Further Travels and Travels of the Heart

Recent travels took me to Cheshire County in England for a short visit with friends highlighted by immersion into their everyday life - seeing where their kids go to school, what hobbies they enjoy, what their downtown offers, what restaurants are around (we ate at a delicious Syrian/Lebanese restaurant with lots of vegetarian options), what the surrounding areas look like and a wonderful walk through their neighborhood. Weather cooperated by being sunny and warm. Their hearts are, too.

And speaking of gorgeous weather, Ireland had it as well- 4 days in a row. Bluebells newly bloomed decorated a park near John's cousins' house in Lissycasey, County Clare. We enjoyed a lovely walk with his cousin and his cousin's grandson couldn't resist sitting among them.

An apple tree starting to bloom next to the lake in their backyard captured my eye. This is the view from their kitchen window.

Heather scattered throughout the grass on the cliffs of Kilkee by the sea. John's cousin's daughter and her son toured us through their favorite gradens and a sea hike.

A view from the cliff walk on a gorgeous day.

A scattering of ladybugs painted on stones in the enclosed garden of an old estate now revived for the public. They made me smile as did time with an energetic eight year old.

Me on a chair woven of branches and embellished by children in the same garden.

And a whole different sort of activity at a nearby pub listening to traditional Irish music with John's cousins. It's something we share in common and look forward to whenever we visit. The added bonus, of course, is relaxed time with extended family we've come to cherish.

Travels of the Heart:

Next was a trip last week to Jacksonville, Florida to be with my sister-in-law, Georganna, who lost her husband of 32 years although they've been divorced for ten years (my younger brother) and her Dad within three months of each other. We're good friends and we needed time together with no agenda other than to talk, share, reminisce and take solace in each other's company. That's just what happened and it felt good. The healing power of love.

And in a dear gesture of love, my niece, Colleen, my brother's youngest daughter (he has three), took some of his shirts and made aprons from them. She gave them to her Mom, her sisters and me. It's a clever idea and I felt his presence when I put it on. She's talented and thoughtful that way.

As is Danielle, his middle daughter, who came to her Mom's, planned the Memorial Day barbecue, hosted the guests, cooked the food with her husband, Ben, and cleaned up afterwards. What a class act. It was a wonderful day and I felt so proud of her. She's pictured below in the photo with her sister, AnneMarie. She has the same premature gray hair as my brother, her Dad.

I also had a wonderful time with my niece, AnneMarie, who is getting closer to her goal of walking again after a devastating closed head injury in a car accident ten years ago. She does regular water exercises in their pool to further this goal and walked 50 feet while I was there using a special walker  assisted by her personal trainer. She also works with therapists at Brooks Rehab. using a harness hung from the ceiling which gradually gives her have less and less aid in the process of walking. She has to qualify each month by making sufficient progress to receive more therapy the following month, so she's motivated! I was better able to understand her speech by the end of the week which was a bonus and thrilling for me. I'm proud of her efforts and her positive attitude despite her obstacles.

I wasn't able to write during all these travels. It seemed I could pay attention to the folks I was with and take care of myself or I could take quiet time apart to write but I wasn't able to master doing both during this stretch of time. Losing my brother took the wind out of my sails and left me with less energy. I can feel more of it returning after time with my sister-in-law. Bless her.

River Lee

When you were young I sang
a silly rhyme to make you smile:
Kelly Marie from the banks of the Lee,
Kelly Marie from the banks of the Lee.

37 years later, here I am in Cork
on the banks of the River Lee
as it flows around a bend, breaks
over rocks in its path and splashes

down a small waterfall at the turn.
The river reminds me of you, shows
your kind of purposeful strength, clips
quick- paced toward its ocean goal.

Like you, it's lovely
in this nature setting next to a park,
where branches overhang it, hear its murmers
before it crashes headlong to the city's edge.

You, too, found your flow, swim
gorges of swift- flowing rivers two continents from here
with your great, great grandmother's river in your DNA,
so sure a course, so far away.


Posted for my daughter, Kelly Marie, and in response to a prompt by Ed Pilolla over at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads who gave us a word list on the theme of rivers. I'm currently visiting Cork, Ireland and staying at the River Lee Hotel. Hence the poem. Only a few years ago I learned my great grandmother and grandfather were from Cork. My daughter also did a semester abroad at University College Cork and has a photo of herself beside the River Lee.

Farmers

From "Digging"

My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away

Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.

“

”

from "Digging", Death of a Naturalist (1966)

Seamus Heaney

Farmers

My cousin digs turf still,

west of Ireland, County Clare. 

