Christmas Irish Country Observer 2006
Hard to believe a year has gone by since I last wrote an observer. That is not to say that I haven’t been observing, it just seemed that too many things took hold and computer problems seem to make it more and more of a task as the time went by. It has been a busy year, not so much with the house but with life in general.
Yes the house is still here, ever present and wanting attention. We did manage to complete the kitchen even putting tiles on the floor (well Dave did) and I actually hung a picture—the only one I have hung to date. The kitchen does look good and I spend time in there, especially when the sun is shining. The upstairs extension is finished--- the bathroom fitted out with a built in cupboard with specially made cottage like doors and wood floor. The skylight window brings in the light and at night (when it’s clear) you can see the stars. The new bedroom is really lovely- two skylight windows and a huge picture window facing south, looking out on the valley and hills. The rest is still a work in progress, though Dave has made bits and pieces. In the dining room he fitted a new “clevvie” a shelf that goes above the fireplace. The old one was so rotten we could only use it as a template for the new one. He’s refinished the built in cupboard beside the fireplace so I have salvaged more storage space. He also made a new porch door—it’s kind of a mixture of an Irish style and English style. It is one and a half door in front (Irish style) but the whole door is white with a black letter box and black handle. The half door tradition in Ireland probably evolved to have air come through in the summer but keep the animals out (chickens, dogs, donkeys and any other rambling beast).
Old kitchen with new clevvie.
I continued to take Irish language classes last winter. It was a small class with only about 4 of us. I drove over the mountain to Ballingeary for it again because the local one in the village here met on my choir practice night. It was really enjoyable, but I had to work hard to keep up with the other three since they were Irish and had learned it in school and were only trying to
brush up. I’m learning Munster pronunciation which, though spelled the same, sounds different to Donegal or Conemara Irish. So listening to the Irish language radio is confusing a bit, as are the tapes I get out of the library. Over the summer I started working out of a high school book so I could start stringing together sentences of my own instead of repeating phrases of common conversation. Still, it's not like your French or German I have to say with rules for
adding and subtracting letters that only make your head spin. But at this point I can say some of the essential phrases like “what’s the gossip?” and “bugger off” that make up the vital part of any language. Now, though I can ask about the gossip, it doesn’t mean to say that I will understand it when they tell me. Perhaps that is just as well. Still, I am coming along at choir understanding some of what is going on other than “sing it again” in Irish.
brush up. I’m learning Munster pronunciation which, though spelled the same, sounds different to Donegal or Conemara Irish. So listening to the Irish language radio is confusing a bit, as are the tapes I get out of the library. Over the summer I started working out of a high school book so I could start stringing together sentences of my own instead of repeating phrases of common conversation. Still, it's not like your French or German I have to say with rules for
adding and subtracting letters that only make your head spin. But at this point I can say some of the essential phrases like “what’s the gossip?” and “bugger off” that make up the vital part of any language. Now, though I can ask about the gossip, it doesn’t mean to say that I will understand it when they tell me. Perhaps that is just as well. Still, I am coming along at choir understanding some of what is going on other than “sing it again” in Irish.
The choir is still working on our huge monumental piece “Laoi na Laoithe” which is the Song of Solomon in Irish. Peadar O’Riada still sits at the piano and wings through composing bits at a time while we wait to hear our part. God
knows how long it will take to sing the whole thing.
We are up to Chapter 7 of 8 chapters and our big performance is due to be given on March 4. It was originally to be February 11, St. Gobnait’s Day, the patron saint of the village. But the new seats in the culture center won’t be in until 4 March.
Somewhere the gods are helping us, because the deadline is too close. We did perform half of
the piece (the first four chapters) at the Choral Festival in Cork in March of last year. It was our “world debut” of the piece. We performed in St. Finbarr’s Cathedral and I was amazed at the
acoustics, which made us sound wonderful. Some of Peadar’s composition we all thought was a bit ropey sounded beautiful and we understood then what he had in mind. One of the choir members recorded it and we each got a copy and were stunned at how good it sounded.
