To My Grandmother

This morning we had bacon and aebleskiver for breakfast. My aebleskiver pan was inherited from my father's mother, Serena. I don't remember that she ever used it, but it was lurking in the back of one of her cupboards, just begging to be set free. I scrubbed it, used it once a long time ago, and then put it in the dark recesses of one of my own cupboards. Why I was inspired to use it today I can't say, but it was certainly worth the effort. Even the little guys ate those pancake puffs like they were ambrosia.

I have not always been fair to my grandmother. She has been gone some years now, so maybe memory has softened some of the rough edges. She was a determined lady and was pretty good at getting people to do what she wanted them to do. Unlike my mother's mother, she wasn't good at giving hugs and generally making a child feel loved. But she did love us, and now I can see the ways in which she expressed it. The signs were there but being kids, we didn't always recognize them. Like most people, I suppose she was shaped by her dreams and desires, and as the oldest of eight children, she probably had to make those things happen for herself. She was a fighter. She put herself through school to become an RN. In a time when diabetes was a killing disease, she managed to live well into old age. When her only child died as a young man, she dealt with her grief and didn't let it rule her. She lived on her own until the very end of her life and stayed active with her church, family and friends.

Many things were important to her. Her family. Her Norwegian heritage. Her faith. And although we didn't always appreciate the way she shared these things with us, her sharing was a way of showing her love. And today I felt love as I celebrated my Norwegian family ties with as much joy as I do my Irish ties. I think I'll be making aebleskiver more often.

This 'n That

There's no real point to this post today. Just some odds and ends that have been floating around in my head. First, a short book review of Deadly Gift by Heather Graham. I've read a couple of her books before; they're light reads and usuallly have a slight tinge of the supernatural. This one didn't grab my interest right away, so I skipped to the last chapter to get a sense of what was going to happen (a bad habit of mine). Well the protagonist was a banshee. According to the book, banshees are ghosts who come to someone (of Irish descent, or course) to help them ease into death. They can also be "assigned" to help prevent an early, unscheduled death. Well that sent me back to the beginning of the book and although the mystery wasn't too deep, I did revel in the daydream of having my Irish forebears waiting for me on the other side and of being whisked away in a black coach upon my death. Of course I saw none of this when I Googled banshee, but I don't care; I choose to believe it.

I have turned the heel on my sock and it's going well. I think it's going to be way too big, but that's okay too. I'll do the second sock and hold them up with rubber bands if I have to. My friend Alicia told me about a new yarn shop in San Clemente so I went to visit on my lunch hour. it's very small and the yarns are expensive, but they have workshops and I think I'll go back to find out about them.

My brother Scott has some time to kill since he broke his wrist and will be off work for a while, so he started back in on his genealogy. I really envy his ability to sniff out all the little details that are near and dear to a genealogist's heart.

Like I said, odds and ends. I've been working tons of extra hours so my brain's a little fried.

The Perfect Pint of Guinness

I will admit that Guinness is an acquired taste, one that I acquired relatively late in life. My first pub visits involved so-so glasses of wine with an occasional wimpy "glass" of Guinness, just to be polite. But as my pub experiences grew, so did my appreciation of the "mother's milk" of Ireland.

One perfect pint was drunk in The Plough, across the street from the Abbey Theatre in Dublin, listening to the crowd sing along to "Song for Ireland."

Another perfect pint was drunk in a restaurant with a group of friends we had just met that day, eating, laughing, and finally becoming silent as one of our party told a story.

The night we went to Matt Malloy's in Westport was also a night of the perfect pint; we sat with a couple down from Derry, Anne Marie and her cousin Tom. We laughed and drank; Anne Marie told our fortunes. When we followed them out the door at the end of that evening, they had disappeared just as good leprechauns should do.

A rainy night in Ballyvaughan saw our family in O'Neill's, waiting for our friends Ron and Lisa to arrive. Our Becky started chatting up the locals, making the rounds with her digital camera. The pictures from that night are filled with laughter, delight and love.