Bog sits behind his house, gives

earth cut from ground for fuel.

Bog soil rich in humus, formed

by trees long gone, held

together by roots now recomposed

to offer heat and light.

He's a farmer, my cousin,

cuts turf with other farmers

in Lissycasey, tasked together

by this ancient pledge against the cold.

I farm different ground.

My bones conspire to write 

these poems, demand I provide 

muscle and heart to offer heat and light.

Mary H. Warren

16/11/12

This is offered for dVerse Poet's Pub hosted by Victoria Slotto who encouraged us to write inspired by a favorite poet in her article on literary allusion. Two of my favorite Irish poets are Seamus Heaney and Eavan Boland. The photo is mine taken after my Honey's cousin, Aiden, cut turf and set it to dry on one of our many visits to Ireland.

County Clare, Ireland Photos

Found while hill walking:

At a garden center, these made me laugh:

Irish sunset over the sea bid us a fond farewell:

Writers' Week in Ireland

Here's what I like about the Irish: they're in a full blown economic meltdown and they throw a writers' festival and then flock to it. A whole week to celebrate good writers, good books, good poetry. And this is just one of many across Ireland. I love it. I stumbled on this literary happening on the first day I arrived in County Clare. I was graciously picked up at the airport and on our way to the house, we passed through Listowel towards the end of Writers' Week.

This is the Country of such great writers as James Joyce, Thomas Moore, Jonathan Swift, Oscar Wilde, G.B. Shaw, W.B. Yeats, Bram Stoker and Samuel Beckett, just to name a few. Ireland boasts four winners of the Nobel Prize for Literature: Yeats, Shaw, Beckett and Heaney. During Writers' Week, the Kerry Group Irish Fiction Award is given. There were five short- listed novels for this prize featured in the bookstore with readings and workshops by the authors.

As you can see from the sign, they also have a Seanchai Centre (pronounced shawnakee),  named after the traditional Irish lore keepers and tale spinners. It's an ancient form of story telling and passing on lore that was never written down from generation to generation by these custodians of Irish oral tradition. The seanchai were respected, even revered, practitioners who kept track of important information and wisdom then shared it in such a way that it was remembered and cherished down the ages.

I understand why the Irish came to love words and eventually writing those words to tell stories in whole new ways. I understand why welcome signs (fáilte in Irish) are flown for those who want to partake in this tradition. I understand why so many do; to feel this respect, this reverence, this love for the words that help us communicate with one another in ways that touch hearts and change minds. It's a worthy endeavor to improve such a craft. It deserves festivals galore no matter what the economic realities are. Economics will change, our efforts to reach each other remains.

The Kerry Literary and Cultural Centre is named after these fore bearers.

One of the sign posts pointed me to the statue of Bryan McMahon, a favorite son of this town, a writer and a poet who also ran a local bookshop. I picked up his book: The Master and read it while in Ireland. I highly recommend it for the glimpse it gives of Irish country life through the eyes of the school principal who taught the children of the town for 30 years. He instilled in them a love for reading and writing and helped inspire an amazing number of authors and poets in this Kerry area. His views on teaching and awakening the gifts in each child are remarkable given how long ago he taught. I found it to be a treasure.

It was a rare, sunny, warm day in Ireland and I strolled the river walk suggested above. People were stretched out reading, writing, chatting with one another. Made me proud to be part of this grand tradition. These are my people. Writers are my tribe.

An Irish Wake

Since the relatives that I was visiting in Ireland live in County Clare, a country area, the custom of a home wake still prevails. It was the wife's brother who died unexpectedly at age 64 while I was there. Since many of you asked, I would like to share about this wonderful custom.

The wake is a grand send-off for the loved one who has died, a time when the body of the deceased rests in the family home with family and close friends keeping vigil through the days and nights before the burial. It ends when the body is taken from the home for the last time and moved to the local Church for the funeral. People come from near and far to take part in celebrating the life of the departed and providing comfort to the family. There's laughter as people tell their favorite stories and share their best memories. There are tears for the loss of a family, friend or community member or in sorrow for those left behind.

The deceased is dressed in their best clothes, taken home, surrounded by candles, never left alone, remembered, celebrated and cherished. Food is dropped off by neighbors and friends for those who gather. Family, friends, relatives, neighbors and acquaintances come, offer their condolences, sit together, eat, drink and talk together. Music is played, the mirrors in the house are covered and the clocks are stopped at the time of the death. Close friends and neighbors volunteer to fix food and clean up in the kitchen, care for children if needed or run errands. The family is supported, the deceased is honored, it's done in company.

