Irish Circumlocation

Researchers at Ireland's renowned Trinity College have announced a new breakthrough in Micro Electronics and Nano Technology. They have successfully produced a material that is only an atom thick. As if we needed it, they tell us it could once again revolutionize our electronic lives. How do you know if you're holding something an atom thick? They're hinting Nobel Prize for this breakthrough.

I only bring this up because this is Sunday following a Friday National Election in Ireland? And they are still counting ballots. How? From the video I SAW? BY HAND! Now this is not a criticism. It is just a dilemma.

Let's take this a tire tread further. You have all these great scientific and engineering minds on campus, and yet?

When we flew into Shannon Ireland the end of January, the first leg of our ground trip was by bus. I was absolutely dizzy after going through 9 traffic circles less than a mile apart. Had I been driving?

I'd have ended up back at the airport calling a cab. In retrospect it must be why the Irish tend to be born and stay in the same county. Moving would require a very tight (keep those puns a'comin!) learning curve.



And then when we got to rural parts of Ireland? Most roads are just slightly wider than one lane.

Folks just politely wave to each other with the index finger as one driver races to pull over to the let the other driver by.

They are starting to build some comfortable major highways, but still work in those pesky traffic circles whenever they can.



This all brings to mind an eerie (once again pun intended) parallel in my life. Where do a whole bunch of Irish people live in the U.S.?

I lived just outside Boston for four months in the late 60's. You may or may not know that MIT, maybe the most respected engineering school on the face of the earth, sits on the west side of the Charles River. It looks east across the river at what was then the worst designed traffic scheme in the universe. First thing you hit crossing the river? A traffic circle around Boston Common. To be honest that is just a little pet peeve. Some people like them. But not moi!

Shortly after I'd settled into my apartment in Natick, I bought a car and drove into Downtown Boston. That is when I first saw something called a flashing green traffic light. I stopped only to have everyone honking at me. Someone later explained to me flashing green just meant "go for it."


But that was minor compared to what happened later in the day. On a short tour, the guide explained the unique street patterns in and around Boston. It turns out the engineers who designed the traffic flow in and around the city were COWS.

Boston Common, I was told, is where colonists kept the cattle. And so? Where the cows went? So went the roads. Well that just made me curious.

"I think I'll just take some of those cow paths back home to Natick."

You know how cow paths cross over each other? And when you cross over them, there are no road signs telling you which herd went where? Well those of you who know or live in Boston will enjoy this. I thought I was heading for Natick when I finally reached a sign that read Hyannis Port, 5 miles ahead. For those of you unfamiliar with Boston? Wrong direction, many, many, many miles apart. It was very, very late that evening before I settled into my apartment. "Charlie on the MTA" is fiction. This was real.


Oh, back to the election. For you students of Journalism this is a classic example of burying the lead.

As predicted, Enda Kenny of Fine Gael ( a kind of moderate Republican party) is the new prime minister. Not widely predicted, the Fine Gael party will be sharing power with the Labour party. Platform promises from both parties? Sound familiar? JOBs! I suggest engineering and highway construction jobs, tons of them.

Says Irish native, Phoebe the cat:

" Pssst! Hey, mister! The Irish can not be blamed for the road system in Boston. They weren't there yet"

" True, but I'm thinkin' they were mighty comfortable with it when they got there. Don't ya think?"

Irish Spirit

I was 19 years old when James Joyce's "Finnegan's Wake" was assigned reading. I have to confess it wasn't the only time I went to Cliff Notes. Joyce can be a tough read, but my recent trip has me thinking I should revisit it.

I did do a little homework and found a reputable newspaper report that says, "wakes have become very rare since the mid 70's." Hmmm?

I don't know whether that was just inaccurate, or we stumbled on to a trend reversal.

Sitting in our friend Cheri's family room every morning listening to the radio? All normal programming would come to a halt for "THE DEATH REPORT."




It consists of announcements of all the people who've died over the past 24 hours. There are brief obits, and then times and locations for wakes, services (almost always Catholic), and burials.