In the spring, during the month of Bealtaine (May—pronounced Bee-AL-tin-a) I performed down in the library with the harp telling stories. All month long the libraries have different programs for the senior citizens and the librarian hired me to perform on the harp. It turned out one of the classes of the local grade school came in for it too so I had quite a crowd.
I wasn’t sure how they would receive it—the older people are used to story telling and some of them can really tell them well. I told mostly Irish tales, but I slipped in a Cornish one and a Welsh one I turned into an Irish one. It went down really well and I was pleased.
That month I took a Bealtaine workshop—lacemaking--at the library since it wasn’t full. I thought it would be crochet lace, but it was more like an applique, which is a special kind of
lacemaking done in Ireland that came across in the late 18th century from the continent I think. It was really interesting and I made a handkerchief with a fuschias and shamrocks on
it. It doesn’t sound like much, but believe me it took time and attention and some fiddling with the needle. Some of the older women brought in work that their mothers had done which
was a real treat.
A few weeks later I was also called on to play the harp at an opening of an art exhibit in the town of Macroom. An artist who lives across the valley asked me to play at the exhibit of
her work and a few other artists in the area. It was quite an event with the local mayor and councilor there to open it and loads of people coming through. I understand my photo was in the local paper, though I never saw it.
In June we had the debut around here of the film, “The Wind That Shakes the Barley,” filmed the summer before all around the area. It won the Palme D’Or at Cannes, but raised quite a controversy in England when it was shown. Ken Loach, an Englishman made it, but it gives quite a sympathetic telling to the republican side of the years 1919-1923, during the struggle for independence and the civil war years after it. It tells of the Black and Tans and then the conflict between the two factions after the treaty was signed. When you talk to those older people around here it was an accurate depiction. The librarian’s husband’s father was involved in it in this area, and was jailed in Macroom where he was beaten badly. Later he was transferred elsewhere and treated much better. He expected to go to London, where some had been taken, and was actually looking forward to the trip, but it never happened. He sounds a real character (just like his son).
knows how long it will take to sing the whole thing.
We are up to Chapter 7 of 8 chapters and our big performance is due to be given on March 4. It was originally to be February 11, St. Gobnait’s Day, the patron saint of the village. But the new seats in the culture center won’t be in until 4 March.
Somewhere the gods are helping us, because the deadline is too close. We did perform half of
the piece (the first four chapters) at the Choral Festival in Cork in March of last year. It was our “world debut” of the piece. We performed in St. Finbarr’s Cathedral and I was amazed at the
acoustics, which made us sound wonderful. Some of Peadar’s composition we all thought was a bit ropey sounded beautiful and we understood then what he had in mind. One of the choir members recorded it and we each got a copy and were stunned at how good it sounded.
In the spring, during the month of Bealtaine (May—pronounced Bee-AL-tin-a) I performed down in the library with the harp telling stories. All month long the libraries have different programs for the senior citizens and the librarian hired me to perform on the harp. It turned out one of the classes of the local grade school came in for it too so I had quite a crowd.
I wasn’t sure how they would receive it—the older people are used to story telling and some of them can really tell them well. I told mostly Irish tales, but I slipped in a Cornish one and a Welsh one I turned into an Irish one. It went down really well and I was pleased.
That month I took a Bealtaine workshop—lacemaking--at the library since it wasn’t full. I thought it would be crochet lace, but it was more like an applique, which is a special kind of
lacemaking done in Ireland that came across in the late 18th century from the continent I think. It was really interesting and I made a handkerchief with a fuschias and shamrocks on
it. It doesn’t sound like much, but believe me it took time and attention and some fiddling with the needle. Some of the older women brought in work that their mothers had done which
was a real treat.
A few weeks later I was also called on to play the harp at an opening of an art exhibit in the town of Macroom. An artist who lives across the valley asked me to play at the exhibit of
her work and a few other artists in the area. It was quite an event with the local mayor and councilor there to open it and loads of people coming through. I understand my photo was in the local paper, though I never saw it.
