The road less traveled by...

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost.

One of my favourite Poems, so very poignant. The Picture is from Ballyannan Woods in Midleton. Taken on my Iphone while out walking my dog last week.

Where to start.. It's been several years since my last confession.. er.. blog post. No particular reason why, possibly laziness, possibly that I was too busy doing to be spending time writing about it. To give a quick synopsis.. I spent most of 2008 and 2009 in pubs, yes nearly all my spare time was devoted to them. With Rob and John Coffey I played in a 3 piece folk group called Am Ar Bith (Anytime). Christmas 2009 was my last gig, No time off was beginning to tell on me, we gigged as much as we could, took any gig that would pay us. But I had stopped enjoying the gigs and it had become a chore, the costs were also rising, what had been a hobby was now an income, but as the recession deepened, pubs closed and the pay being offered for our talents was shrinking by the week. As 90% of our gigs were in Tipperary and Limerick and I lived in East Cork, I was

really making next to nothing, some weekends actually making a loss. Once long ago,,I had put away my instruments for several years after becoming disillusioned with whole thing, I was anxious to avoid that situation repeating. So I retired from the band and they've since moved on and gig now as Blackthorn. I must go see one of their gigs. Unfortunately, I hardly play at all now. Time constraints are one reason..also I think without the need to practice for a formal gig.. there just doesn't seem to be the same drive in me to play. I hope I can change that again. I do really miss playing, but after playing with the two lads, so much for so long, playing alone just isn't the same (Try and control the one liners please).

In 2009 I met a very nice Girl, Gillian for a coffee, timing was bad and it never went anywhere, thought we stayed in touch. After much missed opportunities and dissorganisation, we agreed to meet up and have a coffee in the summer of 2010. Somehow, and I still don't know how, this managed to evolve from coffee into me taking Gillian for dinner... Women are devious lads! ;-) However I have no regrets, it is now 2011, coming into the summer

and I live in a rented house, still in Midleton, with my gorgeous lover Gillian and her Daughter, Freya. My two

favourite people in the world. I really cannot and do not wish to imagine life without either of them. They moved

down last October, and a week or so after that we moved into the house we are in now on the 21st of October 2010. The week they moved down we got a beautiful Boa Constrictor, whom Freya decided to name "Slinky". He's now not so little at over 2 foot and growing. On the second of April we extended the family further with the addition of a Rescue puppy from the good people at DAWG. (http://www.dogactionwelfaregroup.ie/). Kimmie was an instant hit, we saw her online and fell in love immediately.

On the website they listed as her as a Terrier cross, we thought perfect, small size, we only have a small garden. When we got her, the first thing we noticed was the enormous size of her paws, after her booster shots at the vet, we had a new impression of her from the Vet. A Bernese Mountain dog cross.. a little bit larger than a terrier.. estimated max size of 40kg's or so... At 16 weeks she is now bigger that any terrier, has outgrown the Crate, Kennel, Harness and Collar we originally got her with a terrier in mind. She was 5kg's when we got her, she's just under 9kg's now. But we couldn't be happier, she's a happy, healthy delight to be around. We are trying hard with Positive reinforcement training to ensure she stays a happy, well behaved dog that we can bring away with us when go anywhere.

I realise that is a rather brief update. With a hell of a lot of information crammed into a few lines. I do hope I can get myself back into regularly updating this blog, having read back through it, I quite enjoyed my own writing. Does that seem a little vain? Conceited perhaps? Well so be it. I think we are all entitled to indulge in a little self admiration once in a while, it's good for your confidence levels.

Time speeds on, the future becomes the past..

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages." William Shakespeare.

I always loved that line. There's just something so profound about it, whether Shakespeare intended it to be profound, or it just sounded good in the context who knows, who cares? Either way it's a great quote ;-)

Mostly for this week at least it is a very apt quote to me. A friend of mine died last Saturday night, he drowned while swimming in Brighton. Ruairí Kelly was one of those wonderful people who always had a smile on his face, and I do mean always. I dug through a load of photo's of him early and there he was smiling and laughing up at me from each one. He was 28 years old, but I think he lived more in those 28 years than many people do in 50 or 60 years. He was great craic, if you were having a party, going away for a weekend, or simply meeting up for pints in the pub, you just had to have Ruairi there. He was the guarantee of a great night.

