Words In Progress......

This evening I took my scribbling pad, pen, meditation cushion, bath towel, cosy blanket, cup of herbal tea, mobile phone and a few drops of creative juice outside to see what words might form themselves on the page.

Earlier, despite the constant biting wind, the sun had great warmth in it during the moments when there was stillness. By now the skies had begun to darken somewhat, pale grey clouds slowly inching their way in from the sea, I was not deterred.

I seated myself on my meditation cushion, my back supported by the fence over which I'd draped a bath towel to shelter me from the cold wind, around my legs I wrapped my cosy blanket, drank my herbal (fennel) tea, positioned my scribbling pad on my knee, took my pen in hand (left as it happens!) and let my creative juices flow, later I used my mobile phone to snap the above image.

The resulting words "The Work Room" are still at their embryonic stage, not yet ready to be born.

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To The Waters And The Wild.....

One of my favourite poems, "The Stolen Child" by W.B. Yeats, has provided me with a line that I feel is perfect for this post title.

Incidentally, that poem is very special for me as it was the one I read with huge emotion, at fourteen years of age, to our English class taught by drama teacher, Mr. Rogers. When the bell rang and everyone was rushing to leave, Mr. Rogers called me up and suggested I join his drama school. Alas, owing to my parents not having the necessary spondoolicks, it never came to pass. Of course, many, many years later my dream was realised!

It was on a wet and extremely windy February afternoon that hubby and I set off for Ballydonegan Pier, Allihies, West Cork. On approaching the pier, my nostrils now filled with sea spray and the smell of seaweed, in my head I was once more back on the slipway of a pre-1970s Ringsend, Dublin.

Each footstep on the slippery slipway cobblestones brought back memories of hours spent watching the men hawl up their rowing boats and securing them to the sea wall, running screaming from the crabs still walking around after a catch or just standing on my own, after my friend had gone home, staring out to sea.

I considered myself blessed to have experienced the sea giving one of her finest performances with the mist providing the perfect backdrop. She was at her wildest. I was in Heaven.

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New Season, New Life

On our way to Barness, Allihies yesterday we came across these cute baby lambs who look to be a few weeks old at this stage. No matter how quiet I was on my approach I managed to startle them immediately after I took this photo. Here is one example where a zoom lens would have come in handy!

I'm hoping over the course of the next few weeks to meet a farmer who'll allow me hold a newborn lamb and maybe get a close-up shot of it with its mother, that would be a life long dream come true. So, being ever optimistic, when my wish is granted I'll post the pics immediately!

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When The Boat Comes In....

Every Wednesday hubby and I head into Castletownbere, West Cork to stock up on groceries and order our mid-week take-away dinner of haddock and chips for me and pizza for hubby.

During the time we spend waiting for our dinners to be cooked we usually take a long walk along the quayside where the fishing trawlers are docked. (Even though I grew up in the fishing village of Ringsend, Dublin, my knowledge of sea faring terminology is zilch, so apologies to any fishermen reading this!

Each time I'm close to these great monsters I think of the brave men aboard them who brave the wild seas every day to bring to our tables our favourite sea foods. When I'm not in sight of them I suppose, like a lot of people, I take it for granted that the fish just arrive in the chip shops and on the butchers' and supermarkets' shelves and never give much thought either to the risk to life involved with each catch.

The fishing paraphernalia, on the right, brings back memories of my days on the slip-way in Ringsend. Rowing boats, fishing nets and those cages that I guess shell fish are caught in would all be lined up along the slip wall but it's the combined smells of fish and seaweed that will always hold the greatest memories of my early life by the sea.

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There's A Grand Stretch In The Evenings....

Hotel Isaacs, 48 MacCurtain Street, Cork.

Hubby and I have returned once more to our favourite spot in West Cork, namely Allihies. This time we decided rather than make the five plus hours straight journey we'd stop overnight in Cork City so chose the Hotel Isaacs as our place of rest. An excellent choice as our room was absolutely huge, more like an apartment, separate bedroom, living/kitchen and massive bathroom, and above all for me, it was a Victorian building!

Cork English Market, Cork City. Image via: www.iguide.travel.com

As we didn't have to check out until 12.00pm we headed into Patrick Street to do a bit of window shopping and came upon a food market, the likes I'd never seen before. It's known as Cork English Market and is just off Patrick Street. We must have spent a half an hour walking around it and even at that we didn't see all of it. The mixed aromas of herbs and spices and baked breads were a real feast for the old schnozzle!

Speaking of breads, I was able to buy a lovely brown bread which was yeast-free, dairy-free and sugar-free only unfortunately to discover after three days of eating it that my chest became clogged up after years of being gunge-free! It was the wheat that did it so I'm now back on my boring old rice cakes.

View from our living room, Allihies.

So, at around 4.00pm last Monday we arrived at our holiday home in Allihies. As soon as I walked into the house I felt I had entered our second home, everywhere had a wonderful familiarity about it. The landscape is just as we left it at the end of last year. Back in Dublin pre-recession times another apartment block would have sprouted in that short time space.
 

Twilight over Allihies.

We've arrived at a lovely time of year when you can clearly notice the longer stretch in the evenings, twilight now not decending over the countryside until well after 6.30pm as the image above shows. I'm looking forward to living in this beautiful part of Ireland through all four seasons this time and experiencing their every change of colour, smell and sound. Well, three of my five senses will be in Heaven!

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A Window Of Light In Darkest Winter

The above image I came across one Christmas several years ago in a Sunday newspaper. Its dipiction of terraced houses on a winter's night, their windows bathed in bright orange light, brought me straight back to my childhood in our avenue in Ringsend. The photo had such an effect on me that I cut it out and framed it. It's been on my dressing table ever since.

There's something about the combination of the coldness of the snow and the warmth coming through the window panes that triggers the memory of me walking home as a teenager from school and work on dark winter evenings.

The last ten minutes of my journey would take me past a long row of terraced cottages some with their curtains not yet drawn. It was the glow from the windows that would attract my gaze just as a moth is compelled to seek the light. Walking past I would look in, the room appearing so cosy in contrast to the misery of the cruel weather conditions outside. I would comfort myself with the thought that I would soon be entering my own warm abode, our tele too would be broadcasting the evening news and I would soon be sitting down to a warm dinner of Irish stew.

The final leg of my journey would take me up our avenue where maybe a hall door might be open. Again, the illuminated hall shone like a beacon through the darkness of the street. Winter for me has some memorable contrasting themes - warmth and coldness, light and darkness.

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Note To Self: Must Write Frequent Blog Posts

Image source - www.wikipedia.org

Sometimes it's so difficult to sit down and write. It's either a case of, I'm overwhelmed with so many ideas that are all bursting to jump out onto the page together only to find that at that particular moment something more urgent is demanding my time so I don't get to give birth to my words or, I suddenly find myself with endless time on my hands and decide now would be a good time to hit the keyboard only then to discover the old creative juices have completely run dry. What's a blogger to do? Just write, I guess!

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