Five-year plan
Bad tidings always happen when you least expect it. Your plans for tonight, next week or the following year get punched right in the stomach and you have to regroup. Not only does rearranging your life involve more people than just yourself; your family, friends and colleagues need to find out where you and your plans will eventually fit in. Parameters of life get reset and the future-plan question during your last job interview pops back in your mind: “Where do you see yourself in five years from now?” I truthfully replied that I had aspirations of climbing the corporate ladder and that I wanted to combine this with studying. This was the interview that would lead me to live in Ireland and I ultimately worked in the company for…
A Dog’s Life, by Jonathan Robin
Sixteen years, now almost seventeen, I’ve played at stick and ball, stayed seldom still until good master’s call would whistle shrill to lead me back – no need to smack. Sight keen. Sixteen years tail’s wagged as faithful friend, as boon companion, running round fun years. His mother passed away, I shared the tears that fountained forth and never seemed to end. Sixteen years round each revolving moon from hearth and home I pick up slightest sound, ears prick, eyes bright, in sight I’m always found to hold my ground, though often play buffoon.
Philosophy of Friendship
Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend. Albert Camus An empty white page on my laptop. Too warm to write, too warm to make sense out of nonsense on my own. In fact, even when I’m not on my own, my non(sense) seems to consist of bouts of gibberish fueled by a brain roasted like a Kentucky Fried Chicken. No need to travel to the Mediterranean to have heatwaves; I never said life in Ireland would make sense. In between July 1st and today there’s been the birthday of yours truly. No, I didn’t spend it drinking, smoking and getting high. As you know, said yours truly is of the non-party-animal…
The duplicity of MS
Summer has finally arrived in Ireland. After what seemed a prolonged autumn and/or winter, we saw summer marching in as if tomorrow might never come. Seeing we are a breed of people who can endlessly talk about the weather, we find fault in it as soon as it happens, only to spin more hours of talking about it. One of the Irish newspapers printed an hour-by-hour event guide to make the most of it… after all, this is a four-seasons-in-one-day country… just in case. But not this time. Headlines like ‘Scorchio is staying put for the weekend’ and “We’ll go from hot to warm weather” fill me with dread. Please don’t get me wrong, I like the sun as much as anyone else; it’s great for catching vitamin D, for…
Dingle, the golden hour
Weekly Photo Challenge: The Golden Hour by Cheri Lucas Rowlands on July 12, 2013: The Golden Hour. In photography, the “golden hour” is the first and last hour of sunlight of the day. Photographers venture out on sunrise hikes or sunset treks to capture a magical shot, due to the quality of the light during that time of day. An Daingean When I go to the Irish countryside for a short trip, I try to get a cab just before sunrise to drive me to quiet places to get the golden hour in a photograph. The two pictures below were taken on Ryan’s Daughter‘s beach on the Dingle Peninsula, south-west Ireland, where the famous film of David Lean was shot in 1970. The island pictured in the first photo is called…
He is my dog, by Gene Hill
When I am wrong, he is delighted to forgive. When I am angry, he clowns to make me smile. When I am happy, he is joy unbounded. When I am a fool, he ignores it. When I succeed, he brags. Without him, I am only another man. With him, I am all-powerful. He is loyalty itself. He has taught me the meaning of devotion. With him, I know a secret comfort and a private peace. He has brought me understanding where before I was ignorant. His head on my knee can heal my human hurts.
Famine
Ever since Dublin became my hometown, the Irish Famine sculptures by artist Rowan Gillespie on Custom House Quay haunt me. The statues are ‘walking’ on towards emigration ships like the Jeannie Johnston and they describe so well the hunger Irish people went through during the Great Famine, called Gorta Mór in Irish (Great Hunger), between 1845 and 1852, caused by blight. There were, however, two other famine periods in Ireland: the Irish Famine from 1740 to 1741 called Bliain an Áir, meaning the Year of Slaughter. Another one was in 1879, called An Gorta Beag, meaning the ‘mini-famine’. The Act of Union caused Ireland to be governed directly by the United Kingdom, which meant that Ireland had been prohibited living the life they were so used to, leading to “a starving population, an…