Ruairí is the one on the far left. Thats a pretty typical image of Ruairí. It still seems unreal to me that he's gone. That laugh and smile, the smart comments and one liners are never again going to be part of a night out or weekend away. His death has left a huge hole in a lot of lives. It's not the kind of hole that anyone else could ever fill. I hope he knew how much he was loved by those around him, how much his eternal cheerfulness and his infectious laughter affected the lives of those fortunate enough to have known him.


We will miss you Ruairí, we already do, more than you could imagine.
I think I'll leave that topic there for now. I think I need more time to get my head around it, maybe after the funeral I will believe it more.

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It has been (as some may have noticed) a year since my last update. A lot has happened since then, a lot has changed, some things have not changed. I am still living my little apartment looking over Owenacurra estuary, I still spend sunny evenings sitting out the back staring across the water to the forest, watching the swans on the far shore, the fish in shoals rippling across the water. What has changed is my music, I play a lot now, 2 to 3 gigs a week with a band, we are called Am Ar Bith (Irish Gaelic for "Anytime"). I love it, I love to be in front of a crowd and entertaining them, does it make me egotistical or narcissistic that I enjoy the praise of a crowd? That I love to hear the whispered compliments while I sing a ballad? Perhaps it does.. I don't really care, as long as that egotistical side remains on the stage I can live with that flaw in my character ;-)

My personal life has been through an upheaval too, earlier this year myself and Sibylle broke up. These things happen, life moves on, to my relief we have remained friends, Sibylle's been a close friend of mine for so many years now, I would hate to lose her friendship. She is now living up in Beautiful Tipperary (Lucky hag). I intend moving there myself as A) Most of my closest friends now live there, B) I play most of my gigs there and C) Property is so much cheaper, I could get a gorgeous house up there with a few acres for 70% of the cost of where I own now.

Well, thats all for now, I hope I start to get the time to write in this again soon, I really do have every intention of keeping this blog active when I write, I just find it so hard to find the time.


I think this poem is 'right' for this post.. Many will recognise it more from the Robin Williams film "The Dead Poets Society" ...... This is for Ruairí...

O Captain My Captain...

O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

By Walt Whitman


Concúbhair O' Nuamain

I'm a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work the more I have of it. ~Thomas Jefferson

How very true. I was told recently by an acquaintance that I was very lucky to get this job, first off I agreed. I was lucky, my college education consisted of Classical Guitar, boy did I think that one out! What a great career path. Anyway, once I'd realised there were about 3 employed Classical Guitar players in the country, I went a got a real job. So I saw his point, I was lucky to get this job, head of my department (Quality), in a great company, a large multinational, the pay is excellent ( I mean I wouldn't say no if more was offered, but then, whomever would?) and the conditions are good. But what is luck? Was it really luck that got me the job?

The more I think on it the less I would agree with it, so much so by now I almost see that innocent statement as an insult. Had they pulled my name out of a hat and awarded me the job then, yes, that would be lucky. But they didn't, I worked my ass off for the last 7 years trying to get to where I am now, they gave me the job because they saw I was capable, I had earned that chance. So I guess I made my own luck.

Ralph Waldo Emerson had this to say of luck: " Shallow men believe in luck. Strong men believe in cause and effect." Although an arguement to counter is provided by Jean Cocteau, and I must say I find it hard not to agree a little with Cocteau " We must believe in luck. For how else can we explain the success of those we don't like?"




Soo, I don't have much else to say right now, as I'm climbing the walls trying to keep up with the work I have to do. But I'll throw in a few words.

My Gecko's (Anto and Decko) are doing well, they are two of the cutest yet madest little reptiles imaginable, Anto's the shy type (He's soon to be moving in with Sibylle to stop Decko bullying him), and Decko is quite convinced that he's not infact a 10 inch long Gecko, but in fact, a 14 foot long crocodile, I haven't the heart to tell him otherwise. You can see him skulking under a branch on the left here. This picture was taken by Sibylle while she was up drooling over my gecko's, (how could I stand a chance against their cuteness?) I bought a car, no I didn't get rid of the bike, I still drive her. But in the current situation of Noah's flood revisted I felt a car might be handy to have, I can honestly say I have never imagined it possible to rain so much in the Summer, it has rained almost everyday of June and July so far, and it's not drissle but full heavy, dark, muggy torrential downpours. Right, well I must be off and get back to work. But I shall, as always leave you with one my favourite poems for you to have a read of. Be warned this is a classic and a great one, but quite long,




The Raven By Edgar Allen Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of surrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,
Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.
This is it, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;---
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?",
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
'Tis the wind, and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my cham- ber door.
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night's Pluton- ian shore."
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his cham- ber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered,"Other friends have flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said,"Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,---
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never---nevermore."

