Loss of Clarity
They rose very early. Though the car was relatively silent, the atmosphere seemed more companionable and content than anything else. Ian had plugged in his IPod and was manning the music. His tastes were widely eclectic, but for the trip he had put together a playlist of Irish music through the ages, from The Clancy Brothers, to The Chieftains, to U2, Clannad and even Snow Patrol. Nana actually enjoyed most of it, though she did have a few issues with both The Clancy Brothers and U2 as both groups included rhythm structures and language that she found either grating on one hand or inappropriate on the other. This led to a short debate on the philosophy of music and its importance within culture. Not surprisingly, everyone had an opinion or something to add, so the trip back to the village flew by in a barrage of music with interruptions for a bit of verbal sparring. Overall, it was a wonderful return journey.
At the cottage, they unloaded and cleaned up a bit from the drive. Lin announced that she wanted to go check on her "patient." The rest of the family decided to go too, so they set out with light hearts and the thrum of Irish ballads in their heads. The wind along the strand was strong with just a bit of bite, causing Fiona to pull her scarf up and wrap it around her head as she had done at the Burren. The boys zipped their jackets and braced their chins on their chests, pushing headlong into it. Lin was attempting to combine her mother's option and the boys', threading the silk from around her collar to use as a scarf, when they ran into Roary. He looked like he had slept under a sand pile. His hair and clothes were wrinkled and covered with grit and he was carrying an empty whiskey bottle.
The boys were the first to see him. They ran up to say hello and stopped short when they noticed how disheveled he looked. Fiona, never one to pull a punch, asked him directly, "Did you finish that on the shore and end up sleeping on a rock, Mr. James?"
Smiling weakly, with his eyes squinting into the sun, Roary raised the bottle like a visor shield to his brow. "Hello, Mrs. Blake. Actually, that is pretty much exactly what I've been doin'. Can't say it was the best decision," he finished with his crooked smile just a bit bigger.
"Well, I hope you have some clean clothes and a cup of tea waiting for you," replied Fiona. "It looks like you will be in sore need of some care and comfort today."
"That I will," he replied.
Lin was busy fussing with the silk as she listened to the interchange. She had managed to get the silk free, but the wind was playing havoc with her attempts to wrap it around her head. It kept snapping up an end and trying to sweep if from her grasp. Finally, with a bit of frustration, she unfastened the pin she was wearing and made to use it to fasten the silk to her jacket so that it would at least be anchored on one end as she wound it around. She held the silk to her jacket lapel just over her heart and had the pin poised to bite in. Roary looked up just before she sunk the needle's edge into the fabric. He said something to her, but it was carried away by the wind, much like the silk would have been if she had not stabbed the pin through and made it fast with the pin. The look on Roary's face was one of complete horror. Lin stared at him. She had no idea why he looked so stunned. Women used pins on silks and scarves all the time. As this thought passed through her mind, there was a sudden change in the feel of the wind and the sun's light was briefly blotted out by a roil of emerald, indigo, amber and sapphire, then a burst of pure light hit her in the eyes. The light was so incredibly bright that she felt blinded by it. She could just make out the figures of the boys and her mom holding their arms up to shield their own eyes.
Inside the light, a figure seemed to be taking shape. It appeared to be hunched over, the size of an average person with long stringy hair and a robe that fell to its feet. The light's intensity began to fade, and it seemed to recede into the figure. As the light slid into the figure, it began to change. Slightly at first, a slow unbending of the spine, then a gradual filling out of the hair. As this change took place, the family and Roary moved to be clustered together. Roary moved between Fiona and Lin, and the boys stepped in front of the two women, like guardians. Watching the transformation, they saw an old crone shed the cocoon of age and become a startlingly beautiful woman with wild dark hair that cracked in the wind and clear emerald green eyes. "That's her," whispered Sean. "Who?" asked Ian. But there was no answer as that was when the figure stepped forward and pointed to Lin, pulling her forward to stand between the boys without Lin's seeming to move on her own at all.
Roary was stunned. He had just seen the old woman from his childhood and the one who had so recently tended his hand step not only out of the light but out of her aged form. It was not that he did not believe in the old myths and legends, some small part of him always had, he just never expected that he would actually confront a person from out of time face to face. He simply could not move or speak given the swell of emotion running through him, from awe and pleasant surprise to a gut-wrenching fear and sense that something was about to take a very unexpected and ugly turn.
Sean unconsciously reached for his mother’s hand. It was not clear if he was giving or seeking comfort. It was clear, however, that of the three people who stood facing the wild, green-eyed woman, only Sean recognized her. Ian moved closer to Lin. They stood together, the three of them as if bracing against a foe.
Fiona moved as if to take her place with her daughter and grandsons and found that she was held in stasis. No muscle would move and she could not speak. She felt trapped and wary. There was something happening that felt charged, almost electric, and definitely like her family should be seeking shelter from whatever was about to come. She wanted to pull them back and tell them to run. But she had no voice and no power to move. She was compelled to simply watch. The most she could manage was a sidelong glance at Roary. He seemed to be struggling under the weight of what was transpiring as well.
Lin weighed the woman in front of her. She seemed oddly exotic and out of time. If asked if she thought the woman was benign or malignant, she would not have been able to give an answer. She felt mostly that this woman was on the edge and that one feather-light touch would tip the balance. She was not afraid of her, yet she knew she probably should be.
The wind picked up, heaving the sea against the rock behind the woman they faced, only to recede and become a constantly throbbing pulse that seemed to match the racing of their hearts.
“Well met,” said the woman quietly yet firmly. Her voice was like thick honey. It poured over you with warm tones and finished just a bit too sweet.
Lin said nothing; she just continued to look at the woman, waiting for what was next.
“I see ye are adept at listenin’ when ye need to and that is a good thing as I will’na be repeatin’ my words to ye. I have only a small bit of time to take from ye what I will and to give to ye what you must know,” said the woman.
“Who are you?” asked Lin.
Sean replied before the woman could, “That is Aiofe, the King’s second wife, the jealous one.”
Lin smiled a bit and rubbed his head. “That tale is ancient, dear, and only a tale at that. She cannot be Lir’s wife.”
“The blood is strong in his veins, that is sure,” said the woman. “He can see me for who I am. Ye probably could too if ye weren’t so damn stubborn. But I’ve a feeling your pox on faery-tales and such is about to crash around yer ears. Come a bit closer,” she gestured.
Lin stepped out from the boys and walked over to the woman. They stood now, roughly five feet apart looking directly at each other, eye to eye.
“No fear though, that’s good. Ye’ll be needin’ to hold on to that part with what ye’ have pledged to,” said the woman just loud enough to be heard.
“What I have pledged to?” repeated Lin.
“Aye, you made a solemn promise to those that were once my kin. Now I hold you to that geasa. Ye must do all that ye can to save Roarke from his plight, and that means saving the others as well, and to see that ye have proper incentive, I plan to take ye up on the second part of yer’ offer. I’ll be takin’ that which ye can give as surety that ye will take up the cause and make this right, finally.”
“I don’t understa…,” replied Lin.
As the words formed in her mouth, Lin turned to follow the path of the swath of colored light that streamed from Aiofe’s hands. Twisting spirals of amber, indigo, and sapphire flames shot forward. They cleaved directly through the wind and wound themselves in a frenetic dance around the boys. As she watched in stunned disbelief, her children slowly began to change. Where the fire touched them, their bodies began to mold themselves into a new form, hands were replaced with large padded paws and heavy rough fur, and muscular legs became large hindquarters curving into graceful backs and long tails. Once complete, her boys were gone and in their place stood two magnificent Irish Wolfhounds.
Aiofe moved to them, silk flowing over the strand, and patted their large mangy heads. "I believe ye will do well in these forms. I give ye one gift, as long as you remember who ye are and what ye mean to each other, ye will be able to talk to each other without real speech. But bear in mind, once ye take to the form's true ways, this gift will leave ye. Ye will have to guard the gift.”
She turned to Lin, “I can be gracious at times. I’ll give ye a minute before I set them free. Ye can think with them if ye try.”
Lin ran to the boys, throwing her arms around their huge lion-like necks. “Please remember you are your brother’s keeper.. It goes both ways. I will do anything to bring you back to me. I love you. Nana loves you.”
The hound that was now Sean, a tall soft grey with a broad sweep of dark grey running down its nose and back, pushed his head into her hand. “Love you too, Ma. This feels really funny, but it doesn’t hurt, so don't worry. Things will work out. And until they do, this is kind of like a cool experiment, right?” The look in the hound's eyes was clearly a search for reassurance. All Lin could do was hug him harder and try not to drown in her own tangle of emotion.
