For You Jan

28th June 2020

For You Jan -  A Little Ramble.

You are with me, in my mediation, this morning.
You, dressed in purple,pink and red, 
making flames dance daintily or your face.
Diamond stars sparkle below your ears.

 Your smile, encourages, welcomes, comforts me 
good to see you, dear Jan . 
You ask me, with interest,  to tell you more, 
more about the Irish trip. 

More about those trad evenings 
you,  I know,  love everything Celtic. 
So, stay awhile, let me tell you about Jim o the Mill.
An old farmhouse cottage, thatched, hidden,

 along a boreen, way up in the mountains, not easy to get to. 
Round the outside of the house, lights, lanterns, balloons,
 in multitudinous colours, decorate the windows and walls,
like its Christmas.

 Cars line the lanes, fill the fields. 
Musicians gather, eagerly cradle their instruments, 
Ah, I see your eyes widen now, music is always your thing
Shall I go on? 

Others, greet with hugs, ask how each other are, like it’s a family affair.
 But we also  meet travellers who’ve come from afar
Africa, America, Germany, even Bulgaria.  World renowned is farmer Jim.
 A  micro bar, the size of a tiny parlour, open only on Thursdays

Serves Guinness and Cola and Irish whiskey.
We’ve become fond of the Guinness.  The evening unfolds
 music, poetry, storytelling fill the three small rooms. 
Bodies squeeze in too, sit on benches, on dirt floor, or perch on stairs. 

We are in the room where Kathleen is, my cousin, with her fiddle. 
A boy, about ten, with an accordian, as well as a head of curly, red hair,
An American with his guitar.  One begins to play a tune, others join in, 
even if they’ve never heard it. This is an Irish  ramble, all are welcome.

Anyone can play their instrument, or sing or recite poetry or tell a story.
 I look around. You’d love it, the atmosphere. 
In the open hearth the fire gives a soft glow to the spirit, 
far away places imagined in burning sods. 

On shelves, antique looking tea pots, family photos, crock jugs, books.
On walls, fiddles, art work done long ago by children now with grandchildren of their own, and is that a pitch fork, and beside it a hoe,  yes. 
We’re encouraged to join in with songs we know. I know a few, folk, rebel.

My cousin sings for me – Tipperary Far Away, I swallow holding back a river.
An American intones an old Irish balled, haunting,  
hits a hollow deep inside-  I’m off again. I imagine you with us dear Jan, 
shutting your eyes as you do when you listen with intent.

 We leave at 1.30 in the morning, no sign of the night coming to an end. Apparently, you’ll like this, if you’re there in the morning, 
when the sun comes up, they’ll cook you sausages and bacon.
Thanks for listening, until we meet again, so long, Jan, dear friend.

Jan /Nan

25th June 2020

Death Resurrects old Memories 

8.40 pm 22nd June 2020. 

I didn't want to believe what I read. For a moment the words, there in black and white, somersaulted in my brain. It can't be. We were only told around midday that she was improving, that they were discussing how they'd rearrange the house for when she came home, make things

 easier for her.

Then, like a wild animal I let out, I don't know how, it wasn't me, but the most piercing scream. I couldn't help it . It came from some deep place that I didn't know was within me.

"What's up?"  Peter asked, concerned.

He came rushing over. I handed him my phone. It took him a few seconds to understand..By this time my whole body was shaking and tears were flowing. He drew me close, held on tight and added his own sobs to the river of sadness .

She'd died at 6.40 pm Mandy informed us. It was a shock to everyone she went on.

Poor Mandy, I thought, best friends for many years. If it affected us , how was she doing.

All of us from the writer's group she belonged to are devastated. There's something about sharing your writing that is so intimate, nothing compares to it, where you are exposed for who you are like nowhere else. 

Jan's death and the Mediterranean weather we're having just now, sent me back to last year and our trip to Ireland. Jan had a keen interest in all things Irish -  culture, spirituality, music. We had planned to have gatherings at her home to share our favourite Irsih / Celtic songs. Apart form all her other talents, too numerous to mention, she was an accomplished musician.

May 31st 2019 From an entry in my journal.