In June we had the debut around here of the film, “The Wind That Shakes the Barley,” filmed the summer before all around the area. It won the Palme D’Or at Cannes, but raised quite a controversy in England when it was shown. Ken Loach, an Englishman made it, but it gives quite a sympathetic telling to the republican side of the years 1919-1923, during the struggle for independence and the civil war years after it. It tells of the Black and Tans and then the conflict between the two factions after the treaty was signed. When you talk to those older people around here it was an accurate depiction. The librarian’s husband’s father was involved in it in this area, and was jailed in Macroom where he was beaten badly. Later he was transferred elsewhere and treated much better. He expected to go to London, where some had been taken, and was actually looking forward to the trip, but it never happened. He sounds a real character (just like his son).
house used in film 'Wind That Shakes the Barley'
Another local story taken to the stage happened this past summer in Gougane Barra at the hotel there. Gougane is a national park with lovely mountains and a lake and a chapel on the lake as well as the 7th? century ruins of St. Finbarr’s oratory. There is an old Victorian hotel there and they have put on a play, 'The Tailor and Ansty', the past two summers.
'The Tailor and Ansty' was a book written by a man who visited the area and came to know the local tailor and his wife, Ansty. He wrote a book in the 1940s about them, filled with anecdotes that more or less celebrated a passing way of life. There were a few bits where the tailor is looking at the newspaper and drooling over the lingerie ads, but that was as racy as it got. But the church didn’t think so and the book was banned up until about the late 1960s. Then a playwright put it on stage and it has now lately been revived. The library adult book club members gave me tickets to have dinner at the hotel and see the play as a thank you for my volunteer work, much to my astonishment and great delight. My husband couldn’t go, so it was his sister, and I had a great time with wonderful food in a great setting followed by a good play.
In the month of August my husband's mother came to stay for a month. My husband went over and escorted her back on the plane. It was her first flight and she managed it very well. She
found the area so quiet after Fowey and the weather really cooperated to be warm and sunny. She helped in picking a bumper crop of blackberries—a tribute to the very dry and fairly sunny summer we had.
My huband’s brother-in-law fell ill at the end of the summer—he was diagnosed with neck cancer and had surgery followed by chemo and radiation treatment in the fall. It was quite an experience and a difficult time for him. At one point he had to be hospitalized and contracted blood poisoning, but he managed to overcome that and is now home recovering. It was quite something to experience the hospital staff and routine, and in some ways I realized how much has changed (some good and some bad) since I was nursing, and how some things never change.
In the fall I also started taking painting classes with a local painter that I really admire. She is
showing me some great insights on techniques and I have really learned loads from her. Unlike this past summer, when I went over to Inchigeela again, like I had the summer before for the week of painting in the morning. This year they didn’t have James, the easy going and encouraging young man that does it once a month. They had a German woman, whose name escapes me, but her manner didn’t. We ventured out most days to the local places to paint the
surroundings. Lovely sites, but she gave a little lecture and said how we must all stand while we paint so we would be free flowing. Well I have my own method and I have to say, standing isn’t in it.
But anyway I went off and sat and pulled out my stuff. She comes over and just grunts after I explain I can’t paint standing. Then I hear her giving out to these women because they are using white in the water color. “NO white! There is no white in water color!.” (Her English wasn’t that good). Well the Irish women just looked at her and one said, “then why do they
make white water color paints?” She just repeated what she had said and stomped off. Well that give you an idea of the week. I more or less went off and hid and did my own thing. My
neighbors who were there with me and the artist who had the exhibit in Macroom and I had a good laugh later.
I’m still writing when I can too. Earlier in the summer I submitted a short story for an arts council competition and was notified a few weeks ago that I was shortlisted for the final.
It means that my story will be published in their book of short stories next May. It’s exciting,
especially since my story was about Lakota camp meeting in Montana and I just submitted it through the village library so someone would have submitted from there.