Fiona felt like she had been hit with a sledgehammer directly in the center of her chest. She could not breathe. All of her muscles seemed to have clenched themselves tight. Her throat was entirely constricted. It flashed through her mind how easy it truly might be to faint. She had always thought that action was somehow unreal, but now she knew it was possible to lose control to that degree. She swayed from the lack of oxygen and gound herself propped up by Roary James. Roary James, who was somehow a part of all of this, and she flashed on the image of her grandsons their tall, proud young frames, now transformed into hounds. That was when the blackness engulfed her.
Roary was completely shaken by what he had just witnessed. His momentary delight at being in the presence of this figure from the legends of his youth was shredded. He wanted to throttle the old witch for what she had just done. His hands were clenching and unclenching, his jaw grinding as he tried to hold onto himself and defuse the anger that boiled in him. From the corner of his eye he saw Fiona start to crumple and moved just in time to catch her before she fell to the sand. Standing there with Lin's mother in his arms, he stared at Aiofe wishing that he had the power to force her to reverse what she had done, and cursing himself because he knew he did not.
Ian’s bulky, blonde hound head pushed into Lin's other hand. “Find us a way home, Mom. I’ll take care of Sean. I will try to make sure that we stay around this spot so we don't get lost." He was almost a hand taller than his brother and his eyes shone with a desire to protect both his mother and his brother. "If Emma calls tell her I'm just away for a bit, no use having her worried too." It was an attempt at humor that hung limply in the air. They wanted to say more, but a tug at Lin’s jacket pulled her back toward Aiofe.
Roary helped Fiona stand as she came back to herself, moving a bit more roughly than he intended. He moved toward Lin in an effort to help her stay with the boys, or hounds as they were now. He found himself blocked by a wall of air. A wall of air that was as solid as rock. He simply could not move through it or around it. Frustrated and angry he turned back to help Fiona. Side by side they bore witness to the soul shattering emptiness that seared Lin's face. Without even thinking about it they linked hands in silent support.
“That was lovely,” said the Aoife. “Now look, boys, I have a treat for ye’ both, and she brandished two fine-looking bones that she threw into the waves. The two hounds took off with wild barking and jumping, racing toward the sea. Lin, Roary and Fiona watched with horror as they galloped directly in and were simply swallowed by a wave. They waited, holding their breath, but the hounds did not re-emerge. Stunned the trio simply stood there unable to do anything more than pray that somehow what had just happened was a collective nightmare.
“Now don’t go gettin’ all fretful, the hounds have just moved off a bit. They will be perfectly safe if they stay together. I suspect they might even find their way back to this little spot, if they don’t make up their minds to stay hounds, that is,” said Aiofe.
Lin was caught between the impact of the loss of her boys and her anger at the woman who had caused it. Anger won in the end, “What in the bloody hell gave you the right to do that to my children?” she demanded. “Bring them back this instant and give them back what is theirs.”
Aiofe laughed, “Right? Do ye honestly think I am worried about that after all this time? Besides, the fool over there set this in motion,” she said pointing to Roary. “I warned him not to let the young one down near the sea. I told him long ago to find the pin ye wear, but he could never do it. Seems yon boy was the one that Lir finally trusted enough to let it go to. And the eldest boy, well, I let the silk out into the world when I bound Roary’s hand with it. But it was the eldest child who sought it and gave it to ye. And ye, well, ye are the one who Roarke and the lot trusted enough to let tend them and ye’ did accept the geasa to do all that you could and give all that you could to save the poor weary lad. So, it seems I really did not do much, while ye did quite a lot. Ye’ even managed to put the two pieces together and call to me. I don’t need rights when ye are steppin’ over the faery lines like that on yer own, love,” finished Aoife.
“Fine,” replied Lin in a snipping tone. “Let’s assume that I accept all of this as my doing.”
“I wouldna’ be discounting their parts in it,” said Aiofe pointing to the two other adults on the beach, “nor the boys for that matter, but sure, if ye need to shoulder the blame ye have the most of it.”
“What in the blazes do we have to do? Stitch the bird up and teach it to fly?”
“Ye’ weren’t really listenin’ when yer young lad told ye the tale, were ye, Lass?’ said Aoife.
“There are three silks and you need all of them. Ye miss but two. The Sidhe took them from me long ago and I havena’ seen them since. But they may help ye’ to win your children back. Find the silks, bind the birds together with them and use the pin to finish the binding. It’s that simple. The swans will be whole again and ye may see yer boys again if boys they still are.” Aiofe was almost smiling now. Her emerald eyes sparkling with what looked like suppressed laughter.
“But how?” began Lin. That was as far as she got, as the wind struck up a howling frenzy at that moment and Aiofe spun into it, turning as fast as the wind. She became a blur of color that suddenly winked into a shaft of blindingly pure light. And then they were alone on the beach with the boys' clothes and packs at their feet.
Roary, Lin and Fiona, stood alone with the staggering events of the last few minutes. In a fit of indignant anger Lin began to wrestle with the pin. She wrenched it free and made to cast it into the sea, when a strong hand covered hers and stopped her forward momentum.
“I’m thinkin’ that ye will regret that vera’ soon. We need that to tend to Sean and Ian, “ said Roary in a calm and definitive tone.
“Damn it to hell,” shouted Lin, then she turned and slapped him hard with her free hand. “I do not believe in fairy or faery tales, so what am I doing living through a nightmare in one?”
Roary took both hands and lowered them down to her sides and turned her toward her mother. Fiona was still staring at the spot in the sea where her grandsons had disappeared.
“I think there are some people who need ye to stop hidin’ from things so much and start just lookin’ for answers. Don’t you?”
With a big sigh, Lin let her shoulders slide from battle posture to surrender.
She stepped away from Roary. “Well, Mom, Mr. James, I think we had best start. First things first, does anyone have any idea where we can find the boys, I mean the hounds?”
“That, I’m thinkin’, isna’ going to happen until ye have given Aiofe what she seeks,” replied Roary.
Fiona turned to him, tears brimming in her lovely blue eyes, nodding in agreement, then she returned her gaze to the sea.
“Not everyone gets what they want,” announced Lin.
Its Cold Out Here....but Beautiful....
Friday, February 25, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Participles and Portents (26)
Grit in Your Eye
Roary stumbled from the pub, bottle in hand. He had enjoyed a fine night out with friends, the rousing and not quite family-appropriate songs still cheerily whistling through his head. It was a fine group of local musicians and not a bad lot of singers the village boasted. He suspected that his own voice was not one that many would find all that rousing, but once the group was good and going all were welcome to join in. And join in he had, with complete relish. It was well past time that he spent a night doing nothing but enjoying himself. He wove a gentle swaying path down the middle of the street, as the sidewalk seemed just a bit too constraining for his needs. It must be later than he had thought as there were very few folk out to witness his lack of concern for vehicular travelers.
Looking up he noticed a gloriously orange full moon. "That," he said to himself, "is a beautiful sight." Pondering the moon he found himself making his way down the path that led from the village and twisted its way toward the shore. He managed to clamber over a few rocks to sit, legs tucked to his chest in the rocky sands just shy of the waves. "Beautiful, indeed," he mumbled.
He sat there in humbled silence, occasionally tipping the remains of the bottle of whiskey he held until he found it to be empty. Gradually he let himself slide to the side and curl up on the shore staring out at the orange moonlight as it broke against the waves. He listened to the natural heartbeat of the sea and felt his own heart beat steady to match it. The rise and fall of the waves flowed with the rise and fall of his breathing and soon he was fast asleep on the shore, his bottle tucked up under his chin.
They were made of shadow and light and yet also of flesh and bone. A tall man with red and gold hair that glinted in the waning light of the sun. He wore garb that was clearly not of this time: a long robe and a jerkin with a belt encrusted with what looked like jewels, a heavy sword hanging at his side. His face looked ravaged with pain. The woman was old and haggard, yet still somehow surreally beautiful. She wore a dress that shimmered in the light, with long trains that hung from the elbows in a magnificent emerald green that matched her eyes. Her hands were outstretched. In one there was something small and silver and in the other, held higher almost over her head, there were three lengths of silk. The silks were wrapped around her palm, the ends snapping in the winds that had her long grey locks wildly whipping around her face and body. The man angrily tore the small object from her hand - it looked almost as if he were going to slap her with it - then he turned from her. She spoke but Roary could not make out the words. She opened her hand and pulled the silks apart, walking toward the man as if pleading to be heard. Finally, when she was just ten paces away he turned to her. The look on his face was akin to a look of hope. He started toward her. She raised her hands as if to embrace him. The winds lifted in intensity and one of the silks was dragged from her grasp. The man turned to grab it, but it sailed past him as if the wind had taken it for itself. The woman seemed to be howling. She turned toward the rock and tried to scale it, to reach where the silk hung tenuously in a dance above their heads. It looked as if she would be able to reach it, if only just. She pressed one hand down on a rock and heaved her back upward, arching as high as she could to reach the silk. As she did so the wind swept behind her making an almost human sound, so close to laughter it made Roary's spine clench. Then the silk she held in her grasping hand was wrenched from around her palm and joined the one suspended. There in the air the two silks spun and danced as the pair watched the unfolding tragedy of their eventual disappearance into the arms of the wind. The woman turned from her rocky hold to look at the man, fear and anxiety in her eyes. He held the small silver item to his lips, looked at her with a depth of pain that even Roary could feel, and then turned and walked into the sea. He just walked into the sea. He did not look back, the waves did not stagger him. The press and thrall of the crashing sea did not hinder him at all. It seemed that the sea just welcomed his intrusion. Roary watched as the man just disappeared under the water. When he lifted his gaze back to the beach and the rock, the woman and her one lone silk was gone.