It turns out that while we were listening one morning Cheri discovered one of her neighbors had died. Her landlord had rushed to the man's home to help prepare the traditional steps in a proper wake. (I won't get into them here, but if you have an interest, surfing the net could bring you up to speed. And it is fascinating.)

One ritual to be particularly aware of? "Never speak ill of the dead" at a wake.

It is perfectly clear the Irish take the key rights of passage very seriously, particularly in rural areas. It actually first came to my attention when I was in college. Someone in my family passed on a report from my Irish grandmother that my Dad had been born under the 'Caul'. The Caul is the amniotic birth sac. It happens only once in every 85 thousand births.

From the middle ages comes the belief those born under the Caul will be 'special'.

Depending on what part of Europe you were in, 'special' could be GOOD or BAD. Lucky for me in Ireland it is a good thing. Under the Caul Irish babies are supposed to be full of ESP. No snap judgement here, but my Dad ALWAYS knew what I was up to. It was EERIE, another pun intended.

We quite often talk about those naughty little Fairies called Leprechauns? But in rural Ireland talk is just of Fairies. Irish folklore says an ancient race of angels came down to earth, some of them living just below Ringforts, or Raths you'll see all over Ireland.

Now this is word of mouth, as is much of what you'll learn in Ireland, but I'm told today almost no farmer will tear down or farm the land beneath a rath. It would be very bad luck to invoke the ire of the fairies.

Sometimes found near a sacred fairy fort, you'll find a 'Prayer Well' where both pagan and Christians worshiped. They are not typically found on tourist maps because they tend to be on private farm land, preserved and undisturbed. But you'll quite often find brand new prayer beads and crosses lying near the well.

Also out on some of these wide expanses you'll find small cemeteries with most of the headstone messages carved in Irish. So if you visit one, bring your translator with you.

There seems to be an indestructible respect for Irish ancestry. That's why you'll find these stone castles still erect. And they are one of the best ways to trace your roots. Most Irish names are connected back to these castles.

The castle below, Ross Castle, was once owned and ruled by the O'Donahues. That was my grandmother's maiden name. While the O'Donahues were eventually booted out, descendants of the O'Donahues still hang out here in County Kerry.

So if you're a Kelley, a Gleason, a Murphy, an O'shea, a Boyles, or a Dwyer you can most likely connect yourself to a castle or a county.

(For instance my old buddy Dan Dwyer might look for his roots in the parish of Makarky, in the County of Tipperary.)

My observation is that Irish people, outside of Dublin, still tend to spend their lifespans right where their great, great,great, great grandparents hung out. Not necessarily a fact, just an observation.

No doubt you've heard Catholics rule the Republic of Ireland. And you sure get that impression when in every town and city the tallest structure in town is a Catholic Cathedral. The one below is St. Mary's Cathedral in Killarney. And you might be tempted to think all this sense of spirit and tradition comes from Catholic doctrine. But that is not my impression.

It has certainly had it's influence. For instance it is only just recently that divorce was legalized in Ireland. But from what I've seen, heard and read the church has very little impact on the governance of Ireland these days. And while a typical conversation ends with "God's speed?" I think it also true that very few of the lively attachment's to spirits and tradition can be traced to the church.

What I see is a truly spiritual respect for ancestry and lore that predates Christianity and many other religions. When you are there on a typical February day, visibility dimmed by clouds and mist, you just SEE THINGS that may or may not really be there.

But then why take a chance? Eh?

BREAKING NEWS:
Major Crime comitted in Ireland today. Someone made off with 270 thousand euros (about 300 thousand dollars) worth of Finnegan's Irish Whiskey from its distillery. Party for the winners of tommorrow's election, maybe?

Irish Democracy

That's Lady Justice up their with her famous scales. She is standing over the courtyard of Dublin Castle. She was put up there by the English when they ruled Ireland. Some funny things have happened to this symbol of justice.

When Ireland became a republic 90 years ago, it wasn't long before it was noticed she was actually standing with her back to the city of Dublin and it's parliament. It seems the Irish leave many things in place to both make a point, and have a good laugh.

