....and I posted about my opinions...well, who the hell cares about my opinions. Nobody but me. (And that is not a self pitying statement...it's just a fact)
Then I started thinking just how much this blog is tied to my current work situation. Not that I have talked about it here but that for the last 2 years at this job I have struggled and as a creative outlet...I blogged. I'm leaving my current job soon. I am in the process of interviewing with several different organizations. As bad as my current job is....I don't want any reminders of it after I am done. I mean...the administrator's voice is on the voicemail system and I cringe every time I go to leave someone a voicemail and have to hear it, which is multiple times per day. And blogging is the biggest thing tied to my current job. Don't get me wrong. I absolutely love seeing patients. I love being a home health nurse. These last few weeks when I have been seeing several patients routinely, has emphasized just how much my self esteem is tied to my profession. At this point in time...I have to be a nurse. Just not with this company. There will be a few folks I will miss. The administrator isn't one of them.
At first, I thought my struggles and pain were growing pains. I thought I was growing. In retrospect, I was trying to please the administrator. I was trying to be something I am not. I sorta lost myself for awhile. I lost my confidence, my self esteem and most importantly, my self efficacy. I became defensive and a bit paranoid. I don't want to be that person any more. I don't want any reminders of that person or that place or that time. I usually try to keep name badges for my scrapbook. Not this time. I take pics of me with coworkers and the building...for my scrapbook. Not this time. Whenever I wanted to escape from this environment....from my self imposed prison...I blogged. Do you see why I need to stop blogging? Do you see that I am not abandoning you all? I may not come around to your sites. I will be emailing you, if I have your addy, and I've already begun to do that. Sometimes a personal note, sometimes a BCC of something interesting or funny. You are welcome to do the same. My only request...insistent request, is that you not forward things without cleaning it up first. If you send me something with more than one forward, my virus program will not scan it and I will not open it. If you want me to take you off my email list, I would gladly oblige. All you have to do is ask. I will try not to take it personally. And BTW...I don't send out ANYTHING, that I don't think is worthwhile. (One of my cousins wouldn't open things from me if she thought it was a forward because she thought it was junk. I set her straight. That's all I am doing now) Okay, except for those blasted "must send to 7 other people in 5 mins or you will have 7 years bad luck". If I think your email is one of those, I don't open it. If I do, dangit...I'm just that superstitious and will send it to the people that I know would forgive me for doing that.
Okay.
I have met some wonderful folks thru my blogging experience. I have grown some thru blogging. I have had some painful experiences in blogging as well. People I thought were friends, that didn't turn out that way. Just like life. I get upset when folks find out I have a blog or I met this friend thru blogging....and they ever so subtly turn up their nose. Whatever. But my trip to Montana will forever be the highlight of my blogging experience followed closely by my blogger friends response to me mums head shaving last year and of course, Legs.
I've known for several years that relationships are the most important thing in life. Recently, I have come to really understand what that means. There are some relationships I have had to let go. They were counterproductive. That's a nice way of saying...it was hurting me or them or both of us to continue the relationship. I was dying inside everytime I was confronted with an aspect of those relationships. Some of these were small relationships...one or two...were primary relationships. I feel bad... but much less so than I did trying to make that relationship work.
So, here I am. Composing my final blog post. I thought I might do a video. I think I would cry. I don't like people to see me cry. I think I would babble. I don't want you to see me babble.

So let me just say....Thank you. Thank you for being there. For helping me get started, for showing me cool things to do on my blog. For letting me know I wasn't alone. For sharing your life with me. For caring about me. I hope I did the same for you. It's just time for a different phase of my life. If we can keep in touch, outstanding. If we can't, I wish you the very best that life has to offer, peace, love and energy.
It took about 5 or 6 attempts before I was satisfied and well, here you are. As promised.


♥Pam

Wrapping it all up

Sure and I am wanting something to post today. I looked and hunted and snubbed my nose at many a topic and pic....but I found this tidbit that I thought was quite telling. Hope you enjoy.


To be a fully paid-up member of Dublin 4*, you have to eat polenta, send your children to fee-paying schools, have a superior attitude to rural Ireland, criticise the Catholic Church and the traditional political set-up, take holidays in Tuscany or Provence, own a cottage in the west of Ireland, think nationalism frightfully old-hat, and regard Mary Robinson, the progressive-mind, former President of Ireland, as a divine creature a cut or two above the Virgin Mary. To belong to Dublin 4, you also have to regard the whole existence of Dublin 4 as a myth dreamt up by the resentful masses who eat bacon and cabbage rather than polenta, send their children to state schools, can't afford to take a holiday, and when asked 'Have you read Marx?' reply 'Only where I sit down'.
From, The Truth about the Irish by Terry Eagleton.
*a phrase used to refer to a certain intellectual elite in the city.

After you delve into the life and times of Ireland...which, although as I've previously mentioned..and does bear repeating...is only slightly larger than West Virginia...you slowly unearth the heartbeat of the place, rather than the horse and pony show put on for you by the locals... I mean, we do the same for tourists here so, I'm not knocking it. But I began to sense a minor divisiveness between Dubliners and the rural counties. And started reading between the lines about different topics. Something else I found out was rather surprising. See, me mum is, well a very smart lady. Taught me to turn the other cheek, that skin color, education, place of birth and all those other identifiers, matter not. It's who you are and what you do that counts. That you should be tolerant and forgiving. I have never heard me mum say anything really bad about anyone. Rarely frustrated except with...well...never mind. I learned that everyone has value and so on, so forth. These attitudes are WELL ingrained in me. She taught me the way her mum taught her. Although I didn't know Nanan long, as she died when I was 12 or 13, I did however, get a sense of her remarkableness and strength. Her kindness and intelligence. So....it was rather surprising to find out that my Nanan harboured a deep seated hatred for the English entirely due to her Irish heritage. She kept that little tidbit to herself. And although I don't think me own mum is so passionate in her feelings about the English..nonetheless...she also carries some 'baggage' about the history of British rule in Ireland. WHO KNEW? Well, not me... until this month. And honestly, although I don't hold the average Brit responsible...I do think there is some accountability due the Irish people from the British powers that be. (just a tad sarcastic here)

Anyhoo..it's been quite a month and I've had a lovely time sharing my Ireland with you. I can't wait to go back. This time it'll be self driving and B&B's. I won't spend much time in Dublin and will probably fly in and out of Shannon. I'll spend more time photographing and talking with people and being there. I can't wait.

In the meantime...I enjoy this website and this as well, for some everyday Irish pictorial life....of the non-tourist kind. I also enjoy visiting ICL or Irish Church Lady at Sláinte...It's Only Me for some diaspora type hobnobbing. Thanks for riding with me this month and stop in tomorrow for my farewell address...
♥Pam

More of my Ireland photos

♥Pam

For old times sake

One last "quiz".

Which Irish Goddess Are You? (awesome pics)

You are Flidais, a woodland goddess, and your chariot is reputed to be drawn by deer. At one with nature, you are considered to be the protector of the trees in the forest, the protector of the creatures of the forest. Also considered a goddess of the hunt, you are an accomplished archer. Your classic image is one of a benevolent, poised woman, often accompanied by woodland creatures and your bow.
Take this quiz!








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Guilford Four

NOTE: As with a majority of my posts this month I had written this some time ago and had it in drafts. But I kept coming back to this one...opening it up. Rereading it. Wondering if it would be a mistake to post it. Obviously, in the end, I chose to post it. But not without a great deal of thoughtful, gut twisting consideration. I've been trying to show you some of the things I love about Ireland, and being Irish...well, Irish American anyway. I did post about the Irish Holocaust and The Troubles. I tried to be impartial...for the most part. But with this...it all came to a head. So, caveat emptor. (because I don't know the Latin for reader)


