(Quick – someone guess which book that “last line” is from!!)
I been away a long time, indeed. I am still away. Too many stories to tell. I am CLOGGED with stories. It is inSANE how many stories I have. (Carrie, that one was for you.)
I have finally met Carrie (of Broom of Anger fame) … and her husband and scrumptiously cute little girl. They were all generous enough to put us up in Belfast. I still haven’t quite processed all of it … but I first must say: thank you thank you to Carrie et al for your generosity, your kindness, your awesome sight-seeing skills, your tremendous Bloody Marys (which, obviously, I had heard much about), and for – in general – having us into your home. It meant a great deal.
I’ll write a bit more about all of that when I have time. We went to Bobby Sands’ grave. In the Milltown Cemetery, a place I feel like I know, a place I have heard so much about it, seen pictures of … it’s a place that lives in my imagination, my psyche … and I finally got to go. It’s something else, I’ll tell you.
Carrie’s daughter, in her adorable little fleece kitten hat, and her fleece mittens, chattered up a storm as we walked up and down the aisle of hunger-strikers’ graves … her wee laugh chiming into the air. One of the famous Bobby Sands quotes is (and forgive me if I get it a bit wrong): “Our revenge will be the laughter of our children.” Carrie mentioned to her husband and to us later (and it was quite a moving moment) that the laughter of the wee girl in the cemetery was Sands’ dream come true. His revenge. A small girl, in a fleece hat, standing by his grave, laughing. A happy girl.
Oh, and obviously – anyone who follows Irish politics will know that a hell of a lot is going on up in Belfast right now … everyone waiting for a deal. We went to Sinn Fein headquarters, just to take a look, and there was a BBC truck parked outside, just waiting. Hanging around waiting for a decision. Our taxi driver pointed out Gerry Adams’ car. “That’s his car – he must be in there right now.” Haven’t heard anything yet … I think a decision is still pending … but it’s very much on everyone’s minds here.
Not to mention the chaos in the Ukraine right now. That news is on everyone’s lips as well.
More to tell, obviously. Just wanted to get a quick note out there.
It’s a grey and chilly morning in Dublin … it’s my birthday … I’ve got a hot cup of coffee beside me. Last night I got together with a guy I met in Glendalough and we were out until all hours of the night, talking and drinking and laughing and making out in a hilarious night club with an amazing light show, pounding music which has rendered me half-deaf, and NO ONE dancing. It was a multi-million-pound light show for …. nobody. We had a blast.
The street I’m living on at the moment is lined with gorgeous old Georgian-type houses and black wrought-iron gates, very much The Dead kind of atmosphere, if you get my drift. I love it.
I hope everyone in the States had a very happy Thanksgiving. What has been very sweet, and very nice, is the amount of people here who have wished Allison and I a happy Thanksgiving. The second they hear our accents, they know we are from America, and they say, “Oh, and a very happy Thanksgiving to you …” Why that touches me so much I can’t really say, but it does.
At midnight last night, when it became my birthday, I was in a wacko nightclub, sipping whiskey, with my temporary boyfriend, in Ranelagh. It couldn’t have been a better birthday, really. In an unfamiliar setting, but … feeling quite at home. Happy. That’s the word for how I felt. Takes me a while to identify it.
And we walked back to my The Dead look-alike street, and the moon was so full, so white, so over-blown, that it took my breath away.
Happy Birthday, Red. Sounds like you’re having a ball….
I laughed at this line: “Happy. That’s the word for how I felt. Takes me a while to identify it.” Great stuff.
I’m kind of slow. I sit there, ablaze with joy, thinking: “What the hell is THIS sensation?”
Oh yeah. Happy. That’s it.
Sounds like you’ve had a wonderful time. And you’re right about the speculation here.. too much specualtion and not enough news in my opinion.. so it goes.
Oh.. and Mr Kesey’s responsible for the last line. Cuckoo, cuckoo. :)
and, of course, a very very Happy Birthday!
peteb:
Cuckoo, indeed. Next time I come up that way, you and I must meet … just not enough time this trip! A lot of speculation, certainly – that’s really all I can hear on the radio at the moment. It’s like those legal talking heads standing outside the Scott Peterson trial here in the States – when they were waiting for the verdict to come in, the talking heads outdid themselves in idiotic speculation.
“Well, it could go either way … it could be guilty or not guilty … If the jury decides that the circumstantial evidence brings up enough of a reasonable doubt, then obviously …”
Yadda yadda yadda, no shit Sherlock.
Next time you’re in the neighbourhood, Sheila..
