Category: Me - Reading the Signs

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Lying Well Back – Striving To Be Overweight

1/9/2018

Today, I was reminded of my one-time challenge to self to become overweight.

In checking the internet for this particular rambling, it seems that the term ‘morbidly obese’ has appeared to have changed, or been dumbed down, to Obese II or even ‘very obese’. Even (most of ) the websites of the weight loss clinics have dispensed with ‘morbidly’ in favour of ‘extremely obese’, or just ‘obese’. In April 2005, my visit to I.C.U. did prompt a desire to become, just, overweight. ‘Morbidly’ does carry some import and effect.

As with many good intentions, that lasted a while and in the intervening period, I have moved closer to ‘morbidly obese’ than overweight. Maybe putting this in words may act as an incentive.

Today, a spare hour around Ennis before heading to Thomond Park brought me to Kilraghtis Cemetery where I encountered a few things never met before.

Before I even got to the cemetery, I was attacked. To open the gate to the track to the cemetery, I had to disturb some bees, or maybe wasps, that appeared to have taken up residence in the hole used to accommodate the gate lock. One of them head-butted me on my neck but no sting – strange. Exiting, I climbed the gate – lesson learned.

Within the cemetery, I learned of the diet of rabbit and pike of George Marlborough – such a diet and such a cause of death I had never seen on a headstone before.

Driving back, I wondered how long it had been since I stood on weighing scales – this ostrich preferring not to know how close the classification of ‘morbidly obese’ is becoming. It would be great to say that that was a second lesson learned – it would be, but….

The Pope In Ireland

22/8/2018

In 2014, we spotted the vinyl record of the visit of Pope John Paul II on the walls of Ard Bia restaurant in Galway. It led to a discussion among friends and colleagues as to 1979 being a very different time.

As a teenager then, I was brought to Limerick. I remember walking back to my uncle’s house afterwards and it was as if everyone in Limerick had been at the racecourse – the roads were so quiet on way back.

My cousin went to Dublin and Galway. A neighbour of similar vintage was on a coach to Galway with a sing-song the whole way up.

I am contemplating travelling to the vigil at Tuam this Sunday. The Dublin vigil looks like it will be very well supported.

I do not know of any one person attending Knock or Phoenix Park this weekend – definitely different times.

I was very surprised to recently see reference to the visit of Pope John Paul II on a headstone at Kilbannivane Cemetery, Castleisland. I will be so much more surprised if a see in the future a reference on a headstone to the visit of Pope Francis – these are very different times.

Ard Bia, Galway - 2014

Kilbannivane Cemetery, Castleisland

Fly The Flag

14/6/2018

Civic Offices, Cork City Council

Brown Thomas Patrick Street

Driving down Patrick’s Hill this morning, I spotted a Union Jack flying on Brown Thomas building which was a pile of stones of the former Cash’s in 1920.

June 2018

December 1920 - Photo from History Ireland

City Hall had two Union Jack flags – on the new Civic Offices, and on the City Hall rebuilt in 1932 following the Burning of Cork.

City Hall, June 2018

Old City Hall after Burning of Cork - photograph from Archiseek website

Last week, I was chatting with MOC about the measures being put in place for the visit of Charles and Camilla today to Cork.

He mentioned that when Queen Elizabeth visited a few years back, he saw a Union Jack flying over City Hall. He said that it was not flying there for long as less than an hour later he looked and it was not there – he wondered if the memories of Tomás MacCurtain and Terence MacSwiney tugged at someone’s conscience.

There were no such tuggings this morning – nearly 100 years on, it is now ok to fly the Union Jack.

An Interview With Death

1/5/2018

There we were- waiting.

The 17th of January, and the first family meeting, with the care staff at Marymount Hospice, was imminent.

Curraheen, Co. Cork

I don’t know what people do to prepare for or even distract from such meetings.

Me – I read the sign and was immediately on Teanglann as I had understood that the word was spelled ‘Agallamh’. The web confirmed that ‘Agallamh’ was nominative singular and genitive plural; and that, ‘Agallaimh’ was genitive singular and nominative plural.

