Rereading my last entry on February 2nd, I feel "right, you've gone through another week of this and now try to sound as upbeat." Well, as I sit here in the lounge/living room with a sweater and wooly scarf, my feet in warm socks crammed into slippers and still cold, I have to admit, Ireland in February is tough for even the most optimistic former Arizonan.
There is no insulation in the cottage and the radiators throw out only the barest of warmth. The "solid fuel stove" doesn't "warm the whole house" as our letting agent had said. And as I scurry out with my coal scuttle to the bin in the back (the stove eats coal like some Lord of the Rings type monster) I think of Daisy the maid in Downton Abbey. We visited some friends in Tramore the other night and their fireplace sent out lovely streams of warmth right across the room. Ours doesn't but then ours is a glass-enclosed stove and theirs is a fireplace. And they may have some insulation; several homes do have it, we just happen to be staying in what is called a "holiday home" built for summer residents. I wouldn't be struggling as much, though, if Richard weren't muttering in his corner. I admit he has a point. Ireland is tough right now, especially as I see photos of glorious Arizona sunshine posted by the family back there (I try not to say "home".)
Still, there have been several uplifting events in the past week and a half. Two Saturdays ago we drove to Carlow for a party for a departing missionary. A lovely young lady whose parents are Italian, Lea is going to St. George Utah for her 18-month mission. Her parents threw a wonderful party for her with fantastic food and cake (oh those Italian cakes!) and there were loads of people from our church branch.
We had some difficulty finding the house, which is out in the country near Carlow. Instead of following Mary Ryan's directions I had followed Lucia's, forgetting that it is always best to follow the person who DOESN'T live there and who knows the pitfalls. Richard was getting thoroughly fed up with my navigating and as we had two new missionaries in the car, one just arrived from Minnesota, it was quite awkward. Still, one of them was very enterprising and called Leo, Lea's dad, on the cellphone and, on speaker, had him direct us foot by foot in his excitable Italian. Funny looking back on it.
Later that evening Richard dropped me off at Woodlands Hotel and I took a taxi to Christ Church Cathedral for a performance by Madrigallery, a fantastic chamber choir. The Cathedral is gorgeous and the acoustics brilliant. I so enjoyed the concert, so glad to be there that night. Earlier in the week I had posted on the Dunmore East FB page whether anyone was going and could I get a ride back? I was so happy when Eithne O'Toole replied that I could indeed ride back with her. Eithne is a music lover, belongs to both the regular (COI) Christ Church Cathedral choir and the choir in the (RC) Cathedral of the Holy Trinity. Her Sundays are busy!
This past week has gone by with its usual schedule. Quiet Monday with the high point walking the dog. Tuesday into Waterford to visit some people in our branch with Mary Ryan and then English conversation for an hour with the ESL group. Wednesday have breakfast and then shop at Tesco. It was a sunny day so I asked Richard if he would drive me up to the Killea Churchyard so I could photograph some headstones. This is my big genealogy project this year--get to as many churchyards as I can and photograph and catalogue as many headstones as I can. I hope that when Christina posts them on igp-web, someone who has been searching for Irish relatives will be excited to "find" them on our website. The weather is making it difficult for me right now. My fingers in my fingerless gloves were like pink sausages after twenty minutes in the wind yesterday. And I hate dragging Richard out to drive me to churchyards, although the poem he wrote (see below) is terrific.
We are supposed to pick up a Fiat 500 in Carlow this Tuesday. Dave-the-garage-guy found it for us. I will then start driving, with some coaching from Mary Ryan (I always have to add the last name because I have met so many Marys.) I do need to make a sign for the back window that says "Patience please, Canadian driving."
As I mentioned above when I was at Holy Cross on Thursday Richard sketched while I photographed and, this morning, has written a poem about The Killea Churchyard:
The old church crowned its grey knoll
Its vestments simple in its confinement
Its cross dark against a heavy sky.
But solid it stood against the howling wind
That battered its door and drove against its sides.
Up from the ground a wisp of a whisper moaned
Muffled only by wind seeping between the stones.
Cold stone, and cold ground, forgotten and lost.
Still now were the voices once heard to say
So listened to with intent
Crying for release
From the depths of their imprisonment.
Why a mortal life?
Why each rising of the sun
And moon that o'er the land and sea
Would rise each day
Above my soul.
Each breath, imminent, but also free.
But now my voice with others pleads
Restless from the grave
To save us from the hardened Earth
Where our bones now lay.
I, alive and well, stood upon such hallowed ground
Hearing the whispered prayers by so many
Crying for a comfort not yet found.