It seems like such a good way to grieve.

Loss

Pema Chodron:
"When you open yourself to the continually changing, impermanent, dying nature of your own being and of reality, you increase your capacity to love and care about other people and your capacity to not be afraid."

This trip to Ireland has turned into something very different than how it was planned. I'm staying with my husband's cousins who have become good friends over the 13 years since we met them. There has been an unexpected death in the family throwing every day life up in the air, the way death does. Thoughts and feelings are swirling, tears and stories are shared. I'm learning more family history. A home wake, the custom here in Count Clare, will be tomorrow and I'll attend. I'm letting it all in, being present, helping where possible. It's all I can do for now.

"Digging"

From an Irish Poet during National Poetry month:

A great and important Irish poet, Seamus Heaney, shows in this poem his sharp, accurate description of what he sees and hears that nonetheless brings us, his reader, to a whole other more universal meaning. It's the absolutely gorgeous, astounding delight of poetry that it can accomplish this time and again.

Digging

Between my finger and my thumb

The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound

When the spade sinks into the gravely ground:

My father, digging. I look down.

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds

Bends low, comes up twenty years away

Stooping in rhythm through potato drills

Where he was digging.

The course boot nestled on the lug, the shaft

Against the inside knee was levered firmly.

He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep

To scatter new potatoes that we picked

Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.

Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day

Than any other man on Toner's bog.

Once I carried him milk in a bottle

Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up

To drink it, then fell to right away

Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods

Over his shoulder, going down and down

For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap

Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge

Through living roots awaken in my head.

But I've no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb

The squat pen rests.

I'll dig with it.

Seamus Heaney

from: Selected Poems 1966-1987

My husband's cousins live in the west of Ireland, County Clare. Their home backs up to bog land and Aidan still digs turf for winter fires which fill the house with an ancient earthy scent. So this poem rings ancestral chimes for me on the one hand and accurately depicts the sight and sound (the sheer sound of this poem is a delight) of work that's still going on and that I've seen on the other.

But on a another level, I love his reference to his father's and his grandfather's digging "down for the good turf" and his own digging with his pen knowing that as a poet he must dig deep as well. And isn't that our challenge, too?

County Clare bog land and lake.

Turf drying.

Traditional Irish Music Festival

The Scoil Samhraidh Willie Clancy is Ireland's largest traditional music summer school, held annually since 1973 in memory of the piper Willie Clancy. During the week, nearly a thousand students from every part of the world attend daily classes taught by experts in Irish music and dance. In addition, a full program of lectures, recitals, dances (céilithe) and exhibitions are run by the summer school. All events are held in and near Miltown Malbay in County Clare starting on the first Saturday in July. Lectures, recitals, concert and céilithe are open to the public (that would be me!).

Afternoons and evenings are spontaneous gatherings of the musicians young and old to jam together. Visitors go from pub to pub (or hotel or hall) in search of the music they like best and then stay to enjoy the sessions. The respect of young people for the elders and of the elders for the new ones coming up is evident and infectious. They all play together which seems such a rare but altogether wonderful treat. Anyone and everyone is expected to lead a tune in his or her turn and the others follow their lead.

I went to the couple's Set Dancing one day. That's couples dancing typical dances to the music of ceili bands. The bands delight setting the pace for these complex but fun dances and dancers feed off their energy and incite a good band to be even better. It can get pretty wild with the floor packed with sets of 4 couples in each group and dozens of groups.

You can get an idea of the energy! I found out that there are classes to learn the dozens of dances or at least get started learning, so next year, I have a goal! I had a lesson (thanks, Aidan) to learn one of the basic steps that I need to know to learn a dance. That video is below and a photo. I had a great time, though, so I'm definitely in for classes. I think it'll be a long process!

Fanny O'Dea's Pub

Here I am, your roving reporter in Lissycasey, County Clare in the west of Ireland. I'm visiting my husband's cousins and attending a traditional Irish music festival for the next 3 days but more about that in later posts. Today I wanted to introduce the local pub located just down the street: Fanny O'Dea's.  Pubs in these country areas are not just for drinking but are the gathering spots for local families to socialize, eat, drink, listen to music and dance. They're great, important, fun neighborhood places.

Fanny O'Dea's is an old Irish traditional pub. Not as in the various themed pubs that have sprung up everywhere but as in it's been serving food and drink since 1695 making it Ireland's oldest family run pub! It's located on a main road between the towns of Ennis and Kilrush and offers locals, strangers and passers-by alike a pub to flock to. The house special is the Egg Flip (like an eggnog) and laced with a generous drop of Jamison whiskey.