The perfect pint might come from a bottle on a hot afternoon or from a tap in our own "local," but the truth is, what makes it perfect is the place and people surrounding it.

Irish Memories

By no stretch of the imagination could you call me a true world traveler. Since my first trip to Ireland in 2000, my only overseas destination has been the Emerald Isle (and I've made four more visits). There are other places I'd like to visit, but I'm more likely to get there if Dublin or Shannon Airport is a stop on the itinerary. I have often said that it is only in Ireland that I feel like my real self.

The other day, I was talking to a patron in the library who read two books on my recommendation: Round Ireland With a Fridge (Tony Hawks) and Pint-Sized Ireland (Evan McHugh). Her comment was that she found the first one funny, but wasn't too sure about the second; it seemed like they were so much alike. This caused me to think about why I liked them both so much. The bottom line was that each spoke to me by evoking memories of a different kind. The first book reminded me of our encounters with people in Ireland. Just as the author found that news of his journey traveled ahead of him. It seemed that everywhere he turned, there were people who were enjoying the novelty of his challenge and were eager to help him along, be a part of it.

Two memories that come to my mind come from two separate trips. During our first trip, we went to the town from which my forebears came (Castlelyons, County Cork). In the middle of the town were the remains of a castle, but no matter how we tried, we couldn't find a way to get near it. At last we went to the office of a truck repair yard adjacent to the castle - we could see a gate from their yard into the field where we wanted to go. Well, the men in the office were immediately intrigued - of course we could go through (but why did we want to?). We had famiy nearby? Out came the phone book to see if we recognized any names, they gave us directions to the "old" cemetery. These people could not have been more interested or forthcoming with advice. It was a very satisfying acceptance.

The second memory is of the beginning of a very special friendship. On our second trip, Jim sent out a general e-mail to his Sprite/Bugeye group on the Internet outlining our plans to be in Ireland. One of his Internet "buddies" got in touch and arranged to meet us one night for dinner. Ron and his family drove half the length of the country to meet us that night; they arranged a B&B for us, then entertained us with dinner and a visit to a nearby pub, owned by family. It was one of the most wonderful evenings we've ever had, arranged by almost complete strangers. Our friendship with Ron continues and it all started because he put himself out to make us feel welcome.

It didn't surprise me at all to read about complete strangers going out of their way to help Tony Hawks - the strange guy who traveled Ireland accompanied by a refrigerator; I'd say it was right up their alley and I wouldn't have expected any less.

I'll write later about the perfect pint of Guinness.

Inauguration Day, Red Sock

I have thoroughly enjoyed watching the inauguration festivities today. It was so uplifting to see the hope and renewed pride that was evident in the faces of so many people. Barack Obama has a huge job ahead of him; no man may be capable of succeeding what he must try. But I think he'll give it his best and that the atmosphere of change that surrounds him will be a great boost to our country.

And now on to the important stuff - I've knitted about three inches on my first sock. If I hadn't left the camera at Mom's, I'd post a picture just to remind myself of the euphoria I'm feeling over this sock. I'm knitting on size 8 needles and the yarn is a red Wool-Ease with flecks of color, kind of tweedy. I hope I can do this; I'm sure enjoying the trying!

Book Review - The Private Patient

I always look forward to a new P.D. James book, and I wasn't disappointed with this one. The story was wonderfully complex, the characters beautifully delineated, the conclusion satisfactory. Thinking about the evolution of this series, however, it seems like the reader is less privy to the character of Dalgliesh as more and more of the investigations are done by his subordinates. I suppose it's a natural progression, but I like Dalgliesh so much and I miss him.

Future Teacher of America

Mackenzie has been making quite a mess in the family room over the last few days, and yesterday I finally had the time to watch was she was doing. As evident in the picture, she's reading to her students. I really got the message when she noticed that I was reading and told me that she "wanted the book closed." It was time for me to pay attention.
Mackenzie has grown up so quickly in the last few months. I guess being almost three and going to preschool will do it. She has such a strong, independent personality; it's often very amusing to just sit back and watcher her interact with her world.