The book clubs are both going well at the library. The teen book club lost members who have now gone onto college but we were replenished by a younger crew that just started at the high school and now qualify for the book club. They are an enthusiastic bunch, but it makes it interesting to have 4 very young and 4 older teens. The older ones are pretty patient with them, which is nice to see. I generally do two books- one for the young ones and one for the older kids. We recently read Anita Shreve’s 'Light On Snow' and they enjoyed it. The adult book club is still going well and we’ve also had a few new members this fall. We seem to have found a few books that we like, after a run of really bad ones. I’m sorry but Orhan Pahmuk’s highly acclaimed, “Snow” didn't go down well with them.
My work with the library volunteering seems to have reaped other benefits as well. I have just got a part time temporary job as a librarian in Macroom, the next town. I am there to fill in the hours while someone is on carer’s leave, but hopefully it might lead to something more permanent. I went for training on the computer system 1 ½ days last week and then
did 2 ½ days at Macroom. Normally they would spend a week training me, but they needed someone badly and I think they figured my background was sufficient I could cope. The circulation system is ancient, and is command driven rather than windows, so that was a bit of a gulp in the midst of check out and patron registration on the desk. I also was asked to do story time at the library 5 minutes before it started on Saturday, because there were two other events to prepare for that day. So it was deep end for me, but it was fine. It’s a nice library and the staff are nice. It’s smaller than Glenside back in Philadelphia, but big for the county.
They also never had card catalogs for patrons in Ireland, so there is a culture of coming to the desk and asking if a book is available rather than looking in a catalog, online or not. Interesting.
'The Tailor and Ansty' was a book written by a man who visited the area and came to know the local tailor and his wife, Ansty. He wrote a book in the 1940s about them, filled with anecdotes that more or less celebrated a passing way of life. There were a few bits where the tailor is looking at the newspaper and drooling over the lingerie ads, but that was as racy as it got. But the church didn’t think so and the book was banned up until about the late 1960s. Then a playwright put it on stage and it has now lately been revived. The library adult book club members gave me tickets to have dinner at the hotel and see the play as a thank you for my volunteer work, much to my astonishment and great delight. My husband couldn’t go, so it was his sister, and I had a great time with wonderful food in a great setting followed by a good play.
In the month of August my husband's mother came to stay for a month. My husband went over and escorted her back on the plane. It was her first flight and she managed it very well. She
found the area so quiet after Fowey and the weather really cooperated to be warm and sunny. She helped in picking a bumper crop of blackberries—a tribute to the very dry and fairly sunny summer we had.
My huband’s brother-in-law fell ill at the end of the summer—he was diagnosed with neck cancer and had surgery followed by chemo and radiation treatment in the fall. It was quite an experience and a difficult time for him. At one point he had to be hospitalized and contracted blood poisoning, but he managed to overcome that and is now home recovering. It was quite something to experience the hospital staff and routine, and in some ways I realized how much has changed (some good and some bad) since I was nursing, and how some things never change.
In the fall I also started taking painting classes with a local painter that I really admire. She is
showing me some great insights on techniques and I have really learned loads from her. Unlike this past summer, when I went over to Inchigeela again, like I had the summer before for the week of painting in the morning. This year they didn’t have James, the easy going and encouraging young man that does it once a month. They had a German woman, whose name escapes me, but her manner didn’t. We ventured out most days to the local places to paint the
surroundings. Lovely sites, but she gave a little lecture and said how we must all stand while we paint so we would be free flowing. Well I have my own method and I have to say, standing isn’t in it.
But anyway I went off and sat and pulled out my stuff. She comes over and just grunts after I explain I can’t paint standing. Then I hear her giving out to these women because they are using white in the water color. “NO white! There is no white in water color!.” (Her English wasn’t that good). Well the Irish women just looked at her and one said, “then why do they
make white water color paints?” She just repeated what she had said and stomped off. Well that give you an idea of the week. I more or less went off and hid and did my own thing. My
neighbors who were there with me and the artist who had the exhibit in Macroom and I had a good laugh later.