‘Agaill’ is another word for ‘interview’ – but no sign anywhere of ‘Agaillimh’, except on the door of this room, possibly deliberately placed there to distract the likes of me.

Births, Deaths & Marriages Registry Office, Adelaide Street

Fast forward to May Day and the Cherry Blossom petals getting a bit of a bettering with the weather.

I have taken my chair. I wait to be called to request and receive a Death Certificate. I am once again distracted, trying to remember the genitive plural – fairly sure that it ought to be ‘Agallamh’

When I took my place in Interview Room 4, I was absolutely convinced that both ‘Seomra Agallaimh’ and ‘Seomraí Agallaimh’ could not both be correct.

Getting It Right - I think

Sometimes it is good to be distracted.

Memories of Confession

24/2/2018

These steps have been closed for many years.

Growing up, I passed them regularly on my way home. In receipt of religious instruction, I travelled down them.

I cannot dance, or maybe don’t dance, but I clearly remember that there was a sense of rhythm in the moving down those steps – a sense of rhythm that was brought to mind when I walked past earlier this week, for the first time in a few years. It did allow a moment to look back.

Health & Safety affecting literary history

If a Book Could Only Talk

24/12/2017

This book was recently taken down from an attic in Ennis where it resided for probably close to 50 years. It is assumed that it belonged to the man who built the house but he was educated in Partry, Co. Mayo where he was born in 1918.

The web educates that fifth edition of the book was published in 1910. There is nothing to say whether this copy is a first or later edition.

Among those thanked in the Preface is an tAthair Pearar Ó Laoghaire, who died in 1920 and is buried in Castlelyons where Thomas Kent was reinterred in 2016. Seán Ó Catháin and Diarmaid Ó Foghludha are also thanked and, if I found the correct men, they died in 1937 and 1924 respectively, and were involved in Irish education.

sJames Griffin of Main Street in Dingle has his name written in the book. The 1911 Census reveals that there was only one James Griffin in Main Street, Dingle, the then youngest of ten children living with shopkeeper Michael and his wife, Kate. Their house was at 33 Main Street.

Having gone up and down the street on Google, very few premises have numbers on their doors. Even fewer appear to have the building number on their website or on weblistings. My best guess is that the south side (Foxy John’s; Benners) have odd numbers and the north side (Currans; St James’ Church) have the even numbers.

Number 33 would appear to be in or around McKenna’s . My mind supposes that young James Griffin, as one who had no problem with writing his name in many locations, was more interested in playing around the corner on Dykegate Street rather than perfecting the art of Irish Composition. The fact that at 4 his parents did not consider him able to speak either Irish or English, adds to that image.

I can understand how the book travelled from Partry to Ennis and why it resided in an attic for 50 years but am intrigued as to who Pat Carroll was; was he the second of three owners of the book; where was he living.

How the book got from Dingle to Partry is another riddle remaining unsolved.

I don’t think I have ever before enjoyed a book so much without reading it.

Michael O’Riordan, b. 12 Nov. 1917

22/11/2017

Touch history while you can

I remember, about 25 years ago, speaking with J and N whose job involved visiting a Nursing Home in Mid-Cork once or twice a week. They mentioned that one of the residents had been involved at the Kilmichael Ambush.

At that time, I knew next to nothing of Kilmichael; Cadet Cecil Guthrie; or the effect the ambush and the death of Terence MacSwiney had in heightening tensions so that when the British Army were ambushed at Dillon’s Cross on the night of 11th December, 1920, it led to the Burning of Cork.

If I had the knowledge and interest then, the chance to hear first-hand of that period may have been available – an opportunity that passed by.

From even further back than 25 years, I remember seeing Michael O’Riordan on the television, particularly in and around election times. I remember him speaking on behalf of the Communist Party of Ireland.

I had no knowledge of his involvement in the Spanish Civil War; or, his book, The Connolly Column which led Christy Moore to write Viva La Quinta Brigada – a book that POF kindly gifted to me and which has come down off the shelf and onto the ‘For Reading’ pile.