What gets me most about the current yadda-yadda isn’t so much the speculation – it’s the secrecy about the proposals being ‘negotiated’. Proposals of which we get to see only specifically selected sentences.. sentences that are ‘leaked’ to do one thing and one thing only, and that’s to generate a sense of frustration with one or other of the two parties concerned.
Wow, a pub in Ranelagh. Which one? I remember the days I used to cycle me bike, pissed as a fart through the village! I envy you being there. I’ll be home in March I think… can’t wait. Happy birthday too (even though I don’t know you).
Sheila, you are anything but “kind of slow.” I’ll tell you slow: Reading your post, I’m reminded that once upon a time I lived in confusion of the fact that the only Belfast I knew (a sleepy little village situated some ten or eleven miles south of where I grew up) was not the Belfast of the nightly news. Every time we would pass through on our way to somewhere else, I would look out from the back seat of my parents’ car and try to reconcile the reports of bombings and shootings with the sleepy little village before me. I must have been about six or seven at the time. I don’t know how long it took for me to catch on to the fact that not only were they different places, they were completely different worlds.
I envy that you’re back there at all–let alone all the wonderful times you’ve been having. It’s nigh on two years since I left, and I don’t really feel right not being there anymore. Funny what a relatively tiny country full of charmingly intense people and endless cloudy days will do to you, isn’t it? Look south (toward Cork) and send some good thoughts for me. :) Cheers, Sheila.
Happy birthday Sheila! It was great to meet you and we enjoyed your visit very much! Of course you know you have a standing invitation to stay with us anytime and we’ll look forward to having you. :-)
Safe home
Seamus –
Hello!! I love Ranelagh. What a cute place … love it. We started out at McSorley, then we moved to The Four Provinces, and then we moved upstairs to the wacko nightclub. Much much fun!!
kira:
We actually drove through Cork and spent a couple of nights in Kinsale – one of the most charming warm beautiful places I have ever seen. Lovely. The harbor … with one massive swan dominating all the seagulls … the hilly twisty streets, the warmth of the pubs … I can’t remember if I went there when we were over here as a family and I was a kid – but it sure was a beautiful place.
Hey! McSorleys!! Great spot. The Four Provinces was called something else when i lived in Rathgar… can’t remember right now. It’ll come to me… Cheers. Slán leat…
Happy Birthday, Sheila.
Happy Birthday! Have a great time, and safe home.
Happy Birthday Sheila, and many more in such special places.
Happy belated birthday, Sheila. I’m so thrilled to hear that you’re having a good time and that you and Carrie got a chance to meet. I knew you’d hit it off. Didn’t I tell you she has one of the cutest kids you’ve ever seen?
Emily –
That kid is so cute that it is literally a struggle not to nibble on her arm like a drumstick. It was so cute – we pull up to the house (down the street from the mural of the guys with the guns) and I see her teeny head peeking anxiously out the window. And when we got out of the cab, she came running out excitedly to meet us.
I got to sleep in her room. Adorable.
The first time I met Carrie, we were at her parents house and the little one walked up to their cat and just *punted* the thing. She didn’t know any better – she probably thought it was like one of her toys at home – but it was still funny. This little wee girl, oblivious to the fact she was harming a living thing. Carrie was, of course, mortified. I forget the energy of children at times. She was there in her grandparents’ back yard, running around with a cookie in her hand, sqealing with total glee. It’s fun to remember how easily amused you could be as a child. A part of me wishes I could have that back.
Running with cookies and squealing with glee.
If adults behaved that way on a regular basis they would be locked into rubber rooms.
I wish I could get that energy back sometimes as well.
Speaking of cats: Carrie’s daughter pulled their cat’s tail while we were there and he, naturally, scratched her arm. Many huge tears rolling down her face, as Carrie put on three “plasters” … She didn’t punt the thing across the yard (ha!) but his tail was up for grabs.
I think I’m going to do it – run around with a cookie while squealing – just to see what sort of reaction I get.
I’ll write from the booby hatch.
I think I’ll join you. We should both run around with cookies squealing at the same time … Maybe we can start a national trend.
Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying
I suppose I’ve wallowed in self pity long enough. It’s so easy to do, you know. Sit around, feeling sorry for yourself, telling yourself how much you suck and how you’re a great big nothing. Why is being happy so…
Would that make you Cookie Monsters?
Carrie:
Me not sure. Me love cookies. Me love Ireland. Yum yum.
Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying
I suppose I’ve wallowed in self pity long enough. It’s so easy to do, you know. Sit around, feeling sorry for yourself, telling yourself how much you suck and how you’re a great big nothing. Why is being happy so…