Injustice...cruelty....violence....
while certainly these traits are not the sole province of the British....I can only say that they have perpetrated hundreds of years of injustice....cruelty and violence on the Irish people. As long as I only write about the lovely things about Ireland and never mention England and her atrocities against the Irish....the kooks stay away. These kooks are only looking for a reason to mouth off and be a**holes. I'm NOT saying that America, hell every government, is not guilty of miscarriage of justice, cruelty, violence. We've only to mention the American Indian, the African American, the Japanese during WWII, hell even the Irish in the late 1800's were treated very poorly that first generation...do I need to go on? Do you think those things are in the past? Do you think our government is above that sort of thing now? If you do, I feel most sorry for you. But when I talk about Britain's treatment of Ireland...suddenly the losers come out of the woodwork. I trashed several comments by people who, although passionate about their beliefs, missed the point of my previous post about "The Troubles" and just wanted to start a row. But I cannot be silent, as this most hideous of beasts has never been brought into the light and laid bare before the world, at least to my satisfaction. This beast I refer to, is the colonial rule of Ireland by Britain and it's subsequent treatment of the Irish. If you could spend just a few minutes reading some of the outrageous things, dating back to the most significant invasion of the British in Ireland...say c. 1530's, I think you would be astonished. To list them all would take time, and again, a commitment from the reader. I know, there are other countries the British treated abominably, but I'm talking about Ireland right now.
So...let's just give an example that you might find easier to relate to. The Guilford Four. If you've seen the movie In the Name of the Father, then you know precisely the situation I am talking about...if not, I highly recommend the movie. Regardless of who it's about, it's a superbly acted and directed movie. In short, four people...Irish of course, are falsely convicted of the IRA's Guildford pub bombing, sentenced to life in prison and spent 15 years there before finally getting their conviction overturned. It's also about the main character's relationship with his father who is also falsely convicted and imprisoned for the same crime. Oh, and that also included SEVEN members of the father's family as well, including a 15 year old nephew. They were arrested under the auspices of a new law at the time, c. 1974...The Prevention of Terrorism Act...hmmm, sound familiar?
Anyway...this is the crux of the matter:
In February 1977 Martin O'Connell, an IRA soldier on trial for another bombing spoke, for the Four. He basically told his lawyer that four innocent people were imprisoned for the Guilford Pub Bombing. He also told the court: "No mention has been made in this court of the violence suffered by the Irish people; of the use of internment without trial in the Six Counties; of the conviction before the European Court of Human rights of the British Government for the torture of Irish people; nor the many brutalities of British colonial rule. "
"We will be judged only by our countrymen. Any verdict or sentence from this court is nothing more than the continuation of the hypocrisy of British rule in Ireland and the injustice it has inflicted on our country and its people....true peace can only come about when a nation is free from oppression and injustice.'' [You'll love this- when the Prime Minister, T. Blair apologized for this injustice recently...some 30 years later, he did it publicly, but... then sent a letter....one letter. One letter to the wife of one of the four. Her husband was alive and well and yet he sent a letter of apology to the wife- who didn't even know her husband at the time of the imprisonment. Oh, I forgot to mention, this wife...she's Mary Courtney Kennedy, daughter of the late United States Senator, Robert F. Kennedy.]
But worse yet...I know injustice of this magnitude is happening right here in this country today. Today.
There...I'm done.
I'm tired. Tired of people treating other people as less than human. Tired of the cruel, humiliating, evil, sick and ridiculous things humans perpetrate on their fellow humans. I'm just sick and tired. And intolerant. I'm intolerant of...intolerance. I am the thing I despise. Intolerant. I'm also tired of the way humans treat animals and the planet. I guess I'm just DONE.
I'm so disgusted...I can't even put up my signature heart. Four more days.

Movies about or filmed in Ireland

I thought about only putting my fav's here but.... if it's italicized...I haven't seen it yet. If it's in GREEN...I thought it was an excellent movie and you need to rent it if you haven't seen it.

The Quiet Man
War of the Buttons
Waking Ned Devine
Ryan's Daughter
The Matchmaker
Circle of Friends
Darby O'Gill and the Little People
Far and Away....which I thought sucked, but 'tis me own opinon.
My Left Foot
In the Name of the Father
High Spirits
Michael Collins
Dancing at Lughnasa
Angela's Ashes
The Commitments
Bloody Sunday
Turning Green
The Wind that Shakes the Barley
Veronica Guerin
Into the West

That's all I have today. For movies are like spaghetti sauce recipes....everyone's got one, they all end in sauce but everyone likes different ones and none shall agree. I like certain movies for certain reasons. You may like others for other reasons. It's all good. But enough said. There's the list. I'd be happy and interested to know if I have missed one. Remember....the title is movies about or filmed in Ireland.
Have a delightful day.
♥Pam

Faerie Tales

...wee folk, good folk, people of peace...whatever you want to call them. The Irish consider it very bad luck to call them anything but the good people...or the good folk. If you've a mind to make your head spin...go here to read about faeries and faerie forts and mounds.



My ALL TIME favorite poster of an oil painting is this one by Edward Robert Hughes,

Midsummer Eve, 1908

There is soooo much info on faeries and their kind...it would take me weeks to do justice to it. But I wanted to post this pic and I wanted to give a few of my favorite tidbits about faeries. First, me mum wanted to make sure I spelled it correctly...which I have. ;0]

There are faeries, brownies, pixies, leprechauns of course, water spirits and mer-folk and banshee's too. There's clurichaun who are cousins to leprechauns and Far darrigs. You see...so much. You could make a lifetime hobby of learnin' all about the good folk. I'm not fond of leprechauns because of their mischievousness. But that's likely from American media. You all remember or maybe I should say...have you heard of the bruhahha about a famous writer and the little girls who said they saw faeries? It's an English story rather than Irish but....

Here's one:

The Farie’s Dancing-Place
William Carleton
Lanty M’Clusky had married a wife, and, of course, it was necessary to have a house in which to keep her. Now, Lanty had taken a bit of a farm, about six acres; but as there was no house on it, he resolved to build one; and that it might be as comfortable as possible, he selected for the site of it one of those beautiful green circles that are supposed to be the play-ground of the fairies. Lanty was armed against this; but as he was a headstrong man, and not much given to fear, he said he would not change such a pleasant situation for his house to oblige all the fairies in Europe. He accordingly proceeded with the building, which he finished off very neatly; and , as it is usual on these occasions to give one’s neighbours and friends a house-warming, so, in compliance with this good and pleasant old custom, Lanty having brought home the wife in the course of the day, got a fiddler and a lot of whiskey, and gave those who had come to see him a dance in the evening. This was all very well, and the fun and hilarity were proceeding briskly, when a noise was heard after night had set in, like a crushing and straining of ribs and rafters on the top of the house. The folks assembled all listened, and, without doubt, there was nothing heard but crushing, heaving, and pushing, and groaning, and panting, as if a thousand little men were engaged in pulling down the roof. Come, said a voice which spoke in a tone of command, work hard; you know we must have Lanty’s house down before midnight. This was an unwelcome piece of intelligence to Lanty, who, finding that his enemies were such as he could not cope with, walked out, and addressed them as follows; Gintlemen, I humbly ax yer pardon for buildin’ on any place belongin’ to you; but if you’ll have the civilitude to let me alone this night, I’ll begin to pull down and remove the house tomorrow morning. This was followed by a noise like the clapping of a thousand tiny little hands, and a shout of Bravo, Lanty! Build half-way between the two White-thorns above the boreen; and after another hearty little shout of exultation, there was a brisk rushing noise, and they were heard no more. The story, however, does not end here; for Lanty when digging the foundation of his new house, found the full of a kam of gold (metal vessel=Kam); so that in leaving the fairies their play-ground, he became a richer man than ever he otherwise would have been, had he never come in contact with them at all.

The Brewery of Egg-shells
T. Crofton Croker
Mrs. Sullivan fancied that her youngest child had been exchanged by fairies theft, and certainly appearances warranted such a conclusion; for in one night her healthy, blue-eyed boy had become shrivelled up into almost nothing, and never ceased squalling and crying. This naturally made poor Mrs. Sullivan very unhappy; and all the neighbours, by way of comforting her, said that her own child was, beyond any kind of doubt, with the good people, and that one of themselves was put in his place. Mrs. Sullivan of course could not disbelieve what every one told her, but she did not wish to hurt the thing; for although its face was so withered , and its body wasted away to a mere skeleton, it had still a strong resemblance to her own boy. She, therefore, could not find it in her heart to roast it alive on the griddle, or to burn its nose off with the red-hot tongs, or to throw it out in the snow on the road-side, notwithstanding these, and several like proceedings, were strongly recommended to her for the recovery of her child. One day who should Mrs. Sullivan meet but a cunning woman well known about the country by the name of Ellen Leah (or Grey Ellen). She had the gift, however, she got it, of telling where the dead were, and what was good for the rest of their souls; and could charm away warts and woens, and do a great many wonderful things of the same nature. You'’re in grief this morning, Mrs. Sullivan, were the first words of Ellen Leah to her. You many say that, Ellen, said Mrs. Sullivan, and good cause I have to be in Grief, for there was my own fine child whipped off from me out of his cradle, without as much as by your leave or ask your pardon, and an ugly dony bit of a shirvelled-up fairy put in his place; no wonder, then, that you see me in grief, Ellen. Small blame to you, Mrs. Sullivan, said Ellen Leah, but are you sure t’is a fairy? Sure! Echoed Mrs. Sullivan sure enough I am to my sorrow, and can I doubt my own two eyes? Every mother’s soul must feel for me! Will you take an old woman’s advice? Said Ellen Leah, fixing her wild and mysterious gaze upon the unhappy mother; and, after a pause, she added, but maybe you’ll call it foolish? Can you get me back my child, my own child, Ellen? Said Mrs. Sullivan with great energy. If you do as I bid you, returned Ellen Leah, you’ll know. Mrs. Sullivan was silent in expectation, and Elen continued. Put down the big pot full of water on the fire, and make it boil like mad; then get a dozen new-laid eggs, break them, and keep the shells, but throw away the rest; when that is done, put the shells in the pot of boiling water, and you will soon know whether it is your own boy or a fairy. If you find that it is a fairy in the cradle, take the red-hot poker and cram it down his ugly throat, and you will not have much truble with him after that. I promise you. Home went Mrs. Sullivan, and did as Ellen Leah desired. She put the pot on the fire, and plenty of turf under it, and set the water boiling at such a rate, that if ever water was red-hot, it surely was. The child was lying, for a wonder, quite easy and quiet in the cradle, every now and then cocking his eye, that would twinkle as keen as a star in a frosty night, over at the great fire, and the big pot upon it; and he looked on with great attention at Mrs. Sulivan breaking the eggs and putting down the egg-shells to boil. At last he asked, with the voice of a very old man. What are you doing mammy? Mrs. Sullivan’s heart, as she said herself, was up in her mouth ready to choke her, at hearing the child speak. But she contrived to put the poker in the fire, and to answer, without making any wonder at the words, I’m brewing, a vick (my son). And what are you brewing, mammy/ said the little imp, whose supernatural gift of speech now proved beyond question that he was a fairy substitute. I wish the poker was red, thought Mrs. Sullivan; but it was a large one and took a long time heating; so she determined to keep him in talk until the poker was in a proper state to thrust down his throat, and therefore repeated the question. Is it what I’m brewing, a vick, said she, you want to know? Yes, mammy: What are you brewing returned the fairy Egg-shells, a vick, said Mrs. Sullivan. Oh! Shrieked the imp, staring up in the cradle, and clapping his hands together, I’m fifteen hundred years in the world and I never saw a brewery of egg-shells before! The poker was by this time quite red, and Mrs. Sullivan seizing it, ran furiously towards the cradle; but somehow or other her foot slipped and she fell flat on the floor, and the poker flew out of her hand to the other end of the house. However, she got up without much loss of time and went to the cradle, intending to pitch the wicked thing that was in it into the pot of boiling water, when there she saw her own child in a sweet sleep, one of his soft round arms rested upon the pillow-his features were as placid as if their repose had never been disturbed, save the rosy mouth, which moved with a gentle and regular breathing.