Indeed, I had little knowledge as to the Spanish Civil War. That interest was piqued many years later, some years after Michael O’Riordan had passed away aged 90.

I would like to think that I would have sought out an opportunity to listen first hand to his experiences in Spain – but that possible chance to touch history had passed unaware.

Last Saturday, I spotted a wreath on Pope’s Quay in the distinctive Republican colours. Very many thanks to Pat Cadogan.

I stood, with my 11 year old, and we again remembered – leaving a small memento.

Sunday, I watched again the Cathal O’Shannon documentary ‘Even the Olives are Bleeding’ and a documentary on Michael O’Riordan where it is suggested that the first communist in Ireland might have been St. Finnbarr.

All of which is a reminder to self to grasp those opportunities and experiences that might be passing by……..

Connolly Column - Dedication

Ghost of My Past

5/4/2017

In the early 1980’s, the Grosvenor Bar was a regular haunt for those in my final years of school – a time before strict i.d. for underage drinking.

I took to alcohol later in life so was only in the Grosvenor on a small few occasions but its name, and particularly the silent ‘s’, are part of my history.

The Archive magazine has a piece where the owner of the Grosvenor said that the gardens of the Trinity Presbyterian Church were used for overnight grazing by drovers (p23).

For many years now, Brú Bar & Hostel has operated from the premises with a white frontage.

But driving home this evening, MacCurtain St brought me back thirty-plus years as the ghost of The Grosvenor Bar has reappeared.

It is probably beyond hope that the will retain this ghost……

Tabula Rasa

1/4/2017

When I first heard of the expression ‘Tabula Rasa’, I assumed that it was an Irish expression incorporated into English – I was wrong, but did not learn that for a while. The phrase took up residence as a curiosity in my brain, something on which more information was to be sought. It remained untouched for over two years until this week.

My latest bug, or obsessive compulsive tendency, germinated last week at the Stone Symposium in Ahakista. The mind cleansing and calming effect of carving letters into stone was a complete joy – no thoughts of emails, work or finances – just concentration on the depth and shape of the task at hand, admittedly with the occasional contemplation of aches.

When singing the praises of the stone carving with NK, he educated me as to a saying of Cuan Mhuire – you must work the hands to free the mind. It so worked with me that Friday on Sheep’s Head.

Mine

Not Mine

The next day, still buzzing from the stonework, GF and I enthused about the satisfaction and mind clearing of grass cutting – time alone to forget everything else.

On a tea break at the Stone Symposium, I was asking one of the instructors, as to where one might purchase a chisel and hammer if one wanted to practice at home. Ruairí Dennison gave me the name a website – one with a strange name, tab v larasa.

That is the actual address - tabvlarasa.com – but on the site, maybe an Italian thing, but the ‘v’ becomes a ‘u’ and it reads ‘Tabularasa’.

Cue - Eureka moment.

My tools have been ordered and the dictionaries have been checked – why did I ever doubt Gabriel Rosenstock and the power of the haiku.

Poetry has, on occasions more frequently of late than before, given me moments to absorb and forget everything else – not for long, but definitely a moment to stop the waltzer and forget all.

I am hoping that those forget-everything periods will be longer when I hit metal into stone and try to do one good letter – perfect would be great, but may be beyond the time available.

Until the chisel arrives from Italy, The Flea Market In Valparaíso has come off the shelf and will go into work bag for those chill-out minutes.

“Is maith nach bhfuil teorainn leis an gcuinne
Nó bheimis inár ngealtaibh ar fad.’

Gabriel Rosenstock

“It is good that the universe is limitless
Or we would all be flaming lunatics”

Gabriel Rosenstock

Not Mine

Not Mine

Legless

29/3/2017

This was the image that awaited us as we came up Patrick’s St towards the Winthrop St junction at lunchtime on Monday.

The probable, and most boring, explanation is that just having purchased new footwear, a decision was made to ditch the old, rather than bring home.