That good laugh turned into a guffaw some years ago. As the 'Just Lady' aged in the damp Irish atmosphere, one of the scales (I think it was the one on the left) began to rust. In time the center of that scale rusted away. And then along came this significant rain? What happened? One scale was inundated with the weight of rain. The other just watched that rain pour through its center. The result was the scales were SIGNIFICANTLY tipped to the right. But then again it could have been to the left.

Either way I'm probably not the only one sad they got up there and fixed it.

They're fixing something else in Ireland right now that isn't getting much attention. I'm bemused that most people in this country have no idea the Irish Government collapsed two days before the protest began in Egypt. Of course it is easy to be bemused since I was there and I'm guessing a large percentage of you were not.

I hope some hard working jounalist thinks to do a comparison piece on how democracies and autocracies deal with the same issues. And don't think it is an easy proposition in Ireland.

The economy, having to borrow money from Britain to stay solvent, not enough jobs for the young people. Sound familiar? The debate starts over whose is to blame.

Since Brian Cowen is the Prime Minister,** and he's lost confidence? He dissolves the parliament and calls for new elections in two months time. That election will take place this coming Friday. Brian Cowen is a member of the Fianna Fail party. Michael Martin ends up taking over leadership of his party, and is fighting with the top candidate with the Fianna Gael party. So that's it then?

No, it isn't. In Ireland right now there are a total of five organized parties. The others are the Labour Party, The Green Party, and Shen Fein. AND Ireland, like the U.S., has plenty of independant political movements as well. Now TRY THIS in any other country. They started out with over 500 candidates for that prime minister job.

And that is just where the complexity gets going. They vote for their congressmen, aka tds, like we do. Their Senate, aka Senead? Members are pretty much appointed. A total of approximately 1,000 special voters determine its makeup.

The President? She is elected for 7 year terms by the general population. She can serve two terms in a row, and this one is the middle of her second term. And I use the pronoun 'she' because the President before her was a woman as well. But you might as well call a President a King or Queen. The role is essentially ceremonial. As I understand it, she or he doesn't get to propose or veto much of anything. It sure would look good on a resume, though.

I got a 'B" in parliamentary procedure in high school. I taught a course in it when teaching high school. It was nothing like this. I'm exhausted just trying to share it with you. I hope you're still awake.

But can you imagine the debate? And they only get two months to get in each other's faces? Oh, and they can only keep their political signs up for a month and a half of that time.

I was on a college debate team. We dreaded the days when Irish teams would travel to the U.S. and challenge us to demonstration battles. Now I know why they always beat the &*^%$ out of us.

I just hope the word gets out that if you JUST keep talking, if you use your wits, these things can always be worked out PEACEFULLY.

Let me leave you with one other light Irish note exposing what appears to an Irish way of looking at things.

One of the biggest political issues in the current debate is the joblessness. It is forcing young people to immigrate to other countries to find work.

An enterprising local TV reporter followed a few of the immigrants who'd found jobs in Australia. It was clear the reporter's expectation was he'd find miserable, homesick expatriates stuck in meaningliness, humiliating jobs.

He sought out a Trinity College graduate who was working with a road crew. She was holding up a traffic sign all day long in the heat. She was asked how she felt working this menial job. Here was her soundbite:

"ARE YOU KIDDING? I GET PAID 23 DOLLARS AN HOUR AND I GET TO WATCH MEN WORK."

Of course, she said that with a twinkle in her eye.

** If you want to appear savy, the prime minister's actual title is 'Taoiseach' pronounced TEE'shuck. In Irish it means Chieftain.

Irish Pride

When you travel somewhere you typically prepare yourself to see places of particular renown. But there are always surprises, aren't there? Our host Cheri had never gotten around to visiting the town of Cobh (pronounced Cove) in County Cork. So on this trip we all got to say 'Gee Whizz' together. See that decaying pier down there? Look familiar at all?