♥Pam

Tír na nÓg

The Irish believe there is a place where people never get any older than they are. There is never any sickness, and you can eat all your favorite food whenever you want. You can play all day if you like. This place is called Tír na nÓg, the Land of the Young, and it lies way out in the ocean west of Ireland.

Tír na nÓg is pronounced tear na knowg with a hard g.

Here is the legend of Ossian* and Tír na nÓg. Long ago in Ireland lived a man called Ossian. He was the handsome son of Finn and was the poet of the Fianna. (The Fianna were soldiers who were also storytellers and singers.) Ossian had silky red hair and sky-blue eyes. He was tall and strong. Finn was proud of Ossian because he could tell the history of the Fianna with exciting stories and poems.
One summer day, Finn, Ossian, and the Fianna were cooking fish on the beach

and singing songs. Then the singing stopped in the middle of a word. They saw a lady riding a white horse over the water. As the horse splashed toward shore, Ossian saw that the rider was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
The blue-eyed lady rode toward Finn. Her blonde hair flowed around her face. Her cloak sparkled like jewels in the sun.
"I am Niamh," she explained. "I have come to Ireland from Tír na nÓg, the Land of the Young. I once saw Ossian while he was out hunting. I have fallen in love with him."
Turning to look at Ossian, she continued. "Tír na nÓg is a land where the sun always shines. No one is ever sick or old. Everyone eats his favorite foods and plays games. There are storytellers and music. The houses are made of gold and jewels. Birds sing. Colorful flowers grow. People wear soft, glittering clothes. Ossian, please come to Tír na nÓg with me!"
By this time, Ossian had fallen in love with Niamh, too. He turned and hugged Finn and said good-bye to his Fianna friends. He jumped up onto the horse and off they rode over the water. Finn had tears sliding down his face. He knew he would never see his son again.
Niamh and Ossian traveled for hours over the waves. The horse galloped over the water as if it was dry land.
When they reached Tír na nÓg, Ossian could hardly believe his eyes! The houses looked like castles shining in the light. The trees were full of ripe fruit. The fruit tasted sweeter and juicier than any Ossian had ever eaten. In the air were sounds of singing and smells of roasting meat and fresh bread. On Ossian's skin, the breeze felt soft and warm.
Ossian was happy for many years. But one day, about ten years later,Ossian began to miss Ireland. He missed his father Finn and the Fianna. He even missed the Irish rain! He asked to borrow the magic horse to visit Ireland once more.
Niamh agreed, but she told Ossian that many things had changed in Ireland. She also warned him that if his feet touched the ground, he could never return to Tír na nÓg.
Ossian rode to Ireland as fast as he could. When he arrived, he scratched his head in puzzlement. The men of Ireland seemed much smaller and weaker than those he had known before. Worse yet, Finn and the Fianna were no longer alive! A few people had heard of the Fianna, but thought they were only an old myth.
Ossian cried. He discovered that what had seemed like ten years in Tír na nÓg had really been three hundred years in Ireland.
As he rode along thinking sad thoughts, he saw fifteen men trying to move a rock. They pushed and pulled. They could not move it! Ossian reached down and easily lifted the rock. But as he did, he lost his balance and fell off the magic horse. The horse ran off to the sea.
The fifteen men watched in fear. Ossian, a young, strong man, was changing into a very, very old man. His hair turned white. He stooped with age. He spoke in a creaky voice as he told the men about his stay in Tír na nÓg. He told of his friends the Fianna.
Ossian died of old age in front of the men. The men buried Ossian in the soil of Ireland, the land he loved.

*Ossian is pronounced like ocean and Niamh is neeve

One of my favorite movies is Into the West and the horse's name is Tír na nÓg. Speaking of movies...I have a post upcoming about movies filmed in or about Ireland.

The top photo is of Inch Strand on the Dingle Peninsula and the bottom photo is of a white horse next door to Celtic Crystal outside of Galway. Not sure why I felt compelled to take the horse's photo at the time...
♥Pam

Irish Animals

I've been anxiously awaiting posting this. Why you ask? Well, I love animals and well, that's all.

Only 31 mammal species are native to Ireland, because it was isolated from Europe by rising sea levels after the Ice Age. Sad to say, the Grey Wolf, Canis lupus lupus - was hunted to extinction around 1773. That would have been the only large mammal predator on the island. It is easy to forget that Ireland is an island and has all manner of sea life and sea birds. The puffin migrates to the west coast and there is a bottlenose dolphin by the name of Fungie who has stayed near Dingle Peninsula and my understanding is, he is the longest standing, friendly, solitary dolphin in the world. You can read about it here. It is very interesting that the dolphin sometimes ranges along the cliffs to the west, as far as the Crow Rock, and out into Dingle Bay a short way, but is never observed more than 2km from the mouth of the harbour.

Dingle, April 1990

Fungie with a salmon, Sladin, Dingle

Truly an interesting website that I could spend countless hours reading and perusing. I don't know anyone who doesn't dream of swimming with dolphins...unless they don't like to put their face in the water, that is. Other sea life include the Minke whale and the common and gray seals.
Let's dispense with snakes now, shall we? There are no snakes on Ireland. And to the experts best "expert guess"....there never were any after the last ice age. So, that myth related to Bishop Patrick aka St. Patrick, is laid to rest. I have a fondness for otters and there is a freshwater otter in Ireland along with other members of the weasel family such as stoats and pine martens.

Aren't they too cute for words? There is also the Irish hare, the badger and red deer and very interestingly enough...there was an Irish Elk that became extinct about 5,700 BC but was actually just a giant deer. You can read about it here and look at the cool skeleton pic. There are many introduced species now as well, not including domesticated animals, my favorite is the Irish Donkey. Not that this is a special species or anything...just how the Irish feel about their donkey's.

Of course, there are sheep and cows aplenty. Geese and dogs and cats, as well as migratory birds but we don't have all day here now do we? So, off with you. Only a few more days left of posting. I hope to wrap it up on the 31st with a video of meself.

Slán go fóill

♥Pam

Book of Kells

You may have heard of the Book of Kells. You may have seen pics of some pages. It is truly an inspiring piece of work that I find difficult to describe. According to wikipedia.com, it is: "an ornately illustrated manuscript, produced by Celtic monks around AD 800 in the style known as Insular art. It is one of the more lavishly illuminated manuscripts to survive from the Middle Ages and has been described as the zenith of Western calligraphy and illumination. It contains the four gospels of the Bible in Latin, along with prefatory and explanatory matter decorated with numerous colourful illustrations and illuminations. Today it is on permanent display at the Trinity College Library in Dublin, Ireland."

I have no pics, not because the pic is corrupted but because no photos are allowed. So, here are a few shots from wikipedia.