But the raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore,
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking, "Nevermore."

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee --
by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite---respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore---
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws the shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted---nevermore!



Slán Leat a chára,
Concúbhair O'Nuamain

Time, time, time..

Time, time, time. As you've no doubt noticed whilst awaiting my next post with baited breathe, I'm very short of time lately and so have not posted here for two weeks now. For shame!!

Still don't have any time so I'm afraid despite my desire to leave you with elongated, eloquent and verbose prose, you'll have to settle for a short post I'm afraid.

Where to start? At the beginning I hear you say, but begginings are soo boring, and what is the beginning? When I started my new job? the first day? The two hours of mind numbingly boring videos extoling the virtue's of my new employer, or when I actually got stuck into the work? No, I think I shall start with some reflections.. I've always hated being bored, it just doesn't work for me, I know plenty of people love when they have nothing to do in work and still get paid for it, and well, thats fine. But that jjust doesn't work well for me, I need to be active and not running around doing mindless leg-work tasks, I need a challenge I need to USE my brain, and here, in this new job I am, I am using my brain so much it hurts. I've always used the calendar function in my outlook, but usually it would have 2/3 reminders a week, now it pops up with 2/3 reminders an hour. I love it.

I spend my days swamped in rewriting procedures, preparing for quality audits, jetting off to exotic places to attend seminars and courses.. ok, thats a lie.. I'm 'jetting' a whole 170 miles (20 min) to Dublin for a course... but still... it's a start. I won't complain. I never saw myself as the 'executive' type to be honest, but here I am attending managment review meetings, sending reports to the european vice president of the company, writing company procedures, and the crown in my kingdom, the cherry in my mufin, the jam in my donut or any other metaphor you care to quote.. I have 4 weeks to prepare for the companies re-acrreditation audit for ISO9001:2000. Talk about getting dropped in the deep end, or indeed up a certain creek without a paddle, oar, outboard motor or indeed any means of transport what so ever. Ah well, as they say be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it...

Anyway here's a little something for you to ponder on...

NO SECOND TROY
by: W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)
HY should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great,
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?

Picture: "Helen of Troy" by Dante Rossetti

Slan Leat

Conor

" And the down-turn of his wrist, When the flies drop in the stream; A man who does not exist,"

The Fisherman - William Butler Yeats

Although I can see him still.
The freckled man who goes
To a grey place on a hill
In grey Connemara clothes
At dawn to cast his flies,
It's long since I began
To call up to the eyes
This wise and simple man.
All day I'd looked in the face
What I had hoped 'twould be
To write for my own race
And the reality;
The living men that I hate,
The dead man that I loved,
The craven man in his seat,
The insolent unreproved,
And no knave brought to book
Who has won a drunken cheer,
The witty man and his joke
Aimed at the commonest ear,
The clever man who cries
The catch-cries of the clown,
The beating down of the wise
And great Art beaten down.
Maybe a twelvemonth since
Suddenly I began,
In scorn of this audience,
Imagining a man,
And his sun-freckled face,
And grey Connemara cloth,
Climbing up to a place
Where stone is dark under froth,
And the down-turn of his wrist
When the flies drop in the stream;
A man who does not exist,
A man who is but a dream;
And cried, "Before I am old
I shall have written him one
poem maybe as cold
And passionate as the dawn.'Don't why I put that poem in today, it's been in my mind all day and I can't figure out why. Well, anyway on a more important topic.. I finish my current job tomorrow, as you may have read around a month ago I had handed in my notice, and as month has passed, I'm off tomorrow, just one more day.
In some ways I suppose I'll this place, the people, the familiar broken printer, the queue at the coffee machine, even the vending machine that never seems to be filled, it's always half empty, no matter how much is taken out of it it's still only half empty, never full either. It's the little things you miss about a place I think.

But I am looking forward to the new job with great anticipation, and I'll admit a little apprehension, I am under no illusions, I know it will be hard, damned hard. I know I will work long hours working into the evening both in the office and at home for at least the first year. But I wanted to keep moving, I'm far to young to allow the moss settle on this stone just yet. I intend to keep rolling up hill for a while yet. There's a deal of work to be done, and not enough time to it, there's a lot of responsibility to be shouldered, but that why you get paid more. I learnt a long time ago that money and responsibility go together. You can't get one without the other. Some people prefer to let others make the tough decisions, work through the difficult choices, while they sit back and wait to be told what to do, some people like that. The firm, solid instruction, all laid out, 'here's what you do...', no stress of trying to figure it out, no worry trying to organize other people's holidays, who works on what project, which one to give priority too. As the old adage goes.."the buck stops here", well I've decided to take that step and take on that mantle, if something screws up it's my screw up alone and I must take the brunt of it, if something goes well it's a great team effort.

