St. Patrick and Eoin Colfer

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In Ireland, March 17^th is a Holy Day, celebrated with a special Mass and city parades.  This day usually falls during Lent, and drinking is minimal during this time.  But, the moment Lent is over...

St. Patrick changed the history of Ireland back in the 400s AD.  Through his understanding and compassion for the Irish people, Patrick converted the culture of druid pagan to Christianity.  Here is a web site about St. Patrick: Just Who Was ST. Patrick?

This post is in praise of an ingenious series of books by Eoin Colfer:  Artemis Fowl.  What is so great about this series?

The setting is Ireland, and the main character is the human evil genius child Artemis Fowl.  The son of a wealthy family, the twelve-year old Artemis has turned his brilliance to capturing a leprechaun, one Holly Short, captain of an elite squad of LEPs.

 

The Fey world is alive and kicking in this series.  The leprechauns are not naughty little mischievous gold stealers/hoarders.  Oh, no.  The leprechauns are an elite squad of top-notch covert operators whose missions are all directed at keeping the humans away from their world.  

 

A message written in Gnomish

There are other members of the Fey world, some very unsavory and some cooperative assistants.

 

This is a student rendering of the world beneath Ireland...

The list of Eion Colfer’s books in this series is long and delightful. There is a marvelous web site where young readers will truly enjoy themselves.

 Go to this site when you have time to spare!

This series delighted me, as an Irish person, but mainly as a teacher.  

 

It is difficult or even nigh impossible to find titles like these that will engage reluctant readers.  Boys especially are reluctant to venture into books at that middle-school age.  The Artemis Fowl series was a hit.  Each page has a line of ‘gnomish’ symbols that can be interpreted to give a message to the reader.

 

While this is not a typical St.Pat's Day post, this is a book series that captured many readers.   

From one world to another

  

In 1985, we moved to Ireland from the Mojave Desert, California.  This was a time when a flood of Irish young people were heading to America.  For some Americans to move to Ireland was a big confusing; we were an anomaly. 

 

My husband with Mary and John at Saddlebutte State Park

 in the Mojave Desert

 

As we settled in, we went to the local school where our children made friends.  First, they needed to be outfitted in the school uniform. 

This thrilled me.  I loved school uniforms—no fights in the morning about style and matching colors. 

Our three children and I went to Dunnes Store where the uniforms could be purchased inexpensively.  Every mother in the community was holding up gray slacks and light blue shirts to their squirming children.  My own squirming children submitted silently.  Except…

 

Mary playing in the woods around our home in Ireland

In moments, my four year old Mary disappeared.  I did not panic and chase around screaming her name.  I just waited and listened.

Mary had a high-pitched voice that could carry above any noise.  Soon I heard her.  She was singing the latest Celine Dion song, “Power of Love”.

Mary really irritated her brother John.

There she was, in front of a tri-fold mirror, belting out the lyrics, surrounded by amused Irish mothers, also shopping for school uniforms.

 

“…For I am your WOOOOMMMMAAAN….and you are my MAAA..AAAA..N.  Whenever you REACH for me….I’ll do all that I CAAA..AAAN!...”

 

She was on-key, I’ll give her that.

 

Aw, well, so.

 

Aw, so, ye caught me, yer ol’ man and ol’ wit ruby cheeks.

 

Too many pints of Harp. Faded memories, I dinna know wha' dey were.

 

Send me your laughter , lass.  Give me a kiss and take flight wit yer fairy wings. 

Ah, girl, do ye have any tobac for me píope??  

 

 Aw, well, so.                                                                                                                                             

      On wi’ ye.

 

 

 

The underlined words are the Wed. Words, first started by Delores, back in 2016. She handed off the baton onto volunteers. This one is from 12 years ago. We lived in Ireland in the mid-80s and the language 

What an Irish child thinks

 

                                                                        quality of life

Ireland. Ireland, oh you are magnificent.  The country, the green, music, literature, and, most of all, its people are magnificent. 

 

No matter what might be passing in all countries, Irish children have a grasp of language that is peculiar to their country. These ginger haired children have a way of refocusing what is important comparatively.

So, that given, let's all go to the pub, sing some songs, take off pajamas and put on clothes, argue with parents, and above all, be amazed at what a child can do at such a young age.

 

Along Stone Walls

 

 

Morning misted grass

Velvet brushed green

Beckons, cries out

For a child,

Shoe-less and wild.

Race across bare grass

With bare feet

Unfettered and free.

Hedge to stone wall,

Run and invite all

Follow, come, join...