This is a very elaborate page. More common was the photo below. An illuminated letter was a way to add emphasis and decoration to a page of script. Bill and I took several classes in calligraphy and one of the hands was called uncial. Our instructor taught us to do illuminated letters. Of course...it does not compare. What's amazing is that just a few hundred years before this was completed....the residents of Ireland were illiterate and barbaric.

The name "Book of Kells" is derived from the Abbey of Kells in Kells, County Meath in Ireland, where it was kept for much of the medieval period. One of the reasons it is so highly regarded is that it contains the complete text of the Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke, and the Gospel of John through John 17:13, dating from AD 800.

Here is another pic of a sample page:

Folio 309r contains text from the Gospel of John written in Insular majuscule by the scribe known as "Hand B".

Not only were pictures not allowed of the manuscript...but it is in a special "display" and it's very dark in there. I wonder if the security for it is as elaborate as is the security for the American Declaration of Independence?

Is it not amazing the precision of the handwriting? It's so easy to gloss over that particular detail..until you try your hand at calligraphy. This book was sacramental rather than instrumental. Meaning it wasn't meant for use in teaching the scriptures. It was for the altar.

Currently, the Book of Kells resides at Trinity College in Dublin. A stunning bit of property in the middle of Dublin. My favorite part was this place:

An amazing place...an amazing piece of work.

♥Pam

Bog and Turf

I took this picture at Ulster American Folk Park. Turf or peat is used because there are few trees and no coal on Ireland...or not enough to say so...but bogs be another thing. Peat is accumulation of partially decayed vegetation matter. Peat forms in wetlands or peatlands, variously called bogs, moors, muskegs, pocosins, mires, and tropical swamp forests.

The pictures above and below I borrowed from this website and tried to get permission but...the email came back undeliverable.

There's this really great website about turf and peat and you can go there by clicking here.

Now, if you've never smelled a peat or turf fire....now that's a smell you won't forget soon. So very different than a wood fire. We bought some incense in Ireland that smells just like a turf fire. Going to have to buy some more soon. There's a bog preservation organization now as it really isn't necessary to cut the turf for home heating anymore. Here's a great pic of not only a couple at their hearth enjoying a turf fire...but with a basket of pratties as well. And another as well.

If you'd like to smell it for yourself, here's a link to purchase some. It's a bit expensive for incense but....well, we like incense. We burned some on Sunday while we were enjoying our trad Irish-American St Paddy's Day feast. We had a few friends over to share and one of them was so interested in all the info I have gathered this month, because, sure and you know I couldn't keep me mouth shut!!!, that she invited me to talk to her second grade class the very next day. Which I did, by the way, and read them the story of Fin McCool (or Fionn mac Cumhaill) and the Legend of Knockmany and taught them 1-10 in the Irish and how to say goodbye. It was only twenty minutes but sure it did restore something in my soul. My soul is plenty in need of restoring. It's been beaten and battered ....but that's a story for another day.

♥Pam

Hurlin' and Bowlin'

I post this because one of my favorite songs, Whiskey in the Jar, talks about both sports...so I had to go look them up.

I don't know a thing about Hurling....but this is what they use....



This is where you can read more about it. Or you can watch it here...


Kind of like lacrosse or field hockey.

And this is Bowling....of course, if you've seen the movie "Blackball" then you know what it is already. But I have a feeling that what the song is talking about is road bowling....not "bowls". But it is difficult to tell that from the song, without having had the benefit of growing up in Ireland. Road bowling is best described as "using a 28 oz. (793.8 grams) solid iron bowl, or ball, with a circumference of approximately 18 centimetres, two contestants match their individual skills in throwing the bowl with optimum speed, controlled delivery, and international accuracy along a carefully considered and tactically selected play - path over a predetermined course distance of normal roadway". Very definitely an Irish game although it is also played in Boston.
Here's a video of road bowling.


Whereas "bowls" or lawn bowling is more like bocce ball and you can read about it here. It is a distinctly British sport.

So, what do you think? Was the song referring to lawn bowling or road bowling?

♥Pam

Claddagh

The Claddagh Ring is a traditional Irish ring, given in friendship or worn as a wedding ring. The design and customs associated with it originated in the Irish fishing village of Claddagh, located just outside the old walls of the city of Galway. The ring was first produced in the 17th Century during the reign of Queen Mary II, though elements of the design are much older.

The Claddagh's distinctive design features two hands clasping a heart, and usually surmounted by a crown. The elements of this symbol are often said to correspond to the qualities of love (the heart), friendship (the hands), and loyalty (the crown).

The way that a Claddagh ring is worn on the hand is usually intended to convey the wearer's romantic availability, or lack thereof. Traditionally, if the ring is on the right hand with the heart facing outward and away from the body, this indicates that the person wearing the ring is not in any serious relationship, and may in fact be single and looking for a relationship: "their heart is open." When worn on the right hand but with the heart facing inward toward the body, this indicates the person wearing the ring is in a relationship, or that "someone has captured their heart". A Claddagh worn on the left hand ring finger facing outward away from the body generally indicates that the wearer is engaged. When the ring is on the left hand ring finger and facing inward toward the body, it generally means that the person wearing the ring is married.

I have Claddagh earings. I gave Bill a ring before we were married, in friendship. Me mum has earings and several rings.
Thanks to wikipedia for the info above.
♥Pam

St. Baldrick's Day

In honor of my husband Bill's quest to eradicate Children's Cancer....Please read the following PSA.

"You heard it right - I'm shaving my head in solidarity with children who have cancer and typically lose their hair during treatment, while raising critical funds for childhood cancer research!
In the US, more children die of childhood cancer than any other disease. Please make a donation on my behalf to support childhood cancer research so that all children diagnosed with cancer will have a better chance for a cure."

To learn more about St.Baldrick's Day, go here.

The Shaving will be held on April 6th in Armstrong Hall on the Colorado College campus. In order to bring attention to Bill's quest, he dye's his hair....usually an obnoxious color, in order to not only bring attention to his quest, but to facilitate conversing with strangers about St. Baldrick's Day and Children's Cancer. Last year he was Smurf Blue and this year he's going to do USDA purple. If you would like to help in the fight to find a cure for Childhood Cancer please click on this link and either "Donate Online" or "Download a Donation Form" and mail in your donation. Either way the kids could really use your help. His goal this year is 1,000 dollars (even tho his website says 500). Last year you all generously helped me mum with her first head shaving and organizing an event. I promised my husband he would get fair air. Although Bill loves to shave his head every year...the dyeing is a bit uncomfortable for him. See what I mean?

Here's himself on the stage getting ready to be shorn.

Please donate and help end this terrible scourge on children and their families?

♥Pam

Erin Go Braugh

Ah...'tis Himself, St. Patrick. Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh! Which in the English is St. Patrick's Day blessing Upon You.

As I mentioned in my post on the 1st of the month, St. Patrick was not Irish but was from Britian...be it England, Wales or Scotland. He was a slave, herding sheep in northern Ireland and escaped only to return as a priest years later. He is credited with a great many wonderful things that indeed, possibly may actually have been the work of Bishop Palladius. Nonetheless, he is also credited with driving the snakes from Ireland...though post-glacial Ireland never actually had snakes, one suggestion is that snakes referred to the serpent symbolism of the Druids of that time and place. There is a great article about him here.

“Christ shield me this day: Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ on my right, Christ on my left, Christ when I lie down, Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of every person who thinks of me, Christ in the eye that sees me, Christ in the ear that hears me”.
(from “The Breastplate of St. Patrick”)

There is a custom called 'drowning the Shamrock', which has been attributed to celebrating St. Patrick. A leaf of a shamrock that had been worn in the cap or coat was placed into the bottom of the final glass on the Feast Day of St. Patrick. When everyone's health had been drunk or a toast honored, the shamrock was taken from the bottom of the glass and thrown over the left shoulder. Also, in some parts of Southern Ireland, a cross was marked with the end of a burnt stick on the sleeve of each person at the gathering. This was done with a prayer that the individual so marked might be constant in their faith and in their love of Ireland's patron saint.

So, go forth and be learned about St. Paddy. For he was truly a humble and great servant of God.
♥Pam

P.S. If someone greats you today with "Top o' the morning to ya", the appropriate response is, "ah, and the rest of the day to yourself". ;0]

Irish writers and poets

To name a few...Joyce, Stoker, Yeats, Swift, Wilde

Let's start with probably the most widely recognized...

James Augustine Aloysius Joyce: Born 2 February 1882 in Dublin – Died 13 January 1941 in Zurich. His major works are Dubliners, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Ulysses..of course, and Finnegan's Wake.

Picture of his statue on O'Connell street in Dublin.

I have to confess to never having read any of the authors work and have put Ulysses on my library hold list. Ulysses was completed in 1922 and was banned in the U.S. for using obscene language, until 1933.

Did you know Bram Stoker born Abraham Stoker was born just north of Dublin in Clontarf? Meaning that he was Irish? I didn't. November 8, 1847–April 20, 1912. His most famous work of course is Dracula, published in 1897. His other works include The Snake's Pass (1890), The Jewel of Seven Stars (1903), and The Lair of the White Worm (1911).