We leave Portumna after evening Mass, which celebrated the important  Feast of the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin, recollecting  the time when  Mary, after being told by the Angel that not only was she herself going to have a child but that her cousin Elizabeth also had conceived and was now in her sixth month.
It's late evening when we drive into Thurles, past images which run like a grainy film through my mind, backwards and forwards, into each other. Silently, concentrating,  I scan  for familiar landmarks.

 As we pass through the square, how busy, I think, I see the tower of the Cathedral on the other side. A good  clue. I could walk to nan's house from here, a familiar route that she and I took a along the River Suir from the bottom of nan's road. Her short round body held up by little stick legs, an old brown shopping bag over her arm, we'd chat about the issues of the day, or the weather,especially if it was either extremely hot or cold, or  members of the family and what they were up to. Every day her and I would walk to early mass -  her routine. Now, in 2020, it's mine too, though not in Pandemic time.

We drive  round the square twice, park in the busy car park . What shall we do now? 
We make a cup of coffee, while I try to find  my bearings.  It's great travelling in the camper, being able to stop anywhere and make ourselves drinks or lunch or dinner. Staring out into the crowded square I don't  recognise the shops. I search for the window of Walter Maloney's . This is where nan came, or sent me, every day to get the messages. At Walter's you'd find bacon, bread, brickets, and all manner of items for everyday use. He seemed to have everything. A mini, mini, precursor to the modern day supermarket. There's a shop that looks as if it could be the place - Theresa's Tanning Palour. Whether it is or it isn't , it looks as if Walter is no longer around.

 There are  more roads leading off the square than I remember.
I see one I do know. I've walked it many , many times.
I turn to Peter. All this time he's left me with my own thoughts. I'm grateful for that.
"I need to go find the house, you know, just to look," I try to  persuade him? "And we might find somewhere better to stay than this car park, more quiet."  He's been driving for hours and is more than happy to stay put. But I also know that he'd prefer a more secluded spot.
"Fine," he says. We put the kettle in it's place in the cupboard and the cups in the sink.  I feel a bit guilty asking, as he's so tired, but I can't wait till morning.

We drive down the Mall in silence, my stomach churning, I'm so emotional, I cannot speak, what am I expecting? As we get near Kavanagh Place, the houses become familiar. It's on the left just a little way down. There is a huge Dunnes Store on the corner now, a prominent feature that slightly  puts me off. But now I see the Guards Barracks. Ah here we are. I point left. We turn .

Signs everywhere tell us, "Residents Parking only" What happened to this quiet road a couple of  miles outside the town?  So many thoughts run through my mind. We pass Mrs Peter's house, a wealthy neighbour, good to nan, bringing her groceries and other essentials in difficult times. And there are the gates of Lyons' scrap yard. This family had twelve children and I spent many a summer in and out of their house. I had a crush on Conor, two years older than me. He taught me Irish rebel songs. I loved it, got quite keen on "the cause". He joined the IRA later.

We stop where Casey's used to be, beside nan's house. Although their signs are still up, and there is a tin lean to which they'd attached to nan's cottage, there is nothing else but an empty yard. I glimpse the house, now, is some one trying to do it up? It's hard to hold back the tears - yet why should I cry?

There's the window, on the left as I look up,  of the bedroom where I slept. When my mother and her six brothers and sister were children , this was their room, a double bed for the girls at one end and another for the boys at the other. Mum told me stories of her sisters wetting the bed and waking up in a pool of water. She sighted this as one of the reasons she fled home, never to return except to visit her mother.

On the right the two small windows of nan's bedroom. Here, when I was much younger, I would often sleep with her, unaware then of the impact that closeness would have on my life. Here, in the dark, I learned to pray, as nan would recite her rosary or other prayers. A whiff  of diesel will always brings me back there, back to the sound of Casey's lorries outside those windows.

Downstairs, on the left, the teeney sitting room, only enough space  here for a tv, a coffee table and two arm chairs. This, the best room, was rarely entered. On the right the window of my favourite ,  the kitchen. Here, kept warm and welcoming by the range, all generations, all classes of people would gather, tell stories, drink tea, eat Marie biscuits, the key always left in the door - an open invite. Above the farmhouse table, set into the wall space next to the window, a picture of the Sacred Heart.
Lots of images pile into my mind, as I stand and stare. My feet rooted to this spot where the mist of my ancestors dwells.  No one lives here now. A hole in the roof the size of a football goal has let the rain in for a good many months.