A blinding shaft of light greeted Roary as he woke the next morning. He moved to block the light and only succeeded in knocking himself in the head with the bottle he still held in his fist. Carefully moving himself to an upright position he noted the grit in his eyes and the taste of salt and sand in his mouth. Ruefully, he looked about at where he was. He brushed his hands down his jacket only to find them no cleaner given the amount of debris on the garment. He rolled up his sleeve and used his arm to scrub at his eyes and face. "What a night I must have had to end up here," he thought. He looked at the empty bottle. "Well, at least I know what not to drink if I want to avoid a crusty morning and wild dreams," he said to himself.
He managed to get to his feet. He definitely had put too much time in at the pub. His head hurt, either from the light or from hitting himself in the head with the bottle. Ether way, he surmised, it was the bottle's fault. With a grim laugh at his own folly, he set off on what was sure to be a laborious trek back to his shop.
Roary stumbled from the pub, bottle in hand. He had enjoyed a fine night out with friends, the rousing and not quite family-appropriate songs still cheerily whistling through his head. It was a fine group of local musicians and not a bad lot of singers the village boasted. He suspected that his own voice was not one that many would find all that rousing, but once the group was good and going all were welcome to join in. And join in he had, with complete relish. It was well past time that he spent a night doing nothing but enjoying himself. He wove a gentle swaying path down the middle of the street, as the sidewalk seemed just a bit too constraining for his needs. It must be later than he had thought as there were very few folk out to witness his lack of concern for vehicular travelers.
Looking up he noticed a gloriously orange full moon. "That," he said to himself, "is a beautiful sight." Pondering the moon he found himself making his way down the path that led from the village and twisted its way toward the shore. He managed to clamber over a few rocks to sit, legs tucked to his chest in the rocky sands just shy of the waves. "Beautiful, indeed," he mumbled.
He sat there in humbled silence, occasionally tipping the remains of the bottle of whiskey he held until he found it to be empty. Gradually he let himself slide to the side and curl up on the shore staring out at the orange moonlight as it broke against the waves. He listened to the natural heartbeat of the sea and felt his own heart beat steady to match it. The rise and fall of the waves flowed with the rise and fall of his breathing and soon he was fast asleep on the shore, his bottle tucked up under his chin.
They were made of shadow and light and yet also of flesh and bone. A tall man with red and gold hair that glinted in the waning light of the sun. He wore garb that was clearly not of this time: a long robe and a jerkin with a belt encrusted with what looked like jewels, a heavy sword hanging at his side. His face looked ravaged with pain. The woman was old and haggard, yet still somehow surreally beautiful. She wore a dress that shimmered in the light, with long trains that hung from the elbows in a magnificent emerald green that matched her eyes. Her hands were outstretched. In one there was something small and silver and in the other, held higher almost over her head, there were three lengths of silk. The silks were wrapped around her palm, the ends snapping in the winds that had her long grey locks wildly whipping around her face and body. The man angrily tore the small object from her hand - it looked almost as if he were going to slap her with it - then he turned from her. She spoke but Roary could not make out the words. She opened her hand and pulled the silks apart, walking toward the man as if pleading to be heard. Finally, when she was just ten paces away he turned to her. The look on his face was akin to a look of hope. He started toward her. She raised her hands as if to embrace him. The winds lifted in intensity and one of the silks was dragged from her grasp. The man turned to grab it, but it sailed past him as if the wind had taken it for itself. The woman seemed to be howling. She turned toward the rock and tried to scale it, to reach where the silk hung tenuously in a dance above their heads. It looked as if she would be able to reach it, if only just. She pressed one hand down on a rock and heaved her back upward, arching as high as she could to reach the silk. As she did so the wind swept behind her making an almost human sound, so close to laughter it made Roary's spine clench. Then the silk she held in her grasping hand was wrenched from around her palm and joined the one suspended. There in the air the two silks spun and danced as the pair watched the unfolding tragedy of their eventual disappearance into the arms of the wind. The woman turned from her rocky hold to look at the man, fear and anxiety in her eyes. He held the small silver item to his lips, looked at her with a depth of pain that even Roary could feel, and then turned and walked into the sea. He just walked into the sea. He did not look back, the waves did not stagger him. The press and thrall of the crashing sea did not hinder him at all. It seemed that the sea just welcomed his intrusion. Roary watched as the man just disappeared under the water. When he lifted his gaze back to the beach and the rock, the woman and her one lone silk was gone.
A blinding shaft of light greeted Roary as he woke the next morning. He moved to block the light and only succeeded in knocking himself in the head with the bottle he still held in his fist. Carefully moving himself to an upright position he noted the grit in his eyes and the taste of salt and sand in his mouth. Ruefully, he looked about at where he was. He brushed his hands down his jacket only to find them no cleaner given the amount of debris on the garment. He rolled up his sleeve and used his arm to scrub at his eyes and face. "What a night I must have had to end up here," he thought. He looked at the empty bottle. "Well, at least I know what not to drink if I want to avoid a crusty morning and wild dreams," he said to himself.
He managed to get to his feet. He definitely had put too much time in at the pub. His head hurt, either from the light or from hitting himself in the head with the bottle. Ether way, he surmised, it was the bottle's fault. With a grim laugh at his own folly, he set off on what was sure to be a laborious trek back to his shop.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Participles and Portents (25)
Finding Grace
They were all chilled and wet from their time in the sea. Ian and Sean were soaked through from their thorough drenching. Sean was still gagging from the amount of water he had choked down when he fell backward into the water. Fiona pounded him on the back in an effort to make sure he had expelled all of it as the group huddled together.
"We have to make it back to the village. I know it is mostly deserted, but perhaps there is at least one shop serving the few tourists who come," said Lin.
"Well, we definitely have to at least find someplace out of the wind," said Ian, his teeth starting to chatter, "I am freezing."
"I should say it serves you right for going into the water," grumbled Fiona, "But I love you too much to want to see your lips turning blue."
Sean uncharacteristically said nothing. He moved closer to Lin and pressed up under her arm, like a bird seeking the comfort of being under its mother's wing. She pulled him in close, shuddering at the touch of the cold wet form. "Yes, we had better find shelter and hopefully something hot to drink to go along with it," said Lin. Ian took the cue from Sean and moved over to hug his Nana, everyone grateful to be sharing warmth.
They trudged along in silence 'til they reached the rocks. Here they separated reluctantly as the wind bit in where the protective bodies had been. They made their climb as quickly as possible, the added weight of the wet clothes and their numbing effect seeming to make the effort much more difficult. Of course the going up part always seemed harder than climbing down anyway. In time they made it back to the rock where it seemed so long ago Lin had sought solace in the old Irish tale and the pounding pattern of the waves.
They traded partners, with Sean cuddled up to Fiona and Ian and Lin arm and arm for the trek back into the abandoned village. Lin did not have high hopes that there would be anything there. When they had come through at first light, the place had seemed completely abandoned. Yet people did come here, so there was some commercial advantage to be had, even if it was slim. Perhaps there was someone desperate enough to try to eke out a living by selling refreshments and souvenirs to the tourists who did come. She checked her watch; they had well over an hour before the boat would be back. It would be a very cold wait indeed if there was nowhere to go. They made their way through the village. As she expected, there was nothing. Ian suggested that they walk down to the pier as it might be possible that the gatehouse would have something. They gave a mutually long sigh and plowed on toward the pier.
Here they were in luck. The gatehouse was open, and though it was not much, there was a small area open to the public. The shopkeeper gave them menus and, noticing their wet apparel, offered them towels and a seat close to the fire in the public room. Lin gave her towel to Sean and went to stand by the fire. She could just as easily dry that way. Her youngest looked like he needed a complete change of clothes and a blanket; so did Ian for that matter. Fiona, wet well past the waist, was busy patting herself down. She would have loved to have surrendered her towel to the boys as well, but her teeth were on edge from the cold. Cold was just not something her bones could abide. Having mopped up as much as she could, she draped the towel over a rack near the hearth and went out into the store. Several minutes later she returned with three sweatshirts, one for each boy and one for herself. They could not do much about how wet they were from the waist down, but they could work on the rest. She handed the boys their shirts and went to find a place to change. When they sat down to the table, Lin was surprised to find her family dressed in identical shirts, all proudly announcing that "I Survived the Seas of Inishkea." The look on her face must have truly said it all as the entire family started laughing loud enough to bring the shopkeeper into the public room to check on what was happening.