Abraham "Bram" Stoker

Then, there's one of my favorite poet/authors....William Butler Yeats. He was born 13 June, 1865 in Sandymount, Co Dublin but moved to Co Sligo as a young boy. His mother was born in Sligo. His father was an accomplished artist and his brother and sisters all acquired fame of their own talents. I am currently reading his book of Fairy Tales. There are too many published works to list here but he is also famous for reviving literature in Ireland and for cofounding Abbey Theater.

This picture is taken outside the rectory door of Drumcliffe Church where Yeats is buried. Unfortunately, the pic I had of his headstone...is one of the corrupted files on my picture CD. Also...if you've ever watched "The Quiet Man" this is the same church that John Wayne talks to Maureen O'Hara for the first time. Yeats died 28 January, 1939.

Jonathan Swift was born November 30, 1667 in Dublin – and died October 19, 1745. Gulliver's Travels first printed in November 1726, being his most popular work although like Yeats, was a most prolific writer. However, it seems that Gulliver's Travel's may also be coded and is based on real cryptographic technique. Interesting!

Thank you wikipedia

Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde was born October 16th, 1854 and like Yeats was born of an Anglo-Irish family. I also had a lovely pic of his statue in Merrion Square, Dublin but...yes, it is corrupted. (I can't tell you how that ticks me off) He is reported to have been in love with a Florence Balcomb who then became married to Bram Stoker at which time Oscar left Ireland and vowed never to return. However, he did return twice for brief visits and died November 30th, 1900 in Paris France. His most famous works would be The Importance of Being Earnest, Salomé, and The Picture of Dorian Gray.

George Bernard Shaw was also born in Dublin in July of 1856 and died November 2 1950 in England. He is a renowned playwright with Pygmalion maybe his most popular as well as Candida not to be confused with Candide and Arms and the Man.

Then there is Frank McCourt, who, although born in Brooklyn, grew up in Limerick, wrote Angela's Ashes. And Maeve Binchy, who was becoming quite prolific and wrote Circle of Friends but alas, has retired from writing. Also there is Samuel Barclay Beckett who has won a Nobel prize (as did many of the authors above) but not only have I not read any of his work...I never heard of him until I was researching this post. The only Sam Beckett I ever heard of was Dr. Samuel Beckett on the T.V. series, "Quantum Leap". Also in that category is Maria Edgeworth, although English born she moved to Ireland as a young girl and became thoroughly Irish.

If you can't tell....my "hold" list at the library grows longer by the minute. I did read Angela's Ashes and found it to be utterly depressing and yet my mum found it to be vastly amusing. I guess I am more American than Irish, for I found little humor in the suffering. All I did was get angry at the deprivation, disease and destituteness. (is that a word?) And although it won a Pulitzer...there has been much criticism of it's veracity as a memoir.

Nonetheless, there you have a smattering of the most "famous" Irish authors and poets. There are many, many more to be sure. And I tried my hand at writing...even took a course in it. I can make a grand start...but then I fail. So, I bow low and long to the expertise and genius of the above authors.

♥Pam

Celtic High Cross

One of the things Ireland and the Irish are noted for is the Celtic High Cross. We've all seen pics of them. But, just in case you need reminding....

and a more ornate and lavish representation:

A Celtic cross is a symbol that combines the cross with a ring surrounding the intersection and has been attributed to St. Patrick marrying the Christian/Catholic cross with the pagan/Druid symbol of the sun. Others state it has pre-Christian origins and are called sun crosses. Both of the pictures above I took at Glendalough or Gleann Dá Locha (which is the Irish for the Glen of two lakes) on our trip. They are spectacular in person. So...majestic. On the first one you can see the outline of a stem of a vine just where the branch covers the stone. See it? Must have been covered at one point in the vine or plant in order for it to 'engrave' itself on the stone. There were no legible words on that stone and I can't find my travel journal to tell you what the second one said. Nonetheless, these were beautiful. They are part of St. Kevin's monastery chapel graveyard. They had signs up prohibiting etchings as too destructive. You've heard of "etchings", yes?
Believe it or not...there are some writings that link the high cross with political connotations. Hmmm, imagine that. The one I found is called the "third position". The name applied to a strand within the far right that sought to emphasise its opposition to both communism and capitalism. The name 'Third Position' is derived from the school of thought presenting itself as being "beyond Capitalism and Communism" and "neither Left nor Right." The movement uses the Celtic cross as its symbol. I guess..."nothing is sacred".
When I die, there will be no marker on the earth. No place for anyone to go sit and pull the weeds around or leave a stone or wilting flowers...or worse yet, plastic ones. I'll be cremated. It's what is best. I'll leave no one behind that would sorrow of my loss. So... what's the point? There isn't one...just wanted to see all the posh things in the building and be on me way.

♥Pam


(Post Note: I wrote the above post the other night....after having taken my Nyquill-like substance for the gawdawful allergy that is currently rendering me a snotty, sniffelly, sneezing monster....and when reviewing it this morning....I have no idea what the last line means. I just remember struggling to keep my eyes open as I was typing. Wonder who I was channeling?)

I Jig and I Reel

For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle,
And the merry love to dance
W.B Yeats

I know most of you have seen Riverdance...or Lord of the Dance. I'd like to show you some...more or should I say less, dramatic dancing. Dancing done by people like you and I. Okay, well, they've practised a bit. Just a little bit. ;0]

There is a LOT to Irish dancing. Jigs, reels, softshoe or ghillies, hardshoe, slip jig, hornpipe, sets, costumes, hair. The latter two have more to do with Irish stepdancing, which is more competition oriented. This first video is what most likely was common enough at a céilí, or a local gathering of neighbors for a party, or possible a feis, if you will.



This next one is a competetion style step dancing. I don't think the fella in the middle is a judge, but then again..I'm not sure what he's doing there. This might be an exhibition as opposed to a comptetition.



This third video is a professionally edited video about a dance troop and school. Watch for the difference between soft shoe (ghillies) and hard shoe dancing.




Hard shoes are not tap shoes. They are flexible and lightweight. Did you see them?


Lastly, this video is of someone's wedding and I am pretty sure they dance in competition. My reasoning for this is that the bride is wearing ghillies and socks and the guests are pretty good as well. But it's nice to see people enjoying step dancing outside of official performances.



There are many styles of stepdancing. The oldest is sean-nós. This means..."old school". There are world championships, held in Ireland of course. The first one to be held outside of Ireland will be in 2009 and be in Pittsburgh or Phili...can't remember which. You can see how different styles of dancing permeate different cultures. The french quadrille and the American square dancing look similar to Irish set dancing. I'm sure there is a shared history.

The costume for Irish dancing has an interesting history. If you would like to read more...go here: http://www.diochra.com/library/history_costumes.php.

Because, sure and you know it's far too lengthy to summarize.

The official site for Irish Dancing, well, to be sure, there are many, but this is the site of the Commission. http://www.clrg.ie/english/home.php

Here are some pics of things I'd like to point out to you in detail:

These young gals from Australia are wearing the common brightly colored, sequined outfits with headbands and wigs. Yes, in order to counterbalance the stiff and bold dresses...they needed 'big hair' as truly, this hairstyle became popular in competetion in the '80's. This is competetion dress, to be sure.

Less brightly colored but common competetion dress. And a much better shot of their ghillies.

Below is a group of folks in St Brigid's Hall with the Glenside Ceili Band, Tubbercurry, Co Sligo in 1996.

Don't ya think we should all get out and dance more often!!! Although I'm pretty sure the percent of the Irish population that participates in weekly or routine dancing is far less than 100%, I do think it's far more than the same age group of Americans. There is no place for us to dance unless we join a square dance club. So...I was tinkin' to meself....maybe I should start an Irish American club and get some folks out there dancing. Well, we'll see how that goes.

I've taken Irish step dancing classes. Unfortunately, shortly after starting these classes, I developed Bronchitis, which eventually went away, as well as Asthma...which has not. And if you have ever tried Irish step dancing...it's a lot of hopping about, out of breath. So my poor ghillies sit on a shelf, dusty, sad and lonely. But I think I could do set dancing, like in the 1960's video above. I danced quite a bit on this past New Years eve...wished I had brought my inhaler in with me instead of leaving it in the car, but I managed.

♥Pam

I Wish I Could Play An Instrument,

but...I have no talent. None. But traditional Irish music is infectious. I hope you enjoyed the snippets I posted the other day. Sometimes shortened to 'trad', the songs really are only 200 or so years old or less, and a few were written in other countries by the Diaspora. I'd like to introduce you to some Irish instruments. Me mum bought a bodhran in Ireland. I had packed so tightly, I couldn't take home anything of size, so I passed on purchasing one myself. A group of musicians performing at the Cliffs of Moher.

Then, I bet you didn't know the Irish have their own bagpipes. They are called Uilleann pipes.