To be honest I suppose I'm looking forward to it, I've spent years watching people criticize 'the Boss' giving a million reasons why they could have done things better, yet I noticed in all this they never stepped up and took responsibility on themselves. While responsibility is a burden, the extra wage is definitely a welcome compensation, hopefully it will allow me to clear my debts quicker and afford to meet all my commitments without the constant worry of whether or not I'll be able to afford petrol for the coming week. An extra 11,000 a year (before tax) is a lot of money to me. I think sacrificing a years worth of leisure time is well worth it, I'm only 28, I can easily afford to miss out on 1 years worth of evenings, after that it should have settled down, I can move into a single role on higher money and start to have a life again. I just hope I'm strong enough to do it. I learnt long ago the secret to talking yourself into any job is confidence, if someone asks me "Do you think you can do this job?" my answer will be "No, I know I can do this job". Change is good. T he Dalai Lama said "Change is the only constant" I tend to agree. Another great man's opinion, Charles Darwin: "It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change.





I felt like throwing in a few photo's here, the first three are of Connemara, a region in the west of Ireland, renown for it's traditional people, homes, culture and beauty. The last two, in order of appearance are Powerscourt waterfall in Wicklow and lastly the Waterfall at Glencarr, you will have seen referenced in a previous blog entry. This waterfall is mentioned in Yeats' poem 'The Stolen Child'


Slán leat,
Concúbhair O' Nuamain

"Who brings a tale takes two away. ~Irish Proverb"

I like that proverb, unfortunately it's a very true one in Ireland. We love to talk, we love have a bit of news to tell. It shows in many of our greetings - "Whats the story?" - Used as a general Hello, "An bhfuil án scéal agat?" - Have you any news, these are heard often in different sides of Ireland. The sad part of it is that many people are happy to spread rumour, usually false, just to have 'a bit of news'. In the Terry Pratchett book - "The Truth" one of 'bad guys' has a favourite quote I quite like, though it is a little depressing.. "A lie will travel around the world before the truth has got it's boots on".

In my locale a new Pharmaceutical company has begun construction a huge facility, that has and will create thousands of jobs, they announced a delay a month ago and straight away, it began, the inevitable rumour mill. As elections are approaching the usual conniving scumbags, oh I appologise, I believe the technical term is 'Politicians', have begun to try and use this to their electoral advantage. Opposition parties, who were furious that Amgen announced that they would open here, have now decided to spread the blatantly false and fictional rumour that Amgen are now pulling out, and it is of course the Governments fault, as someone who works in the industry and directly with the project I know that this is false, and merely a political manouvre made out of desperation to try to get a vote, how pathetic. I am no huge fan of our current government, however, at present there doesn't seem to be any real alternative. I mean even the idea of voting for the deceivers and liars who are causing great worry and strain to those depending on the Amgen project for their livelihood, would turn my stomach. If they would lie to us like this to 'trick' people into voting for them, what would they do given the power to run the country? I dread to think.

"Oh, where is the poet or bard who will compose an ode to Russian rumours? Thanks to the chronic shortage of truthful (or even false) information, our people live on rumours. " - Boris Yeltzen

Now that I've had my rant, I do appologise for inflicting it on you, but sometimes you just need to get that kind of thing off your chest, on to a more pleasant subject.


Summer is coming fast, it already feels like it here, clear skies everyday for the last two weeks, hot weather, cool breezes, blazing sunshine.. As a biker, naturally I love this weather, it's heaven on earth. As an Irish man I love this weather, it's so unusual for us here, if this is global warming, I'm going to buy a 4 litre V12 SUV. I am of course joking. Global warming is a very serious subject not to taken lightly, as such I'll not take it at all in this post. I'm feeling to light hearted today to be bothered with any soul searching and deep meaningful entries here. I'm in my office, even though I'm only wearing a light cotton shirt, I'm still absolutely roasting, I love it.

I used to work as a 'camp coordinator' for one of the tour groups that brings the many tens of thousands of Italian students here every summer. I loved that job, all summer I'd spend playing sports, singing songs, outdoors in the sun, It's the songs I remember most one that seems to epitomize summer for me ever since was one of those we tried to teach the students, it's actually not a song, it's a poem by W.B. Yeats, but it was put to an old Irish tune and now is known the world over as an Irish folk song. It's called 'The Sally Gardens'...