But such an explanation would not provide distraction time, time to allow the mind to wander, to escape for some chill-out time.

Maybe enough was enough, and walking barefoot was the first step in rebelling against the norms and expectation of society – that quote eventually wore down the mental block providing resistance, the time had arrived when the life would be lived, not chosen.

Maybe, a dare or a bet to act out the Mikel Murfi role had become less fun as sobriety returned in the early hours.

Maybe some escapade the night before resulted in lost or damaged shoes. These boots borrowed, (or retrieved from a recycle bin), until the shoe shop was reached.

This morning’s tweet from the Irish Aesthete demanded that the rambles through my mind become fully formed in the shape of this blog post.

Stoned in West Cork – Addiction Likely

26/3/2017

First attempt

Realises curves are difficult

Since starting this blog, and probably even before, I have admired the craft of stone carving and lettering, a craft and skill that was much more prominent.

I am more convinced than ever that the machine engraved lettering on headstones and plaques is so lacking in emotion and consideration to those named when weighted against the hand carved– just think of the reaction you might have to a handwritten letter, compared to a typed or automatically signed letter.

I have come across the lettering of renowned experts – SM and KT; an engraver new to me – TG; and, some old engraving, even with some mistakes.

There are those, including Gerry Adams, who get a buzz from hugging a tree, For me, touching some lovely stonework is a pick-me-up. I always have stones in my pockets.

My admiration of those blessed with the craft of lettering heightened significantly on Friday, when 9.00a.m. saw me heading west into Ahakista on a lovely morning.

A day of handcarving followed, as part of the Stone Symposium, under the direction of expert stone carvers. I now so regret not having organised for attending on the three days.

I sweated and ached. My left hand was very stiff – luckily I lift a pint with my right. Two days later, my back is still letting me know that my body is not sculpted for manual work. But my head and my soul were so much improved.

I will be doing more and have already been on the hunt for tools and checked out Tír Chonaill festival at Glencolmkille in June.

I have completed Day 1 – only 6 years and 364 days more to get it right.

UPDATE 2017.03.27

Finola on Roaringwater Journal has some great photos from the weekend at the Stone Symposium - HERE

What is a 'Gnomon'?

4/2/2017

Sundial by Seamus Murphy

It Was The Time Of Our Lives

Books - Notebooks

I have gone through phases with my books. In my teens and twenties, I used to write my name, date and place of purchase on the flysheet.

Somewhere, I read that writing on flysheets devalued a book. This had an effect. For years, I did not mark my books. The impact of that message wore off some time ago. Maybe I woke up to the fact that I will not be disposing of my books for value. They are mine and likely to remain so until my last day.

Since that Eureka moment, my books are full of notes - any references to another book; things demanding further investigation; or maybe just a new word or interesting expression. These were originally margin notes – but easier to find later if on flysheet and blank pages to back.

Those who inherit (or borrow) my books will likely have some fun reading the notes.

Shakespeare & Joyce

Spot the Butterfly

28/1/2017

I went to secondary school in this building for six years.

As well as going to and from school, I would have passed the building regularly going into town as it was one of the available routes.

For the past nine years, I have passed nearly every day – at least once a day.

Yet it was only last November that I spotted this lovely detail.

It appears to be quite simple. Most things are when you know what you are doing. A symmetrical cut at the external corner of a stone provides a revelation – a lovely butterfly, even if it took me forty years to spot it.

A Mouse Cast

19/1/2017

I suspect that most people who go to Disneyland Paris get the biggest smile from one of the rides; the parade; or, even the fireworks display.

Maybe the display of amazement or excitement on the faces of others is the source.

For me, on a cold and slightly wet November Monday, none of the above was the cause.

It was something that I have never seen before and do not expect to see anywhere else.

It was something that recognised the worker.

I expect that it will bring a smile to many.

A Photograph Paints a Thousand Words

18/11/2016

Well, maybe not a thousand – a thousand is a lot for a ten year old.

Spot the escape route