Then of course there is the harp. Also a symbol of Ireland (Well, the Republic anyway) and Guinness!

As I said in my March 4th post, I am posting something daily about Ireland or the Irish. This tribute has been mostly for myself. In reality...all for myself. I have few readers or few commenter's now, since shortly after the new year. I wanted to revel in all things Irish since we couldn't have a party...well, like we have had in the past. This was my way to honor and celebrate my heritage. At least one root of my heritage. I've had some interesting commenter's on some posts. I deleted one as just ridiculous and not befitting the privilege of commenting. He or she didn't have the nerve to post his website/blog or email address if indeed he/she had one. But it does remind me of one of the reasons why I had stopped blogging. And indeed, after March 31st, I will stop blogging. Writing and reading. It's time for another phase, another chapter in my life. It's best I keep my opinions to meself. You know what they say about opinions....every one's got one and they all stink. I have met some wonderful, brilliantly wonderful people. Made some good friends. Learned a great deal about so many things, myself most of all. But, the time has come. I won't take it down. I will post a farewell and that will be the end. I have been concerned about posting this for quite some time and wrassled with it night and day. I didn't want anyone who might have cared about me to feel as if I had abandoned or shunned them or what have you. It's just time. But before I go...we've 18 more days of Irish goodies. On St. Paddy's Day, I will of course post about him. The day after, the 18th, I have a special announcement to make. I have a post ready about Irish dancing. Another about fairy tales. More pictures of our trip and memories to boot. So, let's get on with it, shall we?

♥Pam

I Bless You and Curse You...all in the Gaelic

Well, if I did that...you wouldn't know what I was saying now, would you?

So, I'll print it in the English.

Good Morning!
Dia duit ar maidin

~ May those who love us love us. And those that don’t love us, May God turn their hearts. And if He doesn’t turn their hearts, May he turn their ankles, So we’ll know them by their limping. ~ (Don't have the gaelic)

~ May the cat eat you, and may the cat be eaten by the devil. ~
Go n-ithe an cat thú is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat

~ My seven blessings on you. ~
Mo sheacht mbeannacht ort!

~ May the devil take you with him. ~
Go mbeire an diabhal leis thú!

~ Luck of the Irish ~
An t-áadh na nGael

~ St. Patrick's Blessing Upon You! ~
Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh!

~ A Hundred thousand welcomes to you! ~
Céad míle fáilte romhat!

~ Thank you. ~
Go raibh maith agat

~ May you leave without returning. ~
Imeacht gan teacht ort

I see a fair amount of "Irish Blessings" which don't quite sound authentic. If it starts out with "May...." then people think it's Irish. But...

This one long blessing I've had by my door for 26 years and me mum had it by our door for, sure and I don't know how many years before that.

May the road rise to meet you.

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face.

And rains fall soft upon your fields.

And until we meet again,

May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.

Now...here's a joke for you:

Sean goes into the pub and asks for three Guinness. He sits there and sips from the first one, then the second, and the third. He does this until finally all three pints are finished. He pays the bill and leaves. A couple of nights later he comes back and repeats the ritual. This goes on for a while and finally the bartender's curiosity gets the better of him and he asks why the three Guinness and why drink them all together the way he does. "Well, " says Sean, "My brother Michael is in the USA and my other brother Liam is in Australia. We can't meet in the pub and share a Guinness, so we have an agreement that whenever we go have a drink, we order three pints and pretend we're together." The bartender thinks to himself, "What a wonderful idea." A few months go by and one night Sean comes in and he orders two Guinness. The bartender is afraid to ask, but Sean seems fine, so finally the bartender says, "I see you've only ordered two Guinness tonight. Did something happen to one of your brothers?"No, no," says Sean, "They're both fit as a fiddle and healthy as horses!" "So why only the two Guinness?" asks the bartender. "Ah, well now," says Sean, "I've given up Guinness for Lent."

And another:

Q: How many Irishmen does it take to change a light bulb?

A: Three. One to hold the bulb, one to screw it in, and one to say how grand the old one was.

And finally,

For 50 years, Paddy left the box alone, until his wife Moira was old and dying. One day, when he was putting their affairs in order, he found the box again and thought it might hold something important. Opening it, he found two doilies and 82,500 pounds in cash. He took the box to her and asked about the contents. "My mother gave me that box the day we married," she explained. "She told me to make a doily to help ease my frustrations every time I got angry with you." Paddy was very touched that in 50 years she'd only been vexed with him twice."What's the money for?" he asked."Oh, well that's what I've made selling the Doilies."

Slán

♥Pam

I've Been to Howth

and it's pronounced Howt. The Irish don't say their th's. So instead of saying...I was thinking...you would hear...I was tinkin'. It's one of my all time favorite parts of a brogue.

I want to embed this video but it's been disabled. It's about nine and a half minutes long but I thought it was a good snapshot of the Dublin/Howth area. Howth is north of Dublin and Bill and I were there our second day in Ireland. So here's the link for Ronnie Drew showing Howth and Dart. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BVKP6EH4iw
Below are two pictures I took in Howth that evening. Row houses just down the street from Abbey Tavern. This was taken about nine thirty or ten at night in the month of June.

This is one of the marina's in Howth.

♥Pam

I Share The Troubles

When speaking with anyone of Irish heritage or residents of Ireland, and you refer to "The Troubles", it is commonly considered the period of strife between Northern Ireland and Great Britain c. 1969-1998. Although technically, it was between opposing political groups in Northern Ireland and the role of Great Britain, was that they were an instrument of law and order (which later proved to be not accurate, hmmm imagine that!). There aren't too many topics that will put folks backs up, like talking about The Troubles.
If you don't know what they are, let me summarize it for you. And you must realize the inherent dangers in summarizing this.... for the history of the relationship of Ireland and Britain is long, complicated and brutal. But first, you have to know that the Republic of Ireland, see the map, has been independent since roughly 1919-1922 (It wasn't an easy process declaring independence from Britain.) Northern Ireland is part of the UK and at the time I was there in 2005 this was very apparent as the UK was still using Sterling instead of Euro's. Part of the problem for Americans, who don't have a direct involvement in The Troubles or any background, is... the many, many names for differing groups in this conflict. Let me try to make this simple.
In Northern Ireland, there are two main groups which, unfortunately, have aligned themselves along religious lines. The “nationalist” community, principally the Catholics, want to be part of the Republic of Ireland while the “unionist” or “loyalist” community, principally the Protestants, want to be part of Great Britain or the UK. Okay? Just think, “nation”, one nation….all of Ireland, as one nation. “Union” or “loyal” wants to be part of Great Britain. Does that help? Then, it gets some complicated. Because, now I am going to introduce you to the individual groups involved and this is where it gets really, really confusing.
On the loyalist or unionist side, you have the RUC or Royal Ulster Constabulary. “Royal” for Britain of course, “Ulster” for Northern Ireland and well, you know the last word. These guys are the police force in Northern Ireland. They, along with the state security forces…otherwise known as the British Army, were the groups supporting Northern Ireland and it’s inclusion in the UK. There are also two main groups that are not officially sanctioned by the UK, which were major players in The Troubles. They are the UDA and UVF. I’m not going to go into detail but just remember Ulster is the north and these two groups’ names start with Ulster and they are considered loyalist paramilitary and actually, also considered terrorist groups in both the UK and America. On the other side you have the IRA and then the PIRA. The IRA stands for the Irish Republican Army and the PIRA would be the Provisional Irish Republican Army. The PIRA objected to the IRA’s unwillingness to engage in armed action against British/loyalists or in defence of nationalist’s under siege in Northern Ireland. You also have associated with the IRA and the PIRA, the political components associated with them.
See, I told you it was complicated.
The most recognized name is Sinn Féin which is Gaelic for “we ourselves”. This is the political front for the Provisional IRA. The Official Sinn Féin is the political front for the IRA.

Your head swimmin’ yet?

So, in August of 1969, the IRA split into the above named groups because of attacks on nationalist areas of Belfast and Derry. This is considered the “start” of The Troubles. To go any further is to not only invite a heated exchange but also requires too much commitment on the part of the reader. Unless you are Irish, in which case you lived it or grew up learning it or, are part of the Diaspora, you aren’t gonna care about the details. But if you are interested, go to wikipedia for a fairly comprehensive but easy to follow explanation. Just type in ….The Troubles.

What I would like to tell you about The Troubles is that when I learned what they were about as a young girl, I was embarrassed. Ashamed even. Because I was raised that violence never solves anything and just begets violence. It seemed to me, The Troubles were just about as stupid as any people could be. I’m not saying I agree with either side and if you really want to know, I think Britain has no business in Ireland…never has, but that would take up several gigs to write about. Both sides have perpetrated violence on innocents. Hell, just perpetrating violence is evil enough for me. I tell you….Has no place. But then, I have trouble understanding the cowardice of terrorism. I was embarrassed that my beloved Ireland was involved in such heinous behavior, on either side.