Well it turns out that is where the final passengers hopped on transport boats to board the ill fated Titanic. I'm trying to picture unsinkable Molly Brown standing there. This is also the last port of the Lusitania, the Canard Lines Passenger ship sunk by a World War One German U-boat. Most of the passengers on board were Americans. There was only one survivor out of nearly a thousand passengers and crew. Many believe it was the last straw that drew the U.S. into the war.

The 1800s were not kind to Ireland. There was economic strife, the Potato Famine, and political unrest. As a result a huge number of Irish immigrated to the United States. People tracing their roots often argue over who was first or second. But there is one immigrant who defies discussion. She is 14 year old Annie Moore who left Cobh on a passenger ship in 1892 becoming the first Immigrant processed through the Ellis Island facility in New York. Those are her two younger brothers with her in the sculpture. We can only guess they were immigrants number two and three.

There is also a sculpture of Annie by herself at Ellis Island.

Some other unexpected notes about the town of Cobh. Prepare to experience the complete color spectrum as you walk along the streets and avenues. You would have to be color blind to not find your way home.

And one other thing. Be in SHAPE. While not in number, but in hiking grade? The hills in Coph put San Francisco to shame.

Back in County Kerry, yet another surprise. Here on Valentia Island in the Ring of Kerry, looking West, the Atlantic Ocean just overwhelms your vision. I can't imagine the Vikings thinking this would be a fun trip. I relate it to the experience of pioneers reaching the Rockies here in Colorado. There are no roads, there are no planes, no trains, no hiking or biking trails, no skiing warming huts. "What was I thinking? Put me on the first stagecoach back to Missouri."

But there is something even more imposing that boggles the imagination here. To speed up communication between the U.S. and Europe, some crazy visionaries said why don't we just lay a cable across the Atlantic so we can send each other telegraph messages? (Some of you will have to ask a great grandparent to explain TELEGRAPH.) The first attempt in 1857 didn't work. But somebody was determined. Four more shots at it and in 1873, the deed was done. And then in 1881 President Buchanan and Queen Victoria had themselves a little "Dit Dah" chat. And we thought texting was a brand new idea, didn't we? Do you suppose that is why we have so many Victorian facades on homes in our older neighborhoods?

As you look at all the surprise links we share, this Big Old World just keeps getting smaller and smaller, doesn't it.

Note: Ireland has 5, count them, organized political parties. What fun, huh?

Eerie Erin

When you're in Ireland, standing in the mist, looking at castles, you can feel the ancient history. The struggles to survive were immense. Despite all the suffering the spirit of intellectual, literary and artistic annals surround you. So does the finely developed wit.

Despite invasion after invasion, the unique character of this tiny Island republic haunts you. The native Irish, the Gaels, Celts, Vikings, Normans, English, Scotch have all jumped into the Irish recipe.

When the middle ages tore apart the cultures of Europe, it was Ireland that became the depository of the records of our early development. And it was Ireland that spawned James Joyce, Jonathon Swift, Oscar Wilde.

The citizens of Ireland go out of their way in this Irish soup to keep all of their history alive. The GHOSTS ARE EVERYWHERE.

How, after only a two week stay, would I know that?

Well that's Ross Castle up there, and that's Peggy and our host and beloved good friend Cheri trying to keep warm in the rain.

It was a busy day visiting the castle and other cultural delights in Killarney National Park. So we arrived in the evening at Cheri's cottage on a farm in County Kerry EXHAUSTED.

Peggy and I just flat out crashed. It is important for me to tell you we'd already been staying with Cheri for about a week. We pretty much knew the layout of our headquarters. So should nature call in the middle of the night? We knew the terrain well enough to get from point A to point B.

Well, on this night I'm in deep reverie walking around Ross Castle when nature gives me a shout. So as I step out of bed I'm not sure which way to go. At that very moment Peggy stirs to ask me where I'm headed (pun intended). "To the toilet," I reply. Did you see one when we came in?" "No," she mumbles. "But Cheri went that way, to your right."

SO? I grab a door handle, pull on it, and head in the direction suggested. It was odd, though. No longer than I got into the next room than I'm attacked on all sides by what I presume is an invading army of Swift's Lilliputians. They are noisily trying to get something tied around my head. My now desperate attempts to get to the toilet are met with a collision with a solid wall.