Weeping eyes reply,

Cannot run, sadly sigh...

Travel ahead and discover

Fields touched by many.

Through golden gorse,

Beneath rowan trees,

Still, but for wren and sparrow hawks.

Come, follow...

There is yet another

Field awaiting, 

Weeping eyes.

By Robert Sheridan

 

       Hedge trimming     

 

 Can you imagine walking along this road? Feeling the mist in the air?

This is Ireland.

 

This was first published back in 2023 following hand surgery. Hand healed, but is at only 80% of it former use.

Changes....from one world to another

 

We had returned to California after living in green green Ireland. When we moved here to sunny San Diego County, we chose a city that was more rural than city.   With cows grazing in fields, orange groves, and huge gardens that sold produce in road-side stands, we loved it.  The hills around us were covered with rocky outcrops with patches of manzanita and sage. 

While not as green as Ireland, it was a joy to see fields with life.

 

What a pleasure to be outside!  Wind from the west sent the smell of cows (and manure) our way. The north wind gave us eucalyptus.  From the south came the sweet citrus orange blossoms.  The eastern winds from San Jacinto Mountains and deserts gave me a migraine.

That was nearly 25 years ago, and life in California changes at a rapid pace.

On the hills we now see expensive homes with a superior view.  The rocks are still there, but for how long?  Until another housing developer blasts them away?

The cows grazed on mighty expensive land, it turned out.  Those lovely black and white cows were moved out and a new high school moved in with parking lots.

The brittle eucalyptus trees grow at an alarming rate.  We had four and had to remove them; they were a danger to houses around us.  Brought here by Spanish padres from Australia, those trees took over the state.  Not a source of lumber since the trees shattered and burned easily, the trees are being removed.  

Orange groves once covered large parts of southern California.  Once a heavenly-scented place to live, the groves are gone with houses in their place.  The grove to the south of us sat for years on a big corner lot.  Ignored, oranges dropped and rotted on the ground.  Without water, the trees were gnarled dwarfs.  

Yesterday, on a drive to the store in that area, I was shocked to see the trees bulldozed into a pile in the middle.  The lot was valuable and had been sold. 

So, the only thing that remains is the Santa Ana wind from the east.

That, unfortunately, will always blow through my head, giving me a migraine.

The photos comes from the following sites:

 Gettyimages.com 

http://www.panoramio.com/photo/40275361  by Cyborg

http://freepages.family.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~soakbear/ca-trip-2005/calif-2005-d.htm

 

 

Jeremiah 29:11

 

God amazes me all the time.  Not just some of the time, now and then, but all the time.  His creation and miracles are undeniable: God amazes me.  

Why Jeremiah 29:11?

His love never fails. He sees tomorrow or centuries. God does not own or use a wristwatch. God gave this verse to me 1985.

11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. 12 Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. 13 You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. 14 I will be found by you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back from captivity.[b] I will gather you from all the nations and places where I have banished you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back to the place from which I carried you into exile.”

In 1985 we had decided to sell/give every item in our house, save particular gifts the children owned. We condensed important items and toys into a crate 4ft X 5ft X 4ft.  We shut the door of our house, giving the keys to its new owner.

BUT I rush ahead.

We (husband's family company) bought and operated a hotel in Ireland. It was a mansion/manor owned by a Lord Barrymore who was granted the property. In 1769 the Lord built and lived in it.  

Somewhere in the course of Irish History the hotel w/20 acres of wooded land became a hotel. It was more work than we expected.

  When we decided to take this adventure, we lived in a city in the Mojave Desert. Moving with our 3 children was indescribably awful.  I was distraught.

That is when Jeremiah 29:11 appeared.  First it was in a drawer in the kitchen.  The second time I found it was in the a stack of papers I was collecting to recycle. God revealed so much to me in these two times.

We lived in Ireland for 4 years, sold and returned to California.  God guided us through some difficult times and choices  

He knew the plans....

Ireland saves the world again.

 

Ireland has saved the world, many times over.  Can't mess with history.

Oíche Shamhna faoi mhaise

 

On Halloween night, there was a bonfire and the pagans danced around and ghosts were about. All Saints' Day was on Nov. 1st. Pagan to Saints? It could happen.

 

 

Walking in our woods in Ireland.

Drive leading from Glanmire up to the hotel

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It occurred to me that our family's time in Ireland and our adventures had not been posted for current  bloggers to read.  