"Shall we take some pictures?" His words bring me suddenly back to the present.
"Yes, good idea," He's been patient, bless him.

"Let's go and find somewhere to park up," we are reluctant to stay in Kavanagh Place with the lines in the road and the signs , added to that the Guarda at the top of the road.

But after we drive around and around and don't find anywhere we come back,  and chancing our arm, spend the night next to Casey's yard with a good view of the cottage. It feels good to be here. Shame about the house, I suppose it will have to be pulled down.

Writers Hour quotes.

Words of Wisdom via Alastair Humphreys:

"It helps if you can separate what is urgent from what is important. Superficially the two words are similar. But extrapolate your life a few decades, and they lead to very different destinations. Urgent shouts more loudly than Important. But Important is, well, important.



On the first Tuesday of every month, my calendar pings a reminder at me. That’s standard, of course; my life is ruled by a crowded calendar (because I am the King of Busy). But this is one ping I always enjoy. Indeed, the busier I am, the more I appreciate the interruption. And that is because my calendar tells me to ‘Climb a Tree’. 

It reminds me to step away from the aimless conference calls and the interruptions and spend 20 minutes doing something which I will never regret. 

 It is a pleasant way to measure and notice the changing seasons…I hope that I never deem myself too busy with urgent tasks to do something as important as climbing a tree."

 –Alastair Humphreys, The Doorstep Mile: Live More Adventurously

Today's words of wisdom via David Bowie:

“I think it’s terrible when artists work to fulfil other people’s expectations…

If you feel safe in the area you’re working in you’re not working in the right area. Always go further into the water than you feel you’re capable of being in. Go a little out of your depth and when you don’t quite feel that your feet are touching the bottom you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.” –David Bowie

Today Neil Gaiman:

"I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.

Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You’re doing things you’ve never done before, and more importantly, you’re Doing Something.

So that’s my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody’s ever made before. Don’t freeze, don’t stop, don’t worry that it isn’t good enough, or it isn’t perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.

Whatever it is you’re scared of doing, Do it.

Make your mistakes, next year and forever."

Ryan Holiday

"You will come across obstacles in life - fair and unfair. And you will discover, time and time again, that what matters most is not what these obstacles are but how we see them, how we react to them, and whether we keep our composure. You will learn that this reaction determined how successful we will be in overcoming - or possibly thriving because of - them.

"

– Ryan Holiday, The Obstacle is the Way

Today's words of wisdom via friend of the Salon, agent Rachel Mann:

“Ultimately you write alone. And ultimately you and you alone can judge your work. The judgment that a work is complete—this is what I meant to do, and I stand by it—can come only from the writer, and it can be made rightly only by a writer who’s learned to read her own work. Group criticism is great training for self-criticism. But until quite recently no writer had that training, and yet they learned what they needed. They learned it by doing it.” 

― Ursula K. Le Guin, Steering the Craft: A Twenty-First-Century Guide to Sailing the Sea of Story

Some gentle words from the wise Mary Oliver:

My work is loving the world.

Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird —

equal seekers of sweetness.

Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.

Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?

Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me

keep my mind on what matters,

which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be

astonished.

The phoebe, the delphinium.

The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.

Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart

and these body-clothes,

a mouth with which to give shouts of joy

to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,

telling them all, over and over, how it is

that we live forever.

Today's words of wisdom via Ryan Holiday:

"People claim to want to do something that matters, yet they measure themselves against things that don't, and track their progress not in years but in microseconds. They want to make something timeless, but they focus instead on immediate payoffs and instant gratification.

Making a beloved classic that last for more than 100 years may seem like tall order. Fine, put that aside. What if we start by just trying to make something that lasts longer than average.