"It would be hard to explain," gasped Lin. "I do think we would all like something hot to drink. Tea for three and a hot chocolate for the ruffian in the corner."
After the drinks had been delivered the table sobered up quite a bit.
"I just need to know why you would do exactly what I told you not to do," said Lin, looking at her boys each in turn.
Sean was the first to speak. "It is hard to say in words, Ma. It's like the sea was so sad. I don't know how to say it but I just knew it was so incredibly lonely and sad. I had this feeling that all it really wanted was to hold someone."
Lin raised her eyebrow and stared pointedly at her son.
"Not in a weird or mean way, not like that at all. I think the sea just wanted to rock someone in its arms. I guess I am not explaining it very well. I just did not feel scared at all. I just felt right," he ended lamely.
Ian jumped in behind his brother. "It wasn't really all like that, Mom. It was more like the sea offering a gift. We could hear it calling. I know we could. And I know that sounds crazy. But there are all sorts of poems that talk about the song of the sea and stuff like that. Sean and I heard that today down there. We heard the song of the sea. And the sea called to us, it did."
"So what did it promise you?" asked Fiona
Ian looked down at his feet and Sean glanced over at the fire. It was pretty clear neither of them wanted to answer that question. Still not making eye contact, Ian replied, "It just promised us that it would fill all the gaps, you know, something like that." His voice fell so low that if they had not been straining to make out the words it would not have been possible to determine what he had said. Sean looked directly at Ian and nodded his head in affirmation.
Lin looked down at her watch, more to have something to do than for any other reason at that point. Realizing that it was actually time to catch the boat back, she rose. "Well, we can talk more about this later, but for now we had best pay up and find our way back to the ferry." Fiona and the boys hugged the fire while Lin paid the bill and thanked their host, Then they made their way down the pier and presented their return tickets. On board they all took seats inside for the return journey, the boys managing to sit just far enough away for conversation to be difficult. Fiona, for her part, was silent as well. It was a quiet ride back, and not the kind of quiet that envelopes a person peacefully. It felt to Lin like a riot was happening in that small little space, one that would have to be dealt with before the evening was over. She actually dreaded making landfall and suspected the other occupants did too.
Once back, they made their way to the car. Fiona announced that she thought it might be a good idea to make the return drive in the morning and that perhaps they should see if the lodgings might still have room for one more night. Lin agreed and drove toward the bed and breakfast, wistfully thinking of a bowl of oats and a new start to the whole day. She parked and went in to inquire. The lady of the house said they could have the rooms, but they needed to be made up and gave Lin directions to a nice quiet restaurant where they could get a decent meal. Lin explained about the need to change, and they were given leave to use the bath near the kitchen. They each took a turn in the bath, washing up as best they could and putting on dry garments. Fiona opted to change her shirt, so in the end, it was only the two boys whose chests announced "I Survived the Seas of Inishkea" when they went out to eat.
The restaurant was actually more of a small pub though more brightly lit than the one in Doolin had been. They ended up seated at the bar as those were the only seats available when they arrived. An old man near Sean took an instant interest in his shirt and moved over a few stools to sit next to the family.
"Interestin' shirt ye have on," he started.
"And I actually did," replied Sean.
"Did what?"
"My brother and I actually did survive the seas of Inishkea. We almost got pulled right out into them today."
"Did ye" now? Well, they say the Old King, he calls and there are those who can hear him and when they do, they canna' resist the call."
"Really?" asked Sean.
"Well, ye have to know the whole story. What with his own wife practically murderin' his children, Lir lost himself there in the sea trying to get them back. And she, the witch, for every tear he shed, she aged a day until when he finally disappeared, so did she. There are those that say she is lost in the world in-between and always will be just as he is. Others say she crumbled into dust on the day those poor darlin' children did when they finally found human form at the hands of the monk who changed them back long after their poor father fell with the tides. Guess it depends on which tale you prefer really," winked the old man.
"I think that Lir is still in the sea," whispered Sean.
"Ye do?" asked the man
"Yeah," said Sean. He was about to talk further when his Mom caught his attention. They had won a table and were moving. He turned to say goodbye to the old man, but he had already moved back to his prior station at the bar.
Dinner was satisfying, if simple. For the most part they either had Irish stew or the seafood chowder accompanied by the usual staple, brown bread. Lin was tempted to have a couple of shots of Tullamore Dew with her Guinness after the day they had won through, but she kept to just two pints. The night would be long enough without getting a "swerve" on. Their stomachs full and the ache of the cold day erased at least from their bodies, they made their way back to the bed and breakfast. The lady of the house had laid out a fire for them in the main room and Ian flared it to life. Fiona excused herself, noting that she had indeed had more exercise in that one day than she had indulged in for the whole trip and her body was demanding to be horizontal. Lin suspected her mother was just giving her time to sort through the day with the boys on her own, and she certainly hoped that was more of the truth than that Fiona was actually feeling the day's exertions.
Lin made up three cups of hot chocolate and brought them over to the fire. They sat for awhile and just enjoyed the rich scent of the peat and the colors that danced in the flames. Sean sat on the end of the sofa curled in - with her and yet pulled away at the same time. Ian sat in the chair just to the side of the sofa, his arms resting on his knees, his head only a few inches from her own.
Still looking at the fire he began to speak. "You know, Ma, these last few years have been hard on everyone. I know that you try hard not to show it, but Sean and I, we know it hasn't been easy for you. Your life has changed as much or more than ours. Sometimes it really pisses me off that you never let us help you, that you always keep it all to yourself. I watch the way you just keep plugging away and every time something new kicks you, you just add something more to do. It is almost as if you think if you just do something more - for me, for Sean, for your job, just something - that all the crap will go away or it won't catch up with you."
Ian paused, still staring at the fire and took a long drink of the now cooled chocolate. Sean shifted in his seat and moved so that he was sitting in a parallel position to his brother on the sofa, his head cocked so he could see Lin's expression.
Ian continued, "I think it is great that you finally took this time to do something for yourself, but I also think it sucks that it had to be so far away from home. I guess I am just tired of having the people I love need to leave me to 'sort it all out.' What I want to know is, am I what needs sorting? Am I a part of what keeps you from just turning around at home and looking at it all there and deciding what to fix?" He turned then and looked at her, his blue eyes wide open and clearly seeking an answer.
Lin was stunned. She had never thought her boys would ever doubt anything from her. She thought they knew they were the center of her world, the core and the rock that made every breath possible. She looked from him to Sean. Sean seemed to be asking the same thing.
"Yes, my life has changed a great deal. I know you know about most of the changes. I understand that you have probably not absorbed the reasons behind some of them and may not choose to do that for awhile. I think you have that right. Every child should love both of their parents. I will not ask you to choose between your father and me, and that is part of the reason why I could not ask you to help me shoulder my burden. The other part is that I simply don't believe that children should carry their parents' burdens. I think that parents are here to help their kids. Maybe, when I am older and feeble, maybe then you can shoulder my burden. But I hope by then it won't be anything nearly as complicated as life has been lately. I am so sorry that you took my coming here as leaving you to sort it all out. I wasn't leaving you or your brother. I was trying to get away from the job and the day-to-day routine. You each have your schools now. I really didn't think this time would matter as much anymore. If you don't know it already, you should be very clear on this: I stay sane because I have the two of you to stay sane for. You give me a reason to breathe and joy in taking those breaths. Do you get it?"
Sean nodded his head. "But why is Dad really gone?"
Ian looked daggers at him. Lin turned. "I think that your father should explain the details to you, sweetheart. I believe that he will be around again someday to do just that. But for now, what I can tell you is that he did some things that were not acceptable by law and to a lot of people. He decided to go away for awhile. When he is ready to face everyone and all that he did, I am sure he will be back."
"So, why doesn't he at least send a card or anything?"
"I guess I don't really have all the answers," said Lin. "But I believe he will find a way to contact you and Ian sometime. Parents don't stop loving their children even if there are times when they can't or don't talk to them. Love is not something that gets turned on and off like a spigot."
Sean looked at her thoughtfully. "I love you, Ma, to the moon and beyond," he smiled. It was an old phrase they used in letters and cards
"I love you to infinity and back," she replied, completing the code.
"You guys are mushy and gross, but I love you both anyway," said Ian. Then he added, "I'll love you forever."
Lin laughed, "Unless you want to start quoting all the old books and stuff from your childhood, we should clean up and head off to bed."
They took the cups into the kitchen and washed them together. Ian banked the fire and they went upstairs together. At the door to the boys' room they had a group hug. The boys slipped into their room and closed the door.
Lin leaned against it, and with tears streaming down her cheeks, she said a prayer of thanks that they were hers, that they were safe and that they did know how much they were truly loved. "It is love that guides us home everytime," she thought. "Home is not really a place, it is the people we love and are loved by." Moving down the hall, she stopped to look out at the moon and whispered, "Thank you for the grace you have given me."