It was an amazing few years where our children attended Irish schools (scoil) and studied Gaelic, where we lived on 20 acres of ancient forests, where we owned and operated a hotel (built in 1769 as a hunting lodge for an English lord, converted to a hotel in early 1960s). We moved to Vienna Woods Hotel in 1985, moved back to California in 1988.
   

Vienna Woods Hotel had many uses, and the previous owner held many wedding, parties, company meetings.  When we bought it, we installed bathrooms in 19 of the rooms.  Had to do some repairs and decor changes.

Here are a few photos. Top is one of the three wedding rooms.  Johnny is in his wellies and cat Midnight. The black and white photo of the hotel was taken in mid-1980s.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Partial view of west side of hotel, 1985 It was built in 1769 by  Lord Barrymore who used it for a summer hunting lodge for the elites of society.

Three milk stools found buried beneath refuse dating to mid-1700s

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The photo below is of our town, Glanmire, in Co. Cork.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Mary by one of the huge trees in the woods
Later, Fitzgerald bulldozed and covered this part of the woods.
Bungalows, instead, were built. Erin and John standing in front of the grotto, apparently built for deer for their food and water. The tree above is easily 200+ years old. An old oak tree on the property had to be removed, as its roots were threatening the hotel.  I spent about 30 min. counting the rings, getting to 225.

There were about 12 inches left to count.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Children remember the adventures, as we do.  But we parents also remember all the work that it took to get to these adventures. All parents know that work they had to do in one way or another.  Good times!

 

 

 

 

Rainy Day at St. Catherine church

 

 

A gentle breeze seemed simple to the town of Cork.

However, there was a coming storm on its way, but it was nothing new to the church of St. Catherine. As such, the Ladies’ Auxiliary gathered baskets of clothing, linens, and canned food for the needy.

St. Catherine was an ordinary town, where St. Catherine’s had a reputation to maintain, one of gentility and generosity. The Ladies Auxiliary had been watching the stormy skies and setting up the tea tables for the coming rain. 

Voluntary spinsters swept the sanctuary and dusted benches. After all the work, the storm hit with a vicious vengeance. The Ladies raced about the sanctuary, gathering prayer cards, and locking the office windows.

“Well, ladies. It seems weather has taken our joy of worship. Let’s set and enjoy our worship with the cards.” Nuns do not scurry, as a rule. But some raced to the office, opening the cash box, and cards were dealt.

Money and heavy rains did not matter, as long as there was good strong Irish tea and the cards dealt were high cards. Cheating was not allowed.

Wednesday Words have been part of bloggers' lives over a decade or more.  The words are to share  for any blogger who wants to play around with words. This challenge was created by Delores who has since handed it off to volunteers.

Check at river-driftingthroughlife@blogspot.com, and myjustsostory@blogspot.com to see weekly words on Wednesday.

This is from April 2022.  The underlined words are from the challenge that week.

 

Travel in Ireland

 Liam's grandfather had told him stories of life in Ireland, how farmers and their harnessed draft horses plowed land and brought in harvest. These images were so compelling that one day, Liam and wife Betty headed to the 'auld country themselves.

Irish Travellers

Liam had rented a traditional traveler caravan, and plodded out onto the dirt roads, being pulled by a harnessed draft horse, named Billy. Sean and Dermot, owners of Caravan Travels, watched them leave, whispering, They'll be stuck in mud before the day's out.

First few miles, Liam and Betty were filled with energy, singing every Irish song they knew, which were many. Over the hours, as energy seemed to drop and sag, they decided that left lane at the fork looked more promising and shorter to the pit stop where other renters would gather and sing more Irish songs.

Mud grabbed their wheels which locked the caravan stock still, while Billy quite happily grazed at lush green grass. Betty began to weep and Liam was dismayed, feeling betrayed by his grandfather's stories.

Then, a fine old black and white tractor came chugging and howling to this miserable couple, followed by Sean in a Ford 150, who fixed the problem right and proper, pulling them out of mud, with a loud SUCK.

Back at Caravan Travels, Liam doled over more pounds to rent a mobile trailer, hooked on the trailer hitch of his rental car, and drove off in a bright red shade of embarrassment.

Tourists. Dreamers.

We are contemplating a journey to Ireland. No traveler caravan, just something safe.

 

This was a post from August 2015. The last we had been to Ireland is 1998.  We intend to take a bus tour around Ireland, hopefully we'll have some time to walk about.

Walls lead to home

 

Sunken Lane

 

Along paths of crusty walls 

and tangled brambles

Will time be soon left behind?