The Sally Gardens

It was down by the Sally Gardens my love and I did meet
She crossed the Sally Gardens with little snow-white feet
She bid me take love easy as the leaves grow on the tree
But I was young and foolish and with her did not agree

In a field down by the river my love and I did stand
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand
She bid me take life easy as the grass grows on the weirs
But I was young and foolish and now am full of tears

Down by the Sally Gardens, my love and I did meet
She crossed the Sally Gardens with little snow-white feet
She bid me take love easy as the leaves grow on the tree
But I was young and foolish and with her did not agree


Well, not one of my more profound posts certainly, but a reflection of my mood at the moment. I feel lazy and peaceful, the sun does that to me here. I find few places I've ever visited abroad to be quite as beautiful as my native soil in the sun.

Slán Leat mo chara,
Concúbhair O'Nuamain

" It's the friends you can call up at 4 a.m. that matter. "

It's the friends you can call up at 4 a.m. that matter. - Marlene Dietrich


The picture to the left is of a hand painted Ogham Script, the word written is Friendship. Ogham is an ancient script dating to roughly the first century, based on an older script 'leaf' script. It was usually carved into stone, standing stones with Ogham inscriptions can be found all over the Irish countryside.

Friendship means a lot to me, I have been blessed with the most wonderful friends. Most people are lucky if they can count their true friends on one hand. I need two hands to count mine. The Marlene Dietrich quote above is funny, but true, a true friend is someone you can call at any time day or night and know they will be there for you no matter what. I endeavour to be as good a friend as I can to others. When I look back over the years I lose count of the number of times my true and closest friends have been there for me when I most needed them. I can honestly say I have never been alone in an hour of need.

I felt the need to speak of friendship today for a reason. Two of my closest friends, a wonderful loving, caring couple, fantastic parents, and friends that are as close to me as my own family, have been going through a terrible ordeal for the second time. They mean so much to me I want to be there for them as they have been for me whenever I've needed them, but in this I am helpless. Two and a half years ago, this couple had a son ,born after only 26 weeks pregnancy. Terribly premature, I won't go into details but you can imagine no doubt the fear, the pain and trials they suffered. This little guy however surprised everyone, parents, friends and doctors alike, he took after his father and was quiet a little fighter. He is two and half now, a constant joy to be around, highly intelligent and sings from dawn to dusk. I Can't describe how wonderful it is to see him bouncing around, or to hear him reciting tolkien's songs, yes I said Tolkien. He knows some of the songs from the Lord Of the Rings books, as I said, highly intelligent.

In the early hours of Monday morning, 16th, they have had another son, born once again 2 and half months premature. The same as his older brother. Life can be so unfair, how such torment can be cast on the same people again is beyond me. It breaks my heart to see them going through this again. I don't know how to be there for them in this. I don't want to be bothering them, as that is the last thing they need right now, but as a friend I feel so helpless that I can't help, that I can't make it all better. It leaves me gutted to stand helplessly by. I can only imagine how helpless they feel. They are in my thoughts and prayers constantly, but I believe in this little guy, he's like his daddy too, he's a fighter, he's tough. If thoughts and prayers are all I can send for now, then that is what I shall send, every waking minute.




Cirdan

In the faintest glimmerings, of light before the dawn,
'Neath the shadow of the Holy Cross, looking down above Clonmel,
Impatient in the womb, out came an leanbh bán,
Made his entrance to the world, with sound of alarm and bell,
A show man, an attention seeker, a little boy not shy,
Brave but tiny Cirdan, made not a wail nor cry.

Two leagues to the north, of the dolmen at Knockeen
Stands the city home to Maeghar, where first they flew the flag,
Twas here that Cirdan journeyed, through forest and boreen,
The Morrigan close behind him, he faced down banshee and hag,
Sheilded and Safe was he, from such divilments as those,
Cerridwyn stood between her namesake, and any of his foes.

So I write these words for Cirdan, a fighter born and bred,
Though the tale is yet unfinished, his future yet unsure,
Cirdan the Blessed Poet, now lies upon his bed,
Dreaming ancient dreams, on the banks of the river Suir,
My thoughts are with you Cirdan, as they are with your parents,
sláinte mhaith ar leanmh sin, and a cure for all your ailments.


By Concúbhair O' Numaín


*The second Picture is of the original Brigid's Well in Kildare (Brigid the Celtic Goddess not the Saint)