Let's start by internalizing the best practices of those who've achieved intermediate and lasting success so we can give ourselves the best chance of joining the lofty perch of those who have made something truly perennial and timeless. Let's be truly ambitious."   Perennial Seller

Or in Wendell Berry's words, we did "our real work":

“It may be that when we no longer know what to do,

we have come to our real work

and when we no longer know which way to go,

we have begun our real journey.

The mind that is not baffled is not employed.

The impeded stream is the one that sings.”

― Wendell Berry, Our Real Work

Today's words of wisdom from Rumi:

“I said: what about my eyes?


He said: Keep them on the road.



I said: What about my passion?


He said: Keep it burning.



I said: What about my heart?


He said: Tell me what you hold inside it?





I said: Pain and sorrow.


He said: Stay with it. The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”



― Rumi, Sufi Poet

Nice work today writers. We showed up and did our job.

Today's words of wisdom (thank you Graham for the curation and reading):

“To speak out about the world as it is, says James Baldwin, is the writer’s job.”


"Writers are extremely important people in a country, whether or not the country knows it. The multiple truths about a people are revealed by that people’s artists - that is what the artists are for...



It seems to me that the truth about us, as individual men and women, and as a nation, has been, and is being recorded, whether we wish to read it or not. Perhaps we cannot read it now, but the day is coming when we will have nothing else to read. 



We are the generation that must throw everything into the endeavor to remake America into what we say we want it to be. Without this endeavor, we will perish. However immoral or subversive this may sound to some, it is the writer who must always remember that morality. If it is to remain or become morality, it must be perpetually examined, cracked, changed, made new...
Not everything that is faced can be changed; but nothing can be changed until it is faced.”

–
James Baldwin

Via Anna, today's words of wisdom from Wendell Berry:

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

–Wendell Berry, The Peace of Wild Things

 

Today's words of wisdom via the one and only Maya Angelou:

“I’ve always had the feeling that life loves the liver of it. You must live and life will be good to you, 

give you experiences. They may not all be that pleasant, but nobody promised you a rose garden.

. But more than likely if you do dare, what you get are the marvelous returns. 
Courage is probably 

the most important of the virtues, because without courage you cannot practice any of the other

 virtues, you can’t say against a murderous society, I oppose your murdering. You got to have

 courage to do so. I seem to have known that a long time and found great joy in it.”


– Maya Angelou, 

Today's words of wisdom:

"Every single day, I get emails from aspiring writers asking my advice about how to become a writer, and here is the only advice I can give: Don’t make stuff because you want to make money — it will never make you enough money. And don’t make stuff because you want to get famous — because you will never feel famous enough. 



Make gifts for people — and work hard on making those gifts in the hope that those people will notice and like the gifts.

 Maybe they will notice how hard you worked, and maybe they won’t — and if they don’t notice, I know it’s frustrating. But, ultimately, that doesn’t change anything — because your responsibility is not to the people you’re making the gift for, but to the gift itself.
"

– John Green (author of the Fault in Our Stars)

Today's words of wisdom via lovely Mary Oliver:

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers

flow in the right direction, will the earth turn

as it was taught, and if not how shall

I correct it?

Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,

can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows

can do it and I am, well,

hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,

am I going to get rheumatism,

lockjaw, dementia?

Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.

And gave it up. And took my old body

and went out into the morning,

and sang.

– Mary Oliver,

Thanks for writing with us today. Today's words of wisdom from Mary Oliver:

“If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it.

 There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be.

 We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. 

Still life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back,

 that sometimes something happened better than all the riches or power in the world. 

It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins.

 Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. 

Joy is not made to be a crumb. 


– Mary Oliver, 

PS - Today's words of wisdom:

"We push and push - to get a raise, a new client, to prevent some exigency from happening.

 In fact, the best way to get what we want might be to reexamine the desires in the first place.

 Or it might be to sim for something else entirely and use the impediment as an opportunity to

 explore a new direction…

We wrongly assume that moving forward is the only way to progress, the only way we can win.

Sometimes, staying put, going sideways, or moving backward is actually the best way to eliminate

 what blocks or impedes your path. There is a certain humility required in the approach. It means 

accepting that the way you originally wanted to do things is not possible…We can use the things 

that block us to our advantage."

― Ryan Holiday, The Obstacle is the Way