Daniel O'Connell, in 1828, was but one of the famous customers to sample the pub's hospitality. Much has remained unchanged since the early days  and Fanny's has retained it's old characteristics. The snug, a small separate area where years ago women were required to sit rather than mingle with the men at the bar, is still there as a cozy corner to enjoy with friends.  The fire never goes out in the huge fireplace and is kept going all day everyday of the year. These, together with the Egg Flip represent the customs that have been passed down from generation to generation.

There's also a wealth of local musical talent with every Saturday devoted to traditional music sessions since this western part of Ireland maintains traditional music and dance. The curent owners are direct decendants of the original Denis and Fanny O'Dea as the family is now in its 8th generation of ownership. It exudes the unique warmth and coziness you might associate with an old Irish country pub. A couple of years ago I was in Ireland for Christmas Eve. Can you guess where most of the parish gathered after midnight Mass? Fanny O'Dea's it was! Ahhhh, Ireland.

Traditional Irish Blessing - E-Water

Traditional Irish Blessing - E-Water
I received this in an email from a friend and it made me savor the memories of Ireland. I've traveled to some of the places pictured and I have the music on my ipod. It's a lovely blessing and a counter point to yesterdays post. Beauty surrounds us whether it's goddess made or person made. Either is capable of moving us to tears if we let it into our heart. Both make us glad we showed up and paid attention. Both inspire us to do that more.
I send this in the gratitude of the Thanksgiving season.

(click on the title within this box to view)

Ireland

Ireland- land of my ancestors, land of the people I look like, land of my husband's ancestors, land where my daughter spent a semester abroad, land of my deep, deep roots and where I feel at home on a cellular level. Even the weather cooperated with all 12 days sunny or fair except 1/2 day.
Some highlights: County Clare: a visit to John's great aunt Eileen who is a treasure trove of information about the family. She's in her 80's, sharp as a tack and full of stories with all the particulars about John's genealogy on the Kelly half of the Warren/Kelly grandparents. Next time- bring the recorder!

A visit to a pub in Doolan where we heard traditional Irish music played by locals and drop in visitors to this famous site of great trad music. And an opportunity to see up close and personal our favorite fiddler, Martin Hayes, who takes traditional tunes and fiddling to a whole new level. We love this music and live is even better!

Watched Zoe, John's cousin, Aiden's, daughter, launch her singing- at- weddings career with her friend accompanying on the violin. Her voice is a tiny taste of heaven.
Saw Aiden's other daughter, Dawn, who's almost finished her studies and is in love with her new profession of midwife. It's such a joy to hear the stories of someone who loves what they're doing, whatever the profession. Met her son, Noah, for the first time and got reminded of how much sheer fun a 3 year old can be!

Drove around with Aiden and his newly retired wife, Geraldine, (we swapped beginning impressions of this life phase) and took in again the unspoiled beauty of this county Clare. Photo is Lissycasey, County Clare.

County Cork: Good friends, Tom and Ann, are just fun to be with. We laugh a lot. Ann is also newly retired and we started our conversations about what this phase is all about for us and how we'll discover more of what it can be. How rich to have friends with whom to talk about this, friends on this journey. Did our mothers ever ask these questions?

Traveled to Kilarney and Kinsale, 2 jewels of West Cork. Kilarney is altogether lovely! We took time to walk a park and castle grounds, take a boat trip on the largest of its lakes, visit the renovated central church, eat, see an ancient waterfalls, and stand at the point overlooking the lakes named for the Queen's ladies who also liked this spot. A delicious day that by no means took in all there was to see and, so, set the agenda for our next visit. And Kinsale is a picturesque historical village that is charming in itself and set in this gorgeous coastal spot that kept us oohing and aahing the whole day. And to find a sunny place to sit outside a pub overlooking the town at the end of a beautiful walk was perfect!

Because I'm learning another language, I was very aware of how rich English, as spoken by the Irish, is. And is it just me or are Irish drivers relaxed and polite? They also queue up in lines in such order. I knew I was home when I went to my flight to Rome and the Italians rushed en mass for the front of the line. Boundary tapes were removed and everyone jostled forward. Okay, that's the spirit!

Made me shake my head and smile but I did have to wonder (again) about this whole St Francis calling us here rather than to Ireland. Do saints make mistakes? I've had glimmers of a call to craft a new role for grandmothers as respected elders in our culture so we can bring our wisdom to the issues of the day. Now wouldn't that just be easier in a country whose language I speak? I'm just asking. Hmmmm.