But somewhere in the infinity of Space
Lives one who could offer such grace.
Offering rest to the soul.
Who through His own sacrifice
Can reunite the spirits which in agony wander
This field laden with endless bones.
If nothing else by the end of this year we will have a fantastic collection of photographs, poems and memories.
There is no insulation in the cottage and the radiators throw out only the barest of warmth. The "solid fuel stove" doesn't "warm the whole house" as our letting agent had said. And as I scurry out with my coal scuttle to the bin in the back (the stove eats coal like some Lord of the Rings type monster) I think of Daisy the maid in Downton Abbey. We visited some friends in Tramore the other night and their fireplace sent out lovely streams of warmth right across the room. Ours doesn't but then ours is a glass-enclosed stove and theirs is a fireplace. And they may have some insulation; several homes do have it, we just happen to be staying in what is called a "holiday home" built for summer residents. I wouldn't be struggling as much, though, if Richard weren't muttering in his corner. I admit he has a point. Ireland is tough right now, especially as I see photos of glorious Arizona sunshine posted by the family back there (I try not to say "home".)
Still, there have been several uplifting events in the past week and a half. Two Saturdays ago we drove to Carlow for a party for a departing missionary. A lovely young lady whose parents are Italian, Lea is going to St. George Utah for her 18-month mission. Her parents threw a wonderful party for her with fantastic food and cake (oh those Italian cakes!) and there were loads of people from our church branch.
 |
| Lea's mom Lucia made the cake with all the fondant icing. VERY rich! |
 |
| Me with Mary Ryan |
 |
| Lea is the lovely young lady in the middle. |
Later that evening Richard dropped me off at Woodlands Hotel and I took a taxi to Christ Church Cathedral for a performance by Madrigallery, a fantastic chamber choir. The Cathedral is gorgeous and the acoustics brilliant. I so enjoyed the concert, so glad to be there that night. Earlier in the week I had posted on the Dunmore East FB page whether anyone was going and could I get a ride back? I was so happy when Eithne O'Toole replied that I could indeed ride back with her. Eithne is a music lover, belongs to both the regular (COI) Christ Church Cathedral choir and the choir in the (RC) Cathedral of the Holy Trinity. Her Sundays are busy!
This past week has gone by with its usual schedule. Quiet Monday with the high point walking the dog. Tuesday into Waterford to visit some people in our branch with Mary Ryan and then English conversation for an hour with the ESL group. Wednesday have breakfast and then shop at Tesco. It was a sunny day so I asked Richard if he would drive me up to the Killea Churchyard so I could photograph some headstones. This is my big genealogy project this year--get to as many churchyards as I can and photograph and catalogue as many headstones as I can. I hope that when Christina posts them on igp-web, someone who has been searching for Irish relatives will be excited to "find" them on our website. The weather is making it difficult for me right now. My fingers in my fingerless gloves were like pink sausages after twenty minutes in the wind yesterday. And I hate dragging Richard out to drive me to churchyards, although the poem he wrote (see below) is terrific.
We are supposed to pick up a Fiat 500 in Carlow this Tuesday. Dave-the-garage-guy found it for us. I will then start driving, with some coaching from Mary Ryan (I always have to add the last name because I have met so many Marys.) I do need to make a sign for the back window that says "Patience please, Canadian driving."
As I mentioned above when I was at Holy Cross on Thursday Richard sketched while I photographed and, this morning, has written a poem about The Killea Churchyard:
The old church crowned its grey knoll
Its vestments simple in its confinement
Its cross dark against a heavy sky.
But solid it stood against the howling wind
That battered its door and drove against its sides.
Up from the ground a wisp of a whisper moaned
Muffled only by wind seeping between the stones.
Cold stone, and cold ground, forgotten and lost.
Still now were the voices once heard to say
So listened to with intent
Crying for release
From the depths of their imprisonment.
Why a mortal life?
Why each rising of the sun
And moon that o'er the land and sea
Would rise each day
Above my soul.
Each breath, imminent, but also free.
But now my voice with others pleads
Restless from the grave
To save us from the hardened Earth
Where our bones now lay.
I, alive and well, stood upon such hallowed ground
Hearing the whispered prayers by so many
Crying for a comfort not yet found.
But somewhere in the infinity of Space
Lives one who could offer such grace.
Offering rest to the soul.
Who through His own sacrifice
Can reunite the spirits which in agony wander
This field laden with endless bones.
If nothing else by the end of this year we will have a fantastic collection of photographs, poems and memories.
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