"Paul, are you okay?"

" I don't know. Where am I?"

Turns out we were both in the same "castle dream," a first after 20 years of bliss. Fortunately Peggy had the where withal in her dreamy state to turn on the light next to the bed. She shook her head to wake herself up, and began laughing at my expense.

Had we been at Cheri's Cottage, and not Ross Castle? The way to the toilet would have to the left, not the right. The turn to the right took me inside the closet, where I was being attacked by a rack of empty hangars.

Leprechauns, do you think? A practical joke from the ghost of Oscar Wilde, I'm thinkin'. It certainly smacks of the subtle Irish humor that says, in essence, "if we can't laugh at ourselves we'd have to cry."

Peggy is still laughing. I may have to get her some help.

Ireland is Kinda Pretty

I'll just step aside without comment

Coastal surf off Valentia Island in The Ring of Kerry.

Muckross House in Killarney National Park.

Atlantic coast in South West Ireland.

Parliament building in Dublin.

Rock wall and farmer's rock shed in Beaufort in County Kerry.

Farmer's sheep grazing field with Ireland's highest mountains peeking through the fog.

Irish dancing and the archaic Irish language are both required courses in elementary schools.

How Sweet Is She?

"Things are not always what they seem."

In Ireland I've discovered that common bit of wisdom needs to be expanded to read, "In Ireland things are almost ALWAYS NOT WHAT THEY SEEM." Case in point? Above you see a sculpture representing Miss Molly Malone. It sits right across the street from the revered Trinity College in Dublin. On June 13th of this and every year forward, Ireland will celebrate Molly Malone day. And who is Molly Malone? Not an easy question to answer I've learned.

A few years out of college I lived in the small Southern California beach town of Seal Beach. There I would quite often join with adult life long friends Duane and Nancy Laursen. We would sit around the Piano harmonizing. We had some favorite melodies that brought out the best in all of us. One of them was SWEET MOLLY MALONE.

As the lyrics explain, Molly was a gorgeous young fishmonger ( she sold seafood from a fish cart on the streets of Dublin in the late 1600's).

She'd make her way through the streets, broad and narrow, shouting " cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh."

The tone of the song written in the 1800's is full of uplifting praise in the first verse, and unbearable sadness in the second verse.

"She died of a fever, and no one could save her."

But, aye, here's the rub.

There has been a ton of scholarly work trying to pin down whether or not there ever really was a Molly Malone. Turns out there was a ton of them, and a good number of them were selling fish in Dublin. (Molly, it turns out was a common nickname in 1600's Dublin. )

But for some reason many of those scholars honed in on a particular Molly Malone who met her demise in June of 1699. What they discovered in their scholastic endeavors is FISH MONGERING was simply Molly's day job.

The lyrics say she "died of a fever." Not totally accurate they tell us. In fact they tell us that had Penicillin been around, Molly may still be with us today. To keep this a family show I'll let you fill in the blanks. (If they ask you what "STD" stands for, just say it is short for STANDARD.)

You may have heard the Irish are pretty handy at turning a phrase. To illustrate that collective talent, let me share with you some of new nicknames Sweet Molly goes by these days. And, I'm sorry, there is no way I can sugar coat them.

Molly Malone, AKA:

"The Dish with a Fish."

"The Trollop with a Scallop."

Those Dubliners sure like to have fun with we Yankees. When asking the whereabouts of Molly's likeness, we must have been sent in 7 different direction in search of her. I'm thinking we put in at least an extra mile of walking looking for "Sweet Molly Malone." It was two students on the Trinity campus that set us straight.

"You mean 'The Flirt with a Skirt?' She's right over there."

That night we heard Irish Balladeer Tom O'Connor introduce his next song honoring "THE TART WITH A CART."

And they'll all sing of her many talents throughout the land on June 13th.

St. Patrick? During a tour of Dublin Castle I asked the tour guide, "is it true there were snakes in Ireland before St. Patrick came around."

"Well maybe some LITTLE ones," she replied.