When we visited Derry or Londonderry, in Northern Ireland, there are many, many reminders of The Troubles. Here is a slide show of some pics from Derry or Londonderry.




The Troubles ended with the Good Friday Agreement on April 28th, 1998. There has been relative peace since then.
♥Pam

I've A Fondness for Irish Drinking Songs...

tho, as I have said... I don't really drink anymore. Maybe 3 or 4 alcoholic drinks a year. But Irish Drinking Songs....Jaysus Mahry and Josef...I canna get enough! Here's a "youtube" of The Dubliners and the lyrics to one of my favorites:


Whiskey In The Jar
As I was a-goin' over the far fam'd Kerry Mountains
I met with Captain Farrell, and his money he was countin'.
I first produced my pistol and then I produced my rapier,
Sayin' "Stand and deliver, for I am your bold receiver."
Musha ringum duram da,
Whack fol the daddy-o,
There's whiskey in the jar.

I counted out his money and it made a pretty penny;
I put it in me pocket and I took it home to Jenny.
She sighed and swore she never would deceive me,
Bu the devil take the women, for they never can be easy!
Musha rungum duram da

I went into me chamber all for to take a slumber,
To dream of gold and girls, and of course it was no wonder:
Me Jenny took me charges and she filled them up with water,
Then sent for Captain Farrell to be ready for the slaughter.
Musha rungum duram da

T'was early in the mornin', before I rose for travel,
A-came a band of footmen and likewise Captain Farrell.
I goes to draw my pistol, for she'd stole away my rapier,
I couldn't shoot the water, so a prisoner I was taken,
Musha rungum duram da

They put me into jail with a judge all a-writin':
For robbin' Captain Farrell on Gilgarra Mountain.
But they didn't take me fists and I knocked the jailer down
And bid a farewell to this tight-fisted town.
Musha ringum duram da

I'd like to find me brother, the one who's in the army;
I don't know where he's stationed, be it Cork or in Killarney.
Together we'd go roamin' o'er the mountains of Kilkenny,
And I swear he'd treat me fairer than my darlin' sportin' Jenny!
Musha ringum duram da

There's some takes delight in the carriages and rollin',
Some takes delight in the hurley or the bollin',
But I takes delight in the juice of the barley,
Courtin' pretty maids in the mornin', o so early!
Musha ringum duram da

Or this one:


Wild Rover
I've been a wild rover for many a year
And I spent all my money on whiskey and beer,
And now I'm returning with gold in great store
And I never will play the wild rover no more.

chorus: And it's no, nay, never,
No nay never no more,
Will I play the wild rover
No never no more.

I went to an ale-house I used to frequent
And I told the landlady my money was spent.
I asked her for credit, she answered me "nay
Such a custom as yours I could have any day."

chorus

I took from my pocket ten sovereigns bright
And the landlady's eyes opened wide with delight.
She said "I have whiskey and wines of the best
And the words that I spoke sure were only in jest."

chorus

I'll go home to my parents, confess what I've done
And I'll ask them to pardon their prodigal son.
And if they caress (forgive) me as ofttimes before
Sure I never will play the wild rover no more.

chorus

Okay, now, I know you're busy an all, but this is the cherry on the sundae. Because after they sing, The Dubliners do some interviewing and you get a good tastes of not only the brogue but the Irish humor as well. So, hang in there....sing along if your coworkers won't mind and here's The Dubliners singing
Seven Drunken Nights


Sure, and it's hard to narrow down my favorites to a few to put up here for you. But go out and get yourself some Clancy Bros, Dubliners or Fenians CD's and sing your heart out until you are hoarse.
♥Pam

I Renounce The Famine

All of my life I thought my ancestors came to America because of the famine. I have done more researching...much more researching, and I find all manner of "truths". In reality, none of my ancestors ever said those words, but being Catholic, Irish and arriving in the US around 1850's, I assumed...
Leaving aside my family myths, which are of my own doing, I first became aware of the miss-truth about the "Potato Famine" (which I considered an unfortunate act of nature that befell the Irish) while reading a series of books by Bodie Thoene this past January. She, and her husband, are christian based writers. The series takes place in Connacht province in 1846-1848. The biggest piece of information that made me start researching was the ship's manifests that list the tonnage of food that was removed by British landlords and protected by British troops during the height of the blight on the potato. There was no famine...potato crops failed the world over, and actually came from America and spread to Europe before Ireland...but mass declines in population didn't take place like they did in Ireland. Why? Because the potato was the only food stuff the British didn't take away- lock stock and barrel. It's all they had to eat, although they raised wheat, oats, barley, cattle, stoats, and made butter and flour to name a few items. It was sent to England because the produce was "owned by England". They were not allowed to fish on their own, the British Coast Guard confiscated any fishing currach's and the catch was turned over to the military.
All the while, Britain was begging the world for money to "help" the poor starving Irish. Did you know the Choctaw Indians of OK sent $710 (equivalent to almost a half a million or more in today's money) all the while Britain was exporting tons, literally tons, of food OUT of Ireland? The census of Ireland in 1840 was reported at 10,897,449 and in 1851 as 6,257,456. Approximately one million left Ireland in either forced or voluntary emigration during those years. What happened to the other 3-5 million?
Think that all of this may be skewed documentation or faulty memories? Well, you can research if for yourself, if you are so inclined. I have links at the bottom. But let's consider this:
Thomas Carlyle, a British essayist wrote: "Ireland is like a half-starved rat that crosses the path of an elephant. What must the elephant do? Squelch it - by heavens - squelch it." Queen Victoria's economist, Nassau Senior, expressed his fear that existing policies "will not kill more than one million Irish in 1848 and that will scarcely be enough to do much good."An editorialist for the newspaper The Times wrote in 1848: "A Celt will soon be as rare on the banks of the Shannon as the red man on the banks of Manhattan."

When an eye-witness urged a stop to the genocide-in-progress, Trevelyan replied: "We must not complain of what we really want to obtain." Sir Charles Edward Trevelyan, in service to the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, insisted that all reports of starvation were exaggerated, until 1847. He then declared it ended and refused entry to the American food relief ship, Sorciére. Additionally, though "work houses" were set up for the starving, if you entered a workhouse, you forfeited your land. Thus, the English obtained hundreds or thousands of hectares of Irish farm land. Not to mention that the presiding belief about the function and nature of workhouses was abysmal.

A poem written in 1847 in the United Irishmen newspaper, by Oscar Wilde's mother, Jane Wilde, under a nom de plume, Speranza.

THE FAMINE YEAR
Weary men, what reap ye? "Golden corn for the Stranger.
"What sow ye? "Human corpses that await for the Avenger."
Fainting forms, all hunger-stricken, what see you in the offing?
"Stately ships to bear our food away amid the stranger's scoffing."
There's a proud array of soldiers what do they round your door?
"They guard our masters' granaries from the thin hands of the poor."
Pale mothers, wherefore weeping? "Would to God that we were dead"
Our children swoon before us, and we cannot give them bread!"
"We are wretches, famished, scorned, human tools to build your pride,
But God will yet take vengeance for the souls for whom Christ died.
Now is your hour of pleasure, bask ye in the world's caress;
But our whitening bones against ye will arise as witnesses,
From the cabins and the ditches, in their charred, uncoffined masses,
For the Angel of the Trumpet will know them as he passes.
A ghastly, spectral army before God we'll stand
And arraign ye as our murderers, O spoilers of our land!"

Lastly, there was food to be had...if an Irish Catholic peasant would renounce his religion and embrace the Angelican church of England.

So, do I think the Irish were victims of an unfortunate famine? No. Not anymore. There was food to be had but alas, there was land to be had. I will no longer call it the Potato Famine or The Great Famine. I will call it the Irish Holocaust*. It may not have been premeditated. It may not have been managed solely with the intent to eliminate the Irish...but no longer will I think it an act of nature and an unfortunate circumstance to happen to my ancestors.

http://home.comcast.net/~irishholocaust/index.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irish_Potato_Famine
http://www.irelandforvisitors.com/articles/black_47.htm
*referred to as "Holocaust" in the Cork Examiner in 1847.

I've Got Some Pics for You

Thought you might enjoy some pics from the first 4 days of our trip in Ireland in June of '05. I took over 750 digital pics which was then pared down to 690. Unfortunately, about 180 of them have been corrupted and are not retrieveable. I remember some of them.
♥Pam

I Fell In Love With Irish Music

My first and favorite Irish ditty.


Black Velvet Band
Chorus:
Her eyes they shone like the diamonds
You'd think she was queen of the land
And her hair hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band.