They were all chilled and wet from their time in the sea. Ian and Sean were soaked through from their thorough drenching. Sean was still gagging from the amount of water he had choked down when he fell backward into the water. Fiona pounded him on the back in an effort to make sure he had expelled all of it as the group huddled together.
"We have to make it back to the village. I know it is mostly deserted, but perhaps there is at least one shop serving the few tourists who come," said Lin.
"Well, we definitely have to at least find someplace out of the wind," said Ian, his teeth starting to chatter, "I am freezing."
"I should say it serves you right for going into the water," grumbled Fiona, "But I love you too much to want to see your lips turning blue."
Sean uncharacteristically said nothing. He moved closer to Lin and pressed up under her arm, like a bird seeking the comfort of being under its mother's wing. She pulled him in close, shuddering at the touch of the cold wet form. "Yes, we had better find shelter and hopefully something hot to drink to go along with it," said Lin. Ian took the cue from Sean and moved over to hug his Nana, everyone grateful to be sharing warmth.
They trudged along in silence 'til they reached the rocks. Here they separated reluctantly as the wind bit in where the protective bodies had been. They made their climb as quickly as possible, the added weight of the wet clothes and their numbing effect seeming to make the effort much more difficult. Of course the going up part always seemed harder than climbing down anyway. In time they made it back to the rock where it seemed so long ago Lin had sought solace in the old Irish tale and the pounding pattern of the waves.
They traded partners, with Sean cuddled up to Fiona and Ian and Lin arm and arm for the trek back into the abandoned village. Lin did not have high hopes that there would be anything there. When they had come through at first light, the place had seemed completely abandoned. Yet people did come here, so there was some commercial advantage to be had, even if it was slim. Perhaps there was someone desperate enough to try to eke out a living by selling refreshments and souvenirs to the tourists who did come. She checked her watch; they had well over an hour before the boat would be back. It would be a very cold wait indeed if there was nowhere to go. They made their way through the village. As she expected, there was nothing. Ian suggested that they walk down to the pier as it might be possible that the gatehouse would have something. They gave a mutually long sigh and plowed on toward the pier.
Here they were in luck. The gatehouse was open, and though it was not much, there was a small area open to the public. The shopkeeper gave them menus and, noticing their wet apparel, offered them towels and a seat close to the fire in the public room. Lin gave her towel to Sean and went to stand by the fire. She could just as easily dry that way. Her youngest looked like he needed a complete change of clothes and a blanket; so did Ian for that matter. Fiona, wet well past the waist, was busy patting herself down. She would have loved to have surrendered her towel to the boys as well, but her teeth were on edge from the cold. Cold was just not something her bones could abide. Having mopped up as much as she could, she draped the towel over a rack near the hearth and went out into the store. Several minutes later she returned with three sweatshirts, one for each boy and one for herself. They could not do much about how wet they were from the waist down, but they could work on the rest. She handed the boys their shirts and went to find a place to change. When they sat down to the table, Lin was surprised to find her family dressed in identical shirts, all proudly announcing that "I Survived the Seas of Inishkea." The look on her face must have truly said it all as the entire family started laughing loud enough to bring the shopkeeper into the public room to check on what was happening.
"It would be hard to explain," gasped Lin. "I do think we would all like something hot to drink. Tea for three and a hot chocolate for the ruffian in the corner."
After the drinks had been delivered the table sobered up quite a bit.
"I just need to know why you would do exactly what I told you not to do," said Lin, looking at her boys each in turn.
Sean was the first to speak. "It is hard to say in words, Ma. It's like the sea was so sad. I don't know how to say it but I just knew it was so incredibly lonely and sad. I had this feeling that all it really wanted was to hold someone."
Lin raised her eyebrow and stared pointedly at her son.
"Not in a weird or mean way, not like that at all. I think the sea just wanted to rock someone in its arms. I guess I am not explaining it very well. I just did not feel scared at all. I just felt right," he ended lamely.
Ian jumped in behind his brother. "It wasn't really all like that, Mom. It was more like the sea offering a gift. We could hear it calling. I know we could. And I know that sounds crazy. But there are all sorts of poems that talk about the song of the sea and stuff like that. Sean and I heard that today down there. We heard the song of the sea. And the sea called to us, it did."
"So what did it promise you?" asked Fiona
Ian looked down at his feet and Sean glanced over at the fire. It was pretty clear neither of them wanted to answer that question. Still not making eye contact, Ian replied, "It just promised us that it would fill all the gaps, you know, something like that." His voice fell so low that if they had not been straining to make out the words it would not have been possible to determine what he had said. Sean looked directly at Ian and nodded his head in affirmation.
Lin looked down at her watch, more to have something to do than for any other reason at that point. Realizing that it was actually time to catch the boat back, she rose. "Well, we can talk more about this later, but for now we had best pay up and find our way back to the ferry." Fiona and the boys hugged the fire while Lin paid the bill and thanked their host, Then they made their way down the pier and presented their return tickets. On board they all took seats inside for the return journey, the boys managing to sit just far enough away for conversation to be difficult. Fiona, for her part, was silent as well. It was a quiet ride back, and not the kind of quiet that envelopes a person peacefully. It felt to Lin like a riot was happening in that small little space, one that would have to be dealt with before the evening was over. She actually dreaded making landfall and suspected the other occupants did too.
Once back, they made their way to the car. Fiona announced that she thought it might be a good idea to make the return drive in the morning and that perhaps they should see if the lodgings might still have room for one more night. Lin agreed and drove toward the bed and breakfast, wistfully thinking of a bowl of oats and a new start to the whole day. She parked and went in to inquire. The lady of the house said they could have the rooms, but they needed to be made up and gave Lin directions to a nice quiet restaurant where they could get a decent meal. Lin explained about the need to change, and they were given leave to use the bath near the kitchen. They each took a turn in the bath, washing up as best they could and putting on dry garments. Fiona opted to change her shirt, so in the end, it was only the two boys whose chests announced "I Survived the Seas of Inishkea" when they went out to eat.
The restaurant was actually more of a small pub though more brightly lit than the one in Doolin had been. They ended up seated at the bar as those were the only seats available when they arrived. An old man near Sean took an instant interest in his shirt and moved over a few stools to sit next to the family.
"Interestin' shirt ye have on," he started.
"And I actually did," replied Sean.
"Did what?"
"My brother and I actually did survive the seas of Inishkea. We almost got pulled right out into them today."
"Did ye" now? Well, they say the Old King, he calls and there are those who can hear him and when they do, they canna' resist the call."
"Really?" asked Sean.
"Well, ye have to know the whole story. What with his own wife practically murderin' his children, Lir lost himself there in the sea trying to get them back. And she, the witch, for every tear he shed, she aged a day until when he finally disappeared, so did she. There are those that say she is lost in the world in-between and always will be just as he is. Others say she crumbled into dust on the day those poor darlin' children did when they finally found human form at the hands of the monk who changed them back long after their poor father fell with the tides. Guess it depends on which tale you prefer really," winked the old man.
"I think that Lir is still in the sea," whispered Sean.
"Ye do?" asked the man
"Yeah," said Sean. He was about to talk further when his Mom caught his attention. They had won a table and were moving. He turned to say goodbye to the old man, but he had already moved back to his prior station at the bar.
Dinner was satisfying, if simple. For the most part they either had Irish stew or the seafood chowder accompanied by the usual staple, brown bread. Lin was tempted to have a couple of shots of Tullamore Dew with her Guinness after the day they had won through, but she kept to just two pints. The night would be long enough without getting a "swerve" on. Their stomachs full and the ache of the cold day erased at least from their bodies, they made their way back to the bed and breakfast. The lady of the house had laid out a fire for them in the main room and Ian flared it to life. Fiona excused herself, noting that she had indeed had more exercise in that one day than she had indulged in for the whole trip and her body was demanding to be horizontal. Lin suspected her mother was just giving her time to sort through the day with the boys on her own, and she certainly hoped that was more of the truth than that Fiona was actually feeling the day's exertions.
Lin made up three cups of hot chocolate and brought them over to the fire. They sat for awhile and just enjoyed the rich scent of the peat and the colors that danced in the flames. Sean sat on the end of the sofa curled in - with her and yet pulled away at the same time. Ian sat in the chair just to the side of the sofa, his arms resting on his knees, his head only a few inches from her own.
Still looking at the fire he began to speak. "You know, Ma, these last few years have been hard on everyone. I know that you try hard not to show it, but Sean and I, we know it hasn't been easy for you. Your life has changed as much or more than ours. Sometimes it really pisses me off that you never let us help you, that you always keep it all to yourself. I watch the way you just keep plugging away and every time something new kicks you, you just add something more to do. It is almost as if you think if you just do something more - for me, for Sean, for your job, just something - that all the crap will go away or it won't catch up with you."
