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.

Ahoy

"Anybody seen Paul or Peggy lately?"

"YOU LOOKIN' FOR ME?"

"It's green, green they say, on the far side of the hill."

"Yuh must have kissed the Blarney Stone."

"Go on with ya now. May the Cat eat you, and the devil eat the

cat."

"There was an old man named Paul,

whose lass Peggy was at the mall....

So, blah, blah, blah blah,

and blah, blah, blah, blah,

and blah before a great fall."

"In Dublin's fair city, where girls are so pretty, I first laid my

eyes on sweet Molly Malone...at

which point sweet Peggy my own, hit me with her phone. And

now I feel so all alone."

"So, off to the pub, with ya bub."

"Tura Lura, Lura, Tura, Lura, Lie....."

"Another pint I'll be havin' Mr. Otoole."

"Cockels and Mussles, Alive, alive, OH!"

"Sure and it all sounds a little fishy to me."

And all the while you were thinkin' we were Norwegian!

"Ain't she sweet...."

"See her walking down the street."

I don't know you, but my most profound and helpful musing comes while I'm taking a shower. Take this morning for instance. I always get up before Peggy to make sure I know there will be enough hot water to shower in. That, to be clear, has very little to do with the story I'm about to tell. It is just to let you know, let's put in the present tense, I'm in the shower.

Well I've just about used up all the hot water. Peggy saunters into the bathroom and begins grooming her hair. I sense her presence, and just autonomically whistle! And as sometimes happens, when she is in the right mood, she whistles back. What's wrong with this scenario.

Well the fog shrouded shower makes it entirely impossible for either of us to get a glimpse of the other. So what revelation arrives in my cortex?

It must be why God diminishes our vision as we age. It is because, to butcher some Robert Burns verse, it is to keep us from "seeing ourselves as others see us."

Don't you think?

"Little Things Mean a Lot"

Someone once told us, "don't sweat the little things." But I'm sorry, on this matter I reserve my inalienable right to sweat.

You know the little TWISTY they put on the end of a loaf of bread? You know the thin wire
covered with thin plastic they tell us "seals in freshness?"

I just don't like them, and I'll bet there are some of you out there who agree.


As you know, to get to the bread when you get home, you twist the twisty until it is fully untied so you can get to the loaf. Hopefully I'm not alone in this observation. Have you noticed that the twisty is twisted an undetermined amount of times? It may be twisted three times, and it may be twisted ten times.

But it is really not that issue that bothers me most. Have you ever noticed that sometimes a twisty is twisted to the left? And sometimes it is twisted to the right? So think about it. If the last one you untwisted had been twisted to the right? And the new one you untwist has been twisted to the left? What happens? You are TWISTING the wrong way. So those ten twists to the right, now become 20 twists to the left, and that is only if you stopped at 10.

I think it is only a matter of time before some bread maker is sued for contributing to someones Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.

But there are larger concerns about this seemingly little matter. Who is it that is twisting these twistys at the bakery?

Clearly it is a task that could be assigned a pack of Capuchin Monkeys. But with monkeys you have to house and feed them and put up with their " I don't feel like doing it now" attitude. And I'm pretty sure the SPCA and PETA would be all over the bakers.

Cheap labor in China do you think? No, these bakers are not going to ship their product to Beijing just to get some twistys twisted.

No, I'm thinking it has to be some put upon labor pool here in this country. I'm not going to guess whether they are getting paid fairly for this menial task. But I do know a few things about reading? Huh?

Well, you see, I'm suspecting that a typical twister after a hundred or so twists, is going to want to change his or her motion. So while he or she had been twisting to the left for the first hundred twists, that twister will feel an absolute need to switch and twist to the right for the next one hundred. Problem?

Well you've heard of switch hitters in Baseball, Volleyball, and once in a while Tennis? They become phenomenal athletes because they can come at you from two directions. But read the literature or bios on these athletes. What is a common denominator? They can't read. That's because they've ignored and confused the brain waves telling them to make a choice, are you a lefty or a righty. They need to decide so they can read right to left and bottom up. NO, no, that's not what I meant. It's left to right and top down. Is that right?

So just think about what we are doing to these twister folks. When they retire they will have to go to live in the "Old Folks Twister Home." There won't be any books there. They won't be able to read them. I'm thinking knitting will be big. They'll knit comic sweaters with both arms on the same side.

Now there is just one other scenario that just popped into my brain. What if ROBOTS are doing all this twisting. But you know that doesn't make me comfortable either.

If Robots aren't sure which way they are twisting, we are in big trouble folks. A Cyborg that can't read, and doesn't know its right arm from its left arm? That is just out and out scary my friends.

So, you see what I mean? Little things do mean a lot.

Let's Wrap It Up!

This has been a particularly busy holiday period for us. There was travel, visiting, special events, Christmas tree decorating, birthday celebrations, special local trips. We went through the lighting display at the Wildlife Museum.

But the highlight might have been our short trip to Fondis for the big parade. We took the Millers with us. They'd heard a lot about the parade and Diamond Jim's Steak House at the casino. For the most part every thing lived up to its publicity, but we'll have to wait for the highly publicized and rated Diamond Jim's gustatory experience The line to get in was a least 8 blocks long. I kid you not.

It was really was fun to see the mayor up there on the float tossing out ten dollar gold pieces. Peggy and Carol both caught one each. Of course, it wouldn't even cover the tip at Diamond Jim's.

So anyway, here Peggy and I are both exhausted, and spending the day in our PJ's. She crocheting, and I'm sitting back reading my copy of the monthly newspaper, "The High Plains Rider."

I see a short blurb mentioning all the goings on in Fondis which inspires me to share a little bit of that experience with you.

But you know, as busy as we've been, and seemingly in need of rest, I'm getting a little antsy.

So I bundle up ( it's dark, and well below freezing outside) and take off on a power walk. Just as I leave the porch, two women, in their early 40's I'm guessing, were on their power walk in the same direction I want to go? Should I? Some creepy old man appearing behind them out of nowhere. But it was the route I'd planned and they would just have to accept me.

Turns out they don't even acknowledge my existence. And I think I know why. They stop in front of what must have been one of their homes. They are giggling, and I hear one of them say, "I think we need to celebrate."

Keep in mind we are well past New Years. Her power walking mate says with what appears to be a huge grin, " do we have to celebrate every time you blow your nose."

Well, I find it amusing, but they top me on this one. Even though they are standing firmly on a bed of ice, the laughter that follows "nose" results in both women losing their footing, no doubt forming large bruises on parts of their anatomy few eyes will see.

I don't think its THAT funny. They are laughing so hard I see no need to offer any assistance. I'm no Power Walk Law scholar, but my best guess in retrospect? These two are clearly in violation of the third class misdemeanor, "Drinking While Walking on Ice." And I'm sure they must have violated some HOA edict.

So why am I sharing all this? Well long, long ago I was reading the High Plains Rider and noticed a comment from the managing editor. He had challenged his readers to figure out which half of his newspaper was true, and which half was not. Picture a newspaper half The Onion and Half the New York Times. Anyway I toss that same true or false challenge out to you regarding this posting.

Oh, and next year Peggy and I have decided we're going to invite Jim and Mary Weis and Jeff and Janey Stroh to go to Fondis with us. Hope your 2011 will be as exciting as our 2010.