Missing Dad and not knowing Grandad.

I was in Armagh recently and a visitor to my wife's home house, "Boots," (I don't know his real name) asked me why I had stopped posting on this blog. I had no clear reply. No reason - really. I promised myself when I started posting to this blog that I would not let it's continuity depend on others' comments/contributions so the lack of feedback is not the reason either. Indeed I have been surprised to hear from time to time of how many people do actually read it.

But a little feedback is nice. No man is an island ... and all that. And so I am back and I intend to carry on with this.

After some thought the real reason for not continuing to blog is that if I were to be honest and helpful to the reader in the way I would (idealistically) hope to be, then I would appear at times to be overly critical and perceptively negative about my experiences/issues associated with moving back to Ireland. I hate being negative or being perceived to be negative. The truth hurts sometimes...

But in media there is always gate-keeping and editing. Therefore, it is a challenge I am going to take on again. I will attempt to inform the reader of the issues associated with "moving back to Ireland" but I will (in the interest of full disclosure) be gate-keeping myself. Some of this will be to avoid talking too negatively of institutions/people. Some of this will be to facilitate self-survival.

With that out of the way, here's the blog:

After being away for almost 20 years and losing my dad in 1998, it is now I miss him most.

Over recent months the eldest of mine and Anna's two young children, Tommy, has come on in leaps and bounds. He is assertive, cute, deceptive, energetic etc, etc and he was three on March 27th. He walked in to the house to me the other day and asked if he could go over to his next door neighbor. (His friend next door and he get on great. They climb through the fence to go to each other's houses regularly.)
I said no because it was coming to dinner time. He chirpily said "o.k. Dad." I continued doing what I was doing and then realized that after he had accepted my decision he just walked out the door, climbed through the fence and went over to his friend. No ifs, buts or discussion - he just left. What a guy!

If his granddad were here I know they would have a fantastic relationship. And it would be very beneficial to both! My dad (not all the facts on this link are 100% but close enough) would have had a great influence on him and on the littler one too, Sarah. It is times like this that the years spent away from home and family are noticed. It all kinda crept up on me. Unexpectedly.

He is gone from this funny world since 1998 and he was missed then and is missed now. These two grandchildren will not know him personally but they will read of him and listen to him.

And to this backdrop, as I can hear the rain on the windows, while on the TV the powers that be are trying to blame someone for the economical disaster that is Ireland today, and my two youngest kids are asleep oblivious to the economy and to the absence of grandad, it is good to be back home with great fond memories of being away.

There is something real about all this.

Leonard Cohen in Lissadell House, Sligo

“The curate has called this exhibition

Drawn to Words.

I call my work

Acceptable Decorations.”

I have, in the past, fallen into the group that would refer to Leonard Cohen as depressing. But after spending three and a half hours at Lissadell House watching and listening to him, his band and an audience of 10,000, I see him in a very different light.

Honest, hard working, creative, wise, energetic, and true

are the words I would use to describe him now. His stage presence is up there with the greats. He needs no fanfare, no bells and whistles, no distractions; When Leonard Cohen comes on stage his performance engages and engulfs the audience.

This seventy-five year old Canadian performs for 3 and half

hours with a fifteen minute break and gives it his all. His opening words were so honest, “Thank you friends for coming out tonight and because you did we want to be sure to give you everything.”

The backdrop to the stage was a simple curtain with two

hearts entwined in each other. The singers and musicians were dressed simply in black suits with little variation in their shirts and blouses. Leonard wore a fedora for most of the night and at times removed it to reveal a graying humble and powerful countenance.

While he reveals himself wholly to us I feel a sense of

transparency fall over the crowd. Perhaps each individual is remembering that time is moving on and they’ve “known” Leonard for longer than they might care to remember. But his honesty on stage brings honesty to the crowd and a sense of acceptance and wise recognition that the passage of time is palpable.

“The birds they sang

at the break of day

Start again

I heard them say

Don’t dwell on what

Has passed away

Or what is yet to be.”

After all, it takes time and living to have a body of songs

and poetry like his and time creates beauty and it takes it away.  The body of work grows and becomes immortal while the human body fades into mortality. Cohen appreciates this but somehow it is o.k.

One woman in the crowd in front of me said, “Oh, I wish I

could go up there and give him a hug.” Referring to us 10,000 concert-goers as friends many, many times from his simple stage put us at ease and on the same level as himself. That was the message – we’re all in it together and I’m with you tonight as you have chosen to be with me.

For now, Leonard Cohen lives and he is anything but

depressing when he skips (literally) on and off stage, and says “thank you friends.”