Ian paused, still staring at the fire and took a long drink of the now cooled chocolate. Sean shifted in his seat and moved so that he was sitting in a parallel position to his brother on the sofa, his head cocked so he could see Lin's expression.
Ian continued, "I think it is great that you finally took this time to do something for yourself, but I also think it sucks that it had to be so far away from home. I guess I am just tired of having the people I love need to leave me to 'sort it all out.' What I want to know is, am I what needs sorting? Am I a part of what keeps you from just turning around at home and looking at it all there and deciding what to fix?" He turned then and looked at her, his blue eyes wide open and clearly seeking an answer.
Lin was stunned. She had never thought her boys would ever doubt anything from her. She thought they knew they were the center of her world, the core and the rock that made every breath possible. She looked from him to Sean. Sean seemed to be asking the same thing.
"Yes, my life has changed a great deal. I know you know about most of the changes. I understand that you have probably not absorbed the reasons behind some of them and may not choose to do that for awhile. I think you have that right. Every child should love both of their parents. I will not ask you to choose between your father and me, and that is part of the reason why I could not ask you to help me shoulder my burden. The other part is that I simply don't believe that children should carry their parents' burdens. I think that parents are here to help their kids. Maybe, when I am older and feeble, maybe then you can shoulder my burden. But I hope by then it won't be anything nearly as complicated as life has been lately. I am so sorry that you took my coming here as leaving you to sort it all out. I wasn't leaving you or your brother. I was trying to get away from the job and the day-to-day routine. You each have your schools now. I really didn't think this time would matter as much anymore. If you don't know it already, you should be very clear on this: I stay sane because I have the two of you to stay sane for. You give me a reason to breathe and joy in taking those breaths. Do you get it?"
Sean nodded his head. "But why is Dad really gone?"
Ian looked daggers at him. Lin turned. "I think that your father should explain the details to you, sweetheart. I believe that he will be around again someday to do just that. But for now, what I can tell you is that he did some things that were not acceptable by law and to a lot of people. He decided to go away for awhile. When he is ready to face everyone and all that he did, I am sure he will be back."
"So, why doesn't he at least send a card or anything?"
"I guess I don't really have all the answers," said Lin. "But I believe he will find a way to contact you and Ian sometime. Parents don't stop loving their children even if there are times when they can't or don't talk to them. Love is not something that gets turned on and off like a spigot."
Sean looked at her thoughtfully. "I love you, Ma, to the moon and beyond," he smiled. It was an old phrase they used in letters and cards
"I love you to infinity and back," she replied, completing the code.
"You guys are mushy and gross, but I love you both anyway," said Ian. Then he added, "I'll love you forever."
Lin laughed, "Unless you want to start quoting all the old books and stuff from your childhood, we should clean up and head off to bed."
They took the cups into the kitchen and washed them together. Ian banked the fire and they went upstairs together. At the door to the boys' room they had a group hug. The boys slipped into their room and closed the door.
Lin leaned against it, and with tears streaming down her cheeks, she said a prayer of thanks that they were hers, that they were safe and that they did know how much they were truly loved. "It is love that guides us home everytime," she thought. "Home is not really a place, it is the people we love and are loved by." Moving down the hall, she stopped to look out at the moon and whispered, "Thank you for the grace you have given me."
Friday, February 18, 2011
Participles and Portents (24)
Salt and Sea
The day dawned clear and bright. Breakfast was wonderful, steel-cut oats with all the trimmings. While it was not the boys' favorite meal, they ate it with relish. Fiona and Lin treated themselves to several cups of strong coffee, bracing for the strong winds that were sure to greet them on the ferry over to the island. Over breakfast Sean regaled them with an old legend that was tied to the islands.
"It seems that roughly 700 years ago there was a King who held sway over the people of the islands. He was descended from Tuatha De Danann, most notably directly from Lir, the Lord of the sea. This King, named after his lineage as was his due, married and had a child, Fionnuala. She was a lovely dark-haired beauty with sapphire eyes like her mother, Eva. A few years after, Lir's wife became with child again; this time she carried twins. During a stormy night at the edge of the sea, she delivered the King's sons, Roarke and Conn. Unfortunately the birth was more than her body could take and while the boys lived, their mother perished. Fionnuala was with her mother at the birthing and protected the new born babes with her small body as the storm raged and the sea challenged her hold over her brothers. The young girl wrapped them in her arms and cradled them to her as she wept over her mother. It is said this is how Lir found them in the cold pure light of dawn, with his daughter's clear voice singing her mother's soul off to the gods. He took what remained of his family home and in due time the boys proved to have voices that were also unmatched in purity, a tenor and a bass. The children became the heart of the people, singing at all the festivals and rituals. In time, Lir determined that he should marry again. He married Aoife, a woman with Faery in her veins. She was a natural beauty with long dark wild tresses and strangely captivating emerald eyes. For awhile the new family flourished. But Aiofe was not content with only a part of the Lir's heart. She grew to resent the time and attention that was lavished on the children and resolved that this should end. Finally, when her jealousy had outgrown her capacity for reason, she took the children down to the same sands where the boys had been born. As they laughed and sang in the water, she cast a spell upon them. A ball of fire hit the sea and surrounded them. The water burned and singed them and where it touched their form began to change. As the change took place, Aiofe spoke out their fate. For 700 years they would be cast upon the seas able to find shelter only in Lough Derravaragh, along the Straits of Moyle and the Isle of Inish Glora. Some small part of her took pity on the children and she granted that when they were able to come to land, they would still be able to lift their voices in song, but never to utter their true names and never to tell of their plight. When the fire extinguished itself, all that was left were three beautiful swans, silent on the now quiet waters. Aiofe turned and gathered up their belongings, the rings that told of their status, their clothing and the three slips of silk that had been bound to their cradles by their mother and that the children always carried with them. She was sorely tempted to cast it all into the water, but she knew she would have to return these to the King. When Lir learned of the plight of his children, he was sorely grieved. He went to the beach, but all he found were three white feathers. He held these to him and cried, for he knew he had lost his children. In the days that followed, Aiofe soon learned of her error. Lir could not be consoled. He spent all of his time at the sands or searching for a way to bring his children back. In trying to focus the King on her, she had lost him completely. And so it came to pass that eventually Lir was also lost to his people. Some say he returned to the Lord of the sea seeking help. Others say that that his heart shattered and the sea took him gently to join Eva."
Sean looked up, "There's more to the story, but it is pretty long, and we don't want to miss the ferry."
Even Ian had been absorbed in the telling of the tale and had not noticed the time that had slipped by. They all scrambled to get jackets put together and clean up their places. With the luggage properly stowed for the night's drive back to the cottage, they set off for the ferry, all a bit more subdued with the tale of the Children of Lir lingering in their minds.
The ferry was not very commodious, but it did the job of getting them over well enough. Sean and Ian stood at the prow, looking almost like mast-heads pointing the way. Fiona took the opportunity to get a few photographs in and Lin just took in the scenery, lost in the sadness of the story that lingered with her. Disembarking, they made sure to check the time of the return journey and coordinated their itinerary for the day. Sean wanted to go directly to the monastic ruins. It took a bit of bartering for time, but eventually they all agreed and set out. The island seemed deserted. They had taken the earliest ferry and were the only early passengers and, as the North Island was the less visited of the two, it seemed likely that they would not have many people join them over the course of the day. It was rather intriguing to be the sole adventurers wandering about the empty spaces. The macair, or fine white sands of the island, was soon a coating on their legs and in their hair. The ruins proved to be much more exciting for Fiona and Sean than anyone else as they rooted around making observations and hypothesizing about where the dye was processed and what areas were used for various functions. Ian did find what he thought was the old chapel, and here he settled down for a few quick sketches.
Lin opened her jacket and fingered the brooch that Sean had insisted she wear. She took it off and looked at its finely wrought detail. It was a very old piece, she thought. Running through Sean's story in her mind, she wondered if the artist had been thinking of the old legend when it had been wrought. It certainly seemed likely. She carefully fastened it back on and closed up her jacket. Fiona came up beside her to ask if she might like to go and investigate the coast a bit. Checking the time, Lin agreed it would be a good time to go down toward the coast if they wanted to get in as much of that as possible.
Sean and Ian were definitely ready for something more active than the ruins, so they took off ahead of the two women. Lin reminded them to be careful on the rock and to stay well back from the sea edge, as the undertow in the area might not be safe. The boys just rolled their eyes and plunged ahead. Fiona asked Lin what she thought of possibly including this area in the travelogue piece. Lin thought it would only prove worth it if her Mom could tie a famous author to it as that was what the magazine was known for. As Fiona pondered how she might work the tale of the Children of Lir into her next article, Lin wandered over to sit on a flat rock that gave her a spectacular view of the Bay. "Are you coming?" asked Fiona. "I'll be along in a bit," replied Lin. "It is a small place, and from here I think I should be able to find you pretty easy."