In a neat little town they call Belfast
Apprenticed to trade I was bound
And many an hour's sweet happiness
I spent in that neat little town.
Till bad misfortune came o'er me
That caused me to stray from the land
Far away from my friends and relations
To follow the black velvet band.
Chorus
Well, I was out strolling one evening
Not meaning to go very far
When I met with a pretty young damsel
Who was selling her trade in the bar.
When I watched, she took from a customer
And slipped it right into my hand
Then the Watch came and put me in prison
Bad luck to the black velvet band.
Chorus
Next morning before judge and jury
For a trial I had to appear
And the judge, he said, "You young fellows...
The case against you is quite clear
And seven long years is your sentence
You're going to Van Dieman's Land
Far away from your friends and relations
To follow the black velvet band.
Chorus
"So come all you jolly young fellows
I'd have you take warning by me
Whenever you're out on the liquor,
me lads,Beware of the pretty colleen.
She'll fill you with whiskey and porter
Until you're not able to stand
And the very next thing that you'll know, me lads,
You're landed in Van Dieman's Land.

I Am An American

I am descended from a number of different ethnicity's. To name a few, French Canadian, Irish, German and English. Which do I proclaim at any and all opportunity? Why, Irish, of course. I have been asking myself this morning, why that is so. Why am I not drawn to my German or English heritage? Haven't a clue. But I am drawn to my Irish roots with great alacrity.
If you haven't figured out that I am posting something about Ireland daily, then...I'm thinking you must be sleepin' on the job. But this is today's installation and I thought I 'd move away from beer and spirits and talk about...well, read for yourself.
I am part of the Irish Diaspora. The Irish Diaspora is described as Irish emigrants and their descendants. There are many interpretations of the constituency of The Diaspora. At the most there are some 80 million...at the least, about 3 million. Depends on how it's defined. Legally, my mother can probably go back and register in the foreign births office. I, am one generation too removed. This saddens me. But I can take heart in that, in a broader sense, I am still considered to be part of the Irish Diaspora, thanks to the former President of Ireland, Mary Robinson.
(By the way, did you know that Ireland is the only country that a woman succeeded another woman as an elected head of state? But I digress...what's new?)

My "ancestors" hang in my upstairs hallway. Yes, their faces peer at me daily, as I trod up and down the stairs. We call the tintypes and portraits of my maternal parents and grandparents and great grandparents...the "ancestors". These portraits were revered by my Grandmother, Nanan. She wrote a "book" called, "The McCooey's And Their Footprints" which she self published. Really it's only a pamphlet with 40 pages. It's a bit confusing to follow, but it's the only written history I have. I do have some notes written about my father's side of the family. Snippets I have garnered over the years. But nothing formal.

There is a peculiarity to the Irish Diaspora that most native Irish do not understand. Us Diaspora are most inordinately sentimental about all things Irish. Is it the lyrical prose and lively and haunting music which seduces us, with our innate romantic nature, into a sentimental stupor? We Diaspora flock to Ireland to soak up the lilt of a brogue, bask in the broad greenness of the countryside and espouse all manner of Irish traditions while natives look on in bemused bewilderment but happy enough to have a boost to the economy from our tourist euros.
I cannot explain with any degree of clarity, as to my deep seated longing for "All Things Irish". I have a whole section of my "favorites" entitled..."All Things Irish". I have taught myself a few words of Gaelic, read the ancient history...albeit with minimal comprehension, practiced a brogue of my own, researched my familial history pertaining to my Irish origins and have had the opportunity to see the Emerald Isle for myself. It's not enough. I long for more. More things Irish. I would move there...if it were possible. (I know it is possible...it's just not practical) And yet I know the locals would tilt their heads and wonder what the crazy American was doing. I would not belong there, but I so desire to.
The amazing thing is...I am not alone. I am part of the Diaspora and we are all drawn to the threads of our heritage.... like moths to a flame.
♥Pam

I Tell You Beer Is Good For You...

weeeelllllll, a Guinness is!! Och...I don't feel much like trying to convince you but...it is true that Guinness' porter is high in iron (was once prescribed to pregnant and nursing women as well as blood donors) as compared to most other drinks-alcoholic and non-alcoholic, has anticoagulant properties and antioxidant properties. Guinness is lower in alcohol, calories and carbohydrates than Samuel Adams, Budweiser, Heineken and almost every other major-brand beer not classified as light or low-carb. That's my story...and I'm stickin' to it!

Bubbles in a pint of Guinness float down.

Arthur Guinness obtained a 9000 year lease on a four acre piece of land near the River Liffey in Dublin with an annual rent of £45.

It takes 119.5 seconds to pour a good pint of Guinness.

The managing director of the Guinness Brewery in 1951, Sir Hugh Beaver, is responsible for the "Guinness Book of World Records".

Canned Guinness relies on a 'widget' to give it it's characteristic "head" which is due to the use of nitrogen and carbon dioxide.

♥Pam

I'm Not A Beer Drinker...

but Bill is. (Although he much prefers Scotch) And one of his favorites is:

Planet3rry mentioned in comments on yesterday's post that Killian's is red and of course, Guinness is so dark that it can't be dyed green... that I thought I would share with you another brew that you may not be familiar with. Then tomorrow, I wanted to tell you some interesting things about Guinness . But here is some info about Bill's favorite Irish brew.
Smithwick's is an Irish red ale style beer from Kilkenny in Ireland. It originated from and is still brewed at 'St. Francis abbey Brewery' in the city. Known as 'Smithwick's Brewery' until c.2000, Smithwick’s was originally brewed in St. Francis Abbey Brewery in Kilkenny, situated on the site of a Franciscan abbey where monks had brewed ale since the 14th century. It is Ireland’s oldest operating brewery, founded by John Smithwicks in 1710 on land owned by the Duke of Ormonde.[1] It has the ruins of the original Franciscan abbey in its grounds. It is the major ale producer in Ireland. It was purchased from Irish Ale Breweries in 1965 by Guinness and is now, along with Guinness, part of Diageo. Smithwick’s is now brewed in Dundalk as well as in Kilkenny.
From the early '60s until the mid '80s, Smithwick's was probably the second most popular beer in Ireland after Guinness and continues to be Ireland's largest selling brand of ale.
When pronouncing the name, the 'W' is silent. In Ireland, it is generally pronounced as 'Smithicks', 'Smitticks', 'Smidicks' or 'Smeth-icks'. The variation of pronunciations is mostly due to differing accent and dialects of the Irish. When ordering in the US, 'Smithicks' is the preferred method, while 'Smiddicks' is the most prevalent pronunciation in Canada.
Smithwick's Draught has a ruby red tone with a stable, but slightly thin head. It is produced using hops and special roasted, malted barley. Its texture is smooth and refined, with a bitter and complex finish. Although of lesser fame than Guinness, Smithwick's is often regarded as the 'local favourite' amongst Irish pubgoers. In 2004, Diageo PLC began distribution in the USA.
[Thanks to Wikipedia.com for this info.]
♥Pam

I Celebrate

The Feast of St. Patrick. Many of you know it better as St. Patrick’s Day. But…it is a Roman Catholic (RC) Optional Memorial Feast Day. It is reported that Patrick of Britain, Bishop of Ireland, died on March the 17th (year uncertain, but certainly in the first century) and because of his many contributions to the church, was made a saint, on the diocesan or regional level. He has never actually been canonized by a Pope. Hence it is an Optional Memorial. Meaning a church priest does not have to officially recognize or “celebrate” his feast day during mass that particular day.

However, since I am not a practicing Catholic, I don’t celebrate The Feast of St. Patrick the way most of Catholic Ireland will be celebrating him, even to this day, which is to go to mass. Typically, the family will then go home for a meal of cured pork or boiled bacon and potatoes, to be sure. The men would have been sharing a 'Pota Pádraig' or St. Patrick's Pot at the pub while the women were making the feast meal and after the family meal, sometimes many families went to or held a céilí. Most of the “traditions” you/we practice in the US are US traditions. They don’t drink green beer in Ireland. I mean, you can’t really dye a Guinness green now, can you? They don’t wear lots of green, as many are still superstitious and know that fairies like green and wearing too much green would invite them to snatch you away. But many do wear St. Patrick’s cross. And they don't typically eat corned beef.

So, on St. Paddy’s Day (which is what I grew up calling it) I don’t go out and get full on plastered. As a matter of fact, I rarely drink alcohol anymore. That’s for youngsters who can survive the inevitable hangover. I do make corned beef, cabbage, boiled potatoes and carrots and my own soda bread. Bill and I used to have our own céilí, or 'caint, ceol agus, craic' until he started working nights and it got way too complicated and difficult. At one party, our second to the last, we had the St. Brendan’s Dancers in our home. We had 18 children and adults dancing with soft shoe in our dining/kitchen area. Truly…truly, I cried real tears of joy that night at the spectacle. We had approximately 50 some odd guests in the house, not including the dancers, that night. I miss celebrating in our home…but what can you do. This year, St. Paddy’s Day is on a Saturday. While you are out celebrating this day in your own tradition or your own way, please be safe and responsible.

Here is one of my favorite pics of Ireland that I took almost 3 years ago.

Click it to big it.

Pasture land on the Dingle Peninsula.

For a first hand accounting of a first generation Irish American...go here:

http://www.irishcultureandcustoms.com/ACalend/StPatsDay.html

♥Pam