Shane Peko

It does the heart good to learn that Shane Peko has joined us on this merry-go-round called Life. Our good friends in San Francisco will, no doubt, be celebrating.

It would be nice to be there to celebrate with the new parents, Brian and Finu, but our hearts and thoughts are with them.

Keeping in touch with friends from San Francisco

I was at the Connacht football semi-final between Sligo and Galway a couple of weeks ago. As I stood inside the gate distributing Into the West, a friend from San Francisco said hello. It really is funny, where you bump into old friends and acquaintances.

In the last week I got calls from four friends from the US. The first, a Kerryman called just to say hello and to tell me how impersonal emails are and how personal the phone is. He is right. Then he got his wife to email me after the previous blog to call my turnips "mangles" or as he put it "cow fodder." Hmmmm...

Then Sean, my good friend from Louisburgh, who has lived in San Francisco for approx. 50 years called up to tell me the weather had broken in Ireland and that the introduction of property tax in Ireland will be the straw that will send me back to the US with my tail between my legs.

Brian, who has lived in San Francisco for many years, is from London. He's great craic and a great chin-wagger (talker). I was very sorry to have to cut my chat with him short as Sarah (1 year old) was demanding my attention. He seems to be in good fettle and enjoyed the World Cup.

Cormac called and informed me that there was a seisiun of music in Ballinrobe last Sunday. I went. Met Kenny, Cormac, Dave, Liam, Chris and John. What a great time we had. Music, Song, Sean Nos dancing and good honest chat.

Anyways, it is great to have such good friends. Such good friends are the kind that you can talk to as if you never lost touch, after long periods of no communication. After all, do we really need to be talking to each other to know that we love each others' company, that we miss each other (from time to time) and that when we do meet we will savour the moment(s).

Well friends, even if you criticize my turnips (or mangles in Kerry), I haven't forgot you. And I know that we will enjoy reunions.

The Fruits of Our Labour

Those days spent digging hard stoney soil are now paying off. This is a sample of what we have harvested.

Old Head Beach, Louisburgh, Ireland

Picking up litter on the beach is not the preferred occupation while strolling along but if I/we don't do it, then who will?

I was down at Old Head yesterday with the young fella and he loved it. Old Head Beach is one of the most popular beaches in this area and until very recently held the distinguished prize of being a "blue flag beach ." I don't know why, but that title is lost now.

This is a heavenly place and by coincidence you can see Croagh Patrick from the beach (as in the photo).

We walked to the pier and I noticed some litter. I must admit, my call to action was slow to evolve.

As we walked back from where we came, the litter caught my eye again and I had a moment of clarity. Why not me? Why wouldn't I pick up the plastic beer can wrapping and then the brown beer bottle and deposit it in the bin?

I did. My son saw this. Others' children saw this. Others saw this. I hope they might do the same the next time they are on the beach. If we pull together we can make our beaches clean, enjoyable, safe and catalysts of community interest. Am I too optimistic or will you join me?

Rain, at long last!

At approximately 6 a.m. on July 4th, otherwise known as Independence Day (in the US), I awoke to the beautiful sound of wind and rain on the skylights. This is a beautiful sound. The other day a man said to me that the June just past waas the most dry June he remembers in his 80 years. My potatoes are growing well but I dug three stalks the other day and they were mostly pooreens (small to tiny potatoes). My farming friends said that they, the potatoes, needed some rain for the next couple of weeks to "finish them off." So it has arrived - the rain.

The giver of life - rain (after all the sunshine that is). We landed in Ireland on August 27th, 2009 and we have seen about 2 weeks of rain since then (event hough I lost a car to the floods, but they were in Galway). It's been beautiful weather throughout. We got the real hard freeze with sunshine and then the dry spell with sunshine and now - Hallelujah - rain. We could do without the wind (it might break the potatoe stalks) but we'll take it as it is.

When I grew up in Louisburgh, I slept in the top-room. This was the converted attic in the house in which I grew up. So I could hear the rain on the skylights when I was in bed. And I loved to snuggle myself up in the bed and slowly doze off to sleep to the lovely sound of the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof and the skylights. Nostalgia.

So, this morning, July 4th 2010, Independence Day (in the US) I was drawn back to my childhood by the sound of the rain on the skylights. The wind was blowing and I snuggled up to my wife and two young kids (they come in to us in the morning) and I thought about how my friends in San Francisco hadn't even rose to greet the day yet - indeed in San Francisco it wasn't even Independence day yet (they are 8 hours behind us) - and I thought to myself...

Isn't life great. It just doesn't get much better than this!