Fiona looked a bit uneasy at the separation, wondering what was occupying Lin, but set off after the boys as it appeared her daughter wanted to be alone.
Sitting there Lin thought back on the last few years. She wound the thoughts around her head and wove through a bit of Lir. What would it have been like if it had been her children who had been lost to her instead of her husband? How could she had survived that? His decision to disappear after what he had done was so different than the absolute and total loss the King had suffered. Her humiliation and inability to console her boys when they did not understand their father's absence seemed like a mere blip on the radar when compared to what Lir had been forced to suffer. She sat there musing on what the story might be able to tell her and letting the lapping of the waves help her absorb a bit more of her past.
Sean had raced out onto the beach just a few paces ahead of Ian. Still, they both heard the faint whisper as the sea beckoned to them. They moved cautiously to the edge and listened as they cocked their heads, staring at each other as the words from the waves became clear:
King’s Lament
Cover me deep in the machair
Dash my heart open
Punished like Prometheus
Bound to his sentence
So bound am I
Staring out at this sea
My only solace the song that whispers back
I strive to hear its low, slight call
Soprano, Tenor, Bass
Fionnuala, Roarke and Conn
Lifting their voices pure again into the wind
Calling to me
Loving still, though I have betrayed ye
I who should have seen the peril
King of this rock, this shell, this empty hollow
I will follow this song, my children
I have nowhere else to tread
My path lies not here, it lies with thee
Come closer so that I might find ye
Closer so that we might fold ourselves again together
I would not abandon ye
Let me support ye on these waves
For all that I have not been
Let me be all that I can
Come to me
Come to me
The boys could feel the rhythm of the sea in the chanting whisper of the waves. It seemed to weave its arms around them, put its chill hands in theirs and pull them forward. Ian and Sean clasped hands without even noticing and began to walk into the waves.
Come to me, Come to me,
The boys heard it over and over again and the pull became stronger.
Almost as one they whispered back, "We're coming Daddy."
A strong hand hit each of the boys square in the back, fingers dug like claws into their jackets and burrowed almost to the skin. A loud and demanding voice shouted their names and the grip that had them began pulling them back. The voice from the sea pleaded more urgently, but the force that had a hold on them would not let go. They stumbled and fell backward, seawater filling their mouths and making them gag. They released their hold on each other and turned on their bellies to stand, surprised that they were in the water. Fiona stood there, thigh deep in the water, looking like a lioness or a gorgon depending on whether or not she had just saved them or was about to eat them. Either way she looked fierce.
Fiona looked at her grandsons. The shock on their faces and the look of total terror was rather unexpected. She had no idea what they were doing wandering out into the waves. She had only known that she could not let them go there. She had felt compelled to pull them back in. She had not thought it would be so hard to get their attention. And here they were, looking at her as if they did not know where they were and as if she were a terrifying vision. Well, perhaps she was at that. She was furious at them for going into the sea.
It was at that moment that Lin made it to the beach, palms bleeding, knees of her jeans ripped and one shoe missing. She plunged into the waves and wrapped her family in her arms. "I thought you were leaving me," she breathed. "Thank you for keeping them safe, Mom."
The day dawned clear and bright. Breakfast was wonderful, steel-cut oats with all the trimmings. While it was not the boys' favorite meal, they ate it with relish. Fiona and Lin treated themselves to several cups of strong coffee, bracing for the strong winds that were sure to greet them on the ferry over to the island. Over breakfast Sean regaled them with an old legend that was tied to the islands.
"It seems that roughly 700 years ago there was a King who held sway over the people of the islands. He was descended from Tuatha De Danann, most notably directly from Lir, the Lord of the sea. This King, named after his lineage as was his due, married and had a child, Fionnuala. She was a lovely dark-haired beauty with sapphire eyes like her mother, Eva. A few years after, Lir's wife became with child again; this time she carried twins. During a stormy night at the edge of the sea, she delivered the King's sons, Roarke and Conn. Unfortunately the birth was more than her body could take and while the boys lived, their mother perished. Fionnuala was with her mother at the birthing and protected the new born babes with her small body as the storm raged and the sea challenged her hold over her brothers. The young girl wrapped them in her arms and cradled them to her as she wept over her mother. It is said this is how Lir found them in the cold pure light of dawn, with his daughter's clear voice singing her mother's soul off to the gods. He took what remained of his family home and in due time the boys proved to have voices that were also unmatched in purity, a tenor and a bass. The children became the heart of the people, singing at all the festivals and rituals. In time, Lir determined that he should marry again. He married Aoife, a woman with Faery in her veins. She was a natural beauty with long dark wild tresses and strangely captivating emerald eyes. For awhile the new family flourished. But Aiofe was not content with only a part of the Lir's heart. She grew to resent the time and attention that was lavished on the children and resolved that this should end. Finally, when her jealousy had outgrown her capacity for reason, she took the children down to the same sands where the boys had been born. As they laughed and sang in the water, she cast a spell upon them. A ball of fire hit the sea and surrounded them. The water burned and singed them and where it touched their form began to change. As the change took place, Aiofe spoke out their fate. For 700 years they would be cast upon the seas able to find shelter only in Lough Derravaragh, along the Straits of Moyle and the Isle of Inish Glora. Some small part of her took pity on the children and she granted that when they were able to come to land, they would still be able to lift their voices in song, but never to utter their true names and never to tell of their plight. When the fire extinguished itself, all that was left were three beautiful swans, silent on the now quiet waters. Aiofe turned and gathered up their belongings, the rings that told of their status, their clothing and the three slips of silk that had been bound to their cradles by their mother and that the children always carried with them. She was sorely tempted to cast it all into the water, but she knew she would have to return these to the King. When Lir learned of the plight of his children, he was sorely grieved. He went to the beach, but all he found were three white feathers. He held these to him and cried, for he knew he had lost his children. In the days that followed, Aiofe soon learned of her error. Lir could not be consoled. He spent all of his time at the sands or searching for a way to bring his children back. In trying to focus the King on her, she had lost him completely. And so it came to pass that eventually Lir was also lost to his people. Some say he returned to the Lord of the sea seeking help. Others say that that his heart shattered and the sea took him gently to join Eva."
Sean looked up, "There's more to the story, but it is pretty long, and we don't want to miss the ferry."
Even Ian had been absorbed in the telling of the tale and had not noticed the time that had slipped by. They all scrambled to get jackets put together and clean up their places. With the luggage properly stowed for the night's drive back to the cottage, they set off for the ferry, all a bit more subdued with the tale of the Children of Lir lingering in their minds.
The ferry was not very commodious, but it did the job of getting them over well enough. Sean and Ian stood at the prow, looking almost like mast-heads pointing the way. Fiona took the opportunity to get a few photographs in and Lin just took in the scenery, lost in the sadness of the story that lingered with her. Disembarking, they made sure to check the time of the return journey and coordinated their itinerary for the day. Sean wanted to go directly to the monastic ruins. It took a bit of bartering for time, but eventually they all agreed and set out. The island seemed deserted. They had taken the earliest ferry and were the only early passengers and, as the North Island was the less visited of the two, it seemed likely that they would not have many people join them over the course of the day. It was rather intriguing to be the sole adventurers wandering about the empty spaces. The macair, or fine white sands of the island, was soon a coating on their legs and in their hair. The ruins proved to be much more exciting for Fiona and Sean than anyone else as they rooted around making observations and hypothesizing about where the dye was processed and what areas were used for various functions. Ian did find what he thought was the old chapel, and here he settled down for a few quick sketches.
Lin opened her jacket and fingered the brooch that Sean had insisted she wear. She took it off and looked at its finely wrought detail. It was a very old piece, she thought. Running through Sean's story in her mind, she wondered if the artist had been thinking of the old legend when it had been wrought. It certainly seemed likely. She carefully fastened it back on and closed up her jacket. Fiona came up beside her to ask if she might like to go and investigate the coast a bit. Checking the time, Lin agreed it would be a good time to go down toward the coast if they wanted to get in as much of that as possible.
Sean and Ian were definitely ready for something more active than the ruins, so they took off ahead of the two women. Lin reminded them to be careful on the rock and to stay well back from the sea edge, as the undertow in the area might not be safe. The boys just rolled their eyes and plunged ahead. Fiona asked Lin what she thought of possibly including this area in the travelogue piece. Lin thought it would only prove worth it if her Mom could tie a famous author to it as that was what the magazine was known for. As Fiona pondered how she might work the tale of the Children of Lir into her next article, Lin wandered over to sit on a flat rock that gave her a spectacular view of the Bay. "Are you coming?" asked Fiona. "I'll be along in a bit," replied Lin. "It is a small place, and from here I think I should be able to find you pretty easy."
Fiona looked a bit uneasy at the separation, wondering what was occupying Lin, but set off after the boys as it appeared her daughter wanted to be alone.