A path once of stones and dirt

Now displayed a row 

Of weeds, all now green and grown.

His footsteps had walked in mud,

Racing and laughing

Youth and friends hooting beside.

From his home, peat smoke once rose,

Fragrant over tall trees,

Brown bread baked on warm stone hearth.

Home now stones, long gone, hearth cold,

Gray rocks on his feet

Reminded him that green never leaves.

Nor will he.

The images from my mind as summer fades makes me long for green. I posted this 5 years ago. We are talking about going to Ireland next spring.

Samhain. Ireland. Say no more.

Ireland has saved the world, many times over.  Can't mess with history.

Oíche Shamhna faoi mhaise

 

 

America in the 1950s

 

The Mountains of Mourne

 

                                                Keith Harkin of the Celtic Thunder.

The Mountains o' Mourne

by Percy French (1896)

  During this time, Ireland had been divided into the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland.  It was a volatile time for the country. Northern Ireland remained mainly protestant, while the Republic was primarily Catholic. After much violence, the creation of the Republic of Ireland occurred. The Acts of the Union started in Jan. 1,1900, and was terribly deadly, 1922 - 1923. An agreement in it took some time for The Troubles to settle down. Lots of history cultural crammed into that song.

Percy French was a prolific song writer, late 1800 to early 1900s. This is a long poem, so choose what means something to you.

The Mountains of Mourne

Oh, Mary, this London's a wonderful sight,

With people all working by day and by night.

Sure, they don't sow potatoes, nor barley, nor wheat,

But there's gangs of them digging for gold in the street.

 

At least when I asked them that's what I was told,

So I just took a hand at this digging for gold,

But for all that I found there I might as well be

Where the Mountains o' Mourne sweep down to the sea.

I believe that when writing a wish you expressed

As to how the fine ladies in London are dressed,

Well if you'll believe me, when asked to a ball,

They don't wear no top to their dresses at all.

Oh I've seen them meself and you could not in truth,

Say if they were bound for a ball or a bath.

Don't be starting such fashions, now, Mary, mo chroí, (my heart),

Where the Mountains o' Mourne sweep down to the sea.

I've seen England's king from the top of a bus

And I've never known him, but he means to know us.

And tho' by the Saxon we once were oppressed,

Still I cheered, God forgive me, I cheered with the rest.

And now that he's visited Erin's green shore

We'll be much better friends than we've been heretofore

When we've got all we want, we're as quiet as can be

Where the Mountains o' Mourne sweep down to the sea.

You remember young Peter O'Loughlin, of course,

Well, now he is here at the head of the Force.

I met him today, I was crossing the Strand,

And he stopped the whole street with a wave of his hand.

And there we stood talkin' of days that are gone,

While the whole population of London looked on.

But for all these great powers he's wishful like me,

To be back where the dark Mournes sweep down to the sea.

There's beautiful girls here, oh, never you mind,

With beautiful shapes nature never designed,

And lovely complexions all roses and cream,

But let me remark with regard to the same

 

That if of those roses you ventured to sip,

The colours might all come away on your lip,

So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waiting for me

In the place where the dark Mournes sweep down to the sea.

 

Percy French composed many Irish songs and was appreciated/admired all through the countries, and beyond. The song above has more meaning than could be seen.

Ryan Kelly, George Donaldson, Paul Byrom, Damain McGinty, Neil Byrne, Keith Harkin

 The names in red are the three most popular voices, Donaldson and McGinty. McGinty is the "kid".  He matures and goes on to perform in Les Miserable. Keith Harkin was killed in an auto accident in 2018. He was popular for his sweet handsome face and voice.  George Donaldson was the mature leader, with a voice that grabs you. He passed away at age 48 of a massive heart attack.

 

 

 

 

Ol' Man with his Piope

 

Aw, so, ye caught me, yer ol’ man and ol’ wit ruby cheeks.

 

 Too many pints of Harp. Faded memories, I dinna know what dey were.

 

Send me your laughter , lass.  Give me a kiss and take flight wit yer fairy wings. 

Ah, girl, do ye have any tobac for me píope??

                                                                                   Aw, well, so.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              On wi’ ye.

 The underlined words are the Wed. Words, first started by Delores, back in 2016. She handed off the baton to volunteers. This one is from seven years ago. This week will show other words from River  

 

Please,oh please, give yourself a whirl and write a short story, poem, prose...there are some mighty handsome words there.  Write in the comment section or indicate that you'll post something at your own site.  We beg that you link it back to the site, so we can all give it a look see.  Slainte.