I’m still writing when I can too. Earlier in the summer I submitted a short story for an arts council competition and was notified a few weeks ago that I was shortlisted for the final.
It means that my story will be published in their book of short stories next May. It’s exciting,
especially since my story was about Lakota camp meeting in Montana and I just submitted it through the village library so someone would have submitted from there.
The book clubs are both going well at the library. The teen book club lost members who have now gone onto college but we were replenished by a younger crew that just started at the high school and now qualify for the book club. They are an enthusiastic bunch, but it makes it interesting to have 4 very young and 4 older teens. The older ones are pretty patient with them, which is nice to see. I generally do two books- one for the young ones and one for the older kids. We recently read Anita Shreve’s 'Light On Snow' and they enjoyed it. The adult book club is still going well and we’ve also had a few new members this fall. We seem to have found a few books that we like, after a run of really bad ones. I’m sorry but Orhan Pahmuk’s highly acclaimed, “Snow” didn't go down well with them.
My work with the library volunteering seems to have reaped other benefits as well. I have just got a part time temporary job as a librarian in Macroom, the next town. I am there to fill in the hours while someone is on carer’s leave, but hopefully it might lead to something more permanent. I went for training on the computer system 1 ½ days last week and then
did 2 ½ days at Macroom. Normally they would spend a week training me, but they needed someone badly and I think they figured my background was sufficient I could cope. The circulation system is ancient, and is command driven rather than windows, so that was a bit of a gulp in the midst of check out and patron registration on the desk. I also was asked to do story time at the library 5 minutes before it started on Saturday, because there were two other events to prepare for that day. So it was deep end for me, but it was fine. It’s a nice library and the staff are nice. It’s smaller than Glenside back in Philadelphia, but big for the county.
They also never had card catalogs for patrons in Ireland, so there is a culture of coming to the desk and asking if a book is available rather than looking in a catalog, online or not. Interesting.
Anahareo and Grey Owl with friend
My time has also been taken up this year researching a biography of a woman named Anahareo. It started when Dave and I saw the film about Grey Owl last Christmas in Cornwall. It starred Pierce Brosnan. Grey Owl was a man who was thought to be half Apache. He was very much into wild life conservation, especially the beaver and along with Anahareo, his wife, they began to promote it in the 1930s in Canada. He wrote books and toured England. After he died it came out that he was in fact English, though Anahareo never knew before he died. Anahareo was an amazing woman—a trapper, a prospector and she drove
dogsleds. She was a Mohawk, educated and most of the bushcraft she knew she learned from Grey Owl. Her life is a unique testimony to a strong willed woman who overcame much in her time to pursue her love of the wilderness.
I have been researching it slowly and was able to contact members of her family to begin to fill in the many gaps that aren’t covered in her short autobiography written in 1972. There’s loads yet to do, but I’m enjoying it.
So now Christmas 2006 approaches, though it’s hard to believe. We will be celebrating Christmas here this year. My husband has constructed a tree out of a chimney brush and branches from a pine tree that fell in the storm that knocked out our phone and computer.
It’s a complex statement, but some of it is because the hype over here is to have a black christmas tree== “black is the new green.”
With that I will wish you all a happy Christmas—Nóllaig Shóna.
dogsleds. She was a Mohawk, educated and most of the bushcraft she knew she learned from Grey Owl. Her life is a unique testimony to a strong willed woman who overcame much in her time to pursue her love of the wilderness.
I have been researching it slowly and was able to contact members of her family to begin to fill in the many gaps that aren’t covered in her short autobiography written in 1972. There’s loads yet to do, but I’m enjoying it.
So now Christmas 2006 approaches, though it’s hard to believe. We will be celebrating Christmas here this year. My husband has constructed a tree out of a chimney brush and branches from a pine tree that fell in the storm that knocked out our phone and computer.
It’s a complex statement, but some of it is because the hype over here is to have a black christmas tree== “black is the new green.”
With that I will wish you all a happy Christmas—Nóllaig Shóna.