Sitting there Lin thought back on the last few years. She wound the thoughts around her head and wove through a bit of Lir. What would it have been like if it had been her children who had been lost to her instead of her husband? How could she had survived that? His decision to disappear after what he had done was so different than the absolute and total loss the King had suffered. Her humiliation and inability to console her boys when they did not understand their father's absence seemed like a mere blip on the radar when compared to what Lir had been forced to suffer. She sat there musing on what the story might be able to tell her and letting the lapping of the waves help her absorb a bit more of her past.
Sean had raced out onto the beach just a few paces ahead of Ian. Still, they both heard the faint whisper as the sea beckoned to them. They moved cautiously to the edge and listened as they cocked their heads, staring at each other as the words from the waves became clear:
King’s Lament
Cover me deep in the machair
Dash my heart open
Punished like Prometheus
Bound to his sentence
So bound am I
Staring out at this sea
My only solace the song that whispers back
I strive to hear its low, slight call
Soprano, Tenor, Bass
Fionnuala, Roarke and Conn
Lifting their voices pure again into the wind
Calling to me
Loving still, though I have betrayed ye
I who should have seen the peril
King of this rock, this shell, this empty hollow
I will follow this song, my children
I have nowhere else to tread
My path lies not here, it lies with thee
Come closer so that I might find ye
Closer so that we might fold ourselves again together
I would not abandon ye
Let me support ye on these waves
For all that I have not been
Let me be all that I can
Come to me
Come to me
The boys could feel the rhythm of the sea in the chanting whisper of the waves. It seemed to weave its arms around them, put its chill hands in theirs and pull them forward. Ian and Sean clasped hands without even noticing and began to walk into the waves.
Come to me, Come to me,
The boys heard it over and over again and the pull became stronger.
Almost as one they whispered back, "We're coming Daddy."
A strong hand hit each of the boys square in the back, fingers dug like claws into their jackets and burrowed almost to the skin. A loud and demanding voice shouted their names and the grip that had them began pulling them back. The voice from the sea pleaded more urgently, but the force that had a hold on them would not let go. They stumbled and fell backward, seawater filling their mouths and making them gag. They released their hold on each other and turned on their bellies to stand, surprised that they were in the water. Fiona stood there, thigh deep in the water, looking like a lioness or a gorgon depending on whether or not she had just saved them or was about to eat them. Either way she looked fierce.
Fiona looked at her grandsons. The shock on their faces and the look of total terror was rather unexpected. She had no idea what they were doing wandering out into the waves. She had only known that she could not let them go there. She had felt compelled to pull them back in. She had not thought it would be so hard to get their attention. And here they were, looking at her as if they did not know where they were and as if she were a terrifying vision. Well, perhaps she was at that. She was furious at them for going into the sea.
It was at that moment that Lin made it to the beach, palms bleeding, knees of her jeans ripped and one shoe missing. She plunged into the waves and wrapped her family in her arms. "I thought you were leaving me," she breathed. "Thank you for keeping them safe, Mom."
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Participles and Portents (23)
On Driving Blind
The drive that evening did not start out well. Lin was furious with her mother. The frosty pall that hung in the air around her was almost as cold as the chill that cut the evening air from the winds off the Atlantic. Had the windows been down in the car it would have made the chill seem more reasonable. Sean did his best to cut through the silent frost by chattering away about his day with Ian, pouring forth anecdotes and commentary about the history of the dolmen and the formation of the Burren. He was so concentrated on alleviating the gut-wrenching, brooding anger that pervaded the car that he did not even mind it when Ian kept correcting him. What was perhaps most telling in the entire course of the ride was that Fiona did not correct either of the boys even once when their spoken grammar was completely inaccurate. It did gradually sink into Lin's consciousness that her stony attitude was really grinding on her family. She wasn't precisely sure when she finally noticed how badly her behavior was affecting her loved ones, but she was fairly certain that it was somewhere near the twentieth time that her mother let Sean misuse an objective pronoun in a sentence. It was completely unlike her not to correct her grandsons. In fact, it was completely unlike her boys not to be more conscious of the way they spoke around their Nana. Her boys did not like to be corrected. And, more importantly, they did not like to be corrected by Nana. It was as if in being corrected by her they were somehow failing her, and that was what they wanted to avoid at all costs.
The feelings of fear and the resulting anger finally started to ease the fist that held so tightly in her stomach. She could feel the tension starting to ease off and she mentally berated herself for letting it have such a long hold on her. Life was far too short to waste it on misguided anger. "I am so glad you made it safely back to us, Mom," she said. "I am sorry that I took so long just to tell you that."
"I know," said Fiona. "Sean, I think you have abused the English language enough for one night, don't you?" said his Nana turning to smile and wink at him.
Sean smiled back at his Nana. "I didn't think you noticed there for awhile. I thought I was going to have to go through the whole day and maybe even start making things up."
Ian added wryly, "You made enough up as it is."
Lin was surprised to note that they had traveled almost the entire distance down the coast to their destination. They had been driving for quite sometime. Apparently, she really had let her fear and anger take her away from her family for far too long. She would have to be careful. If she could cover this much distance in a dazed state like that, how much danger did that present to her passengers? She was a good driver, but how much attention had she really been paying to the road if that much of it had gone by unseen?
They were nearing the Mullet peninsula and soon would be coming to the bed and breakfast where they would be spending the night. The following day would find them on the ferry that would take them over to North Inishkea, the destination that Sean had chosen. As they drove the rest of the way, Sean told them that the islands, both North and South, were abandoned in the 1930's after a tragic accident was suffered by the people of the Islands during a violent night storm that took a significant number of the fisherfolk out to sea never to return. He wanted to go to the North Island as it was the original home of the Naomhog (the Godstone) said to have properties that would keep the land on the island fertile and the clear waters full of game. Legend had it that the Naomhog was stolen and taken to the South Island, where it was eventually cast into the sea at the urging of one Father O'Reilly. The Father's attempt to purge the Islanders of their belief in the stone did not seem to work as there continued to be an annual festival to dress the place where the stone was formally housed for decades afterward. Sean was also fascinated by the fact that both islands were known to be active homes for piracy, with the deliberate wrecking and pillaging of boats a highly organized operation off the islands. Finally, and certainly not least, was the find that a French archaeologist had made on the North Island that showed signs of a seventh century monastery that produced a purple dye from shells of the dog whelk. Sean pointed out that it would take about 500 shells to get enough color to decorate one letter in the Book of Kells, so this particular dye was very important and highly prized. It was a major part of the history of the Irish people and was tied directly to "one of the most famous books ever produced by man," he finished with a triumphant gleam in his eye.
Fiona had to admit that she was rather proud of the boy for choosing the spot for so many reasons, the last of which certainly made her proud. The idea that he would choose this wild island because they made the ink that was used for major lettering in the Book of Kells, that was really something. She was very proud of Sean. She was very proud of Ian, too. She thought back to her experience at Poulnabrone. If Ian had not chosen that place, she would not be carrying the pebble in her sweater pocket. She would not have wanted to pass that moment up for anything, and she certainly could not imagine being separated from the pebble now that it belonged to her. Yes, she had to admit, there was something purely magical about her grandsons. They were simply lit from the inside. It was such a pleasure to be with them.
Lin pulled into the lot for the bed and breakfast. She asked if they were hungry enough for dinner or if they would just like her to pick something up from the local grocer to nibble on. In unison they agreed that snacks would be fine. She let them pull out the bags, and Fiona orchestrated the check-in while she went to get a few supplies for the evening.
Driving through the small town, she turned toward the docks that would lead them over to the island the next day. She parked and wandered out toward the sound of the sea. At first the soft crush of the waves on the rock was almost soothing, but as the wind picked up and the rush increased, she felt a vague sense of unease begin to settle around her. Tugging her jacket more closely around her neck, she turned and headed back to the car. She was letting the day's events get to her again. All that time not knowing where her mother was had been just frightening enough. She was letting it put her back up. There was nothing on an old abandoned slip of an island that should cause any trouble. After all, they all had some amount of common sense, even Sean if he opted to use it. It would be fine. The weather was supposed to be clear and they were only going to look at a few old ruins and the view of the coastline from the island's perspective. She stopped, shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and then started out again. It would be fine, she decided firmly.
The drive that evening did not start out well. Lin was furious with her mother. The frosty pall that hung in the air around her was almost as cold as the chill that cut the evening air from the winds off the Atlantic. Had the windows been down in the car it would have made the chill seem more reasonable. Sean did his best to cut through the silent frost by chattering away about his day with Ian, pouring forth anecdotes and commentary about the history of the dolmen and the formation of the Burren. He was so concentrated on alleviating the gut-wrenching, brooding anger that pervaded the car that he did not even mind it when Ian kept correcting him. What was perhaps most telling in the entire course of the ride was that Fiona did not correct either of the boys even once when their spoken grammar was completely inaccurate. It did gradually sink into Lin's consciousness that her stony attitude was really grinding on her family. She wasn't precisely sure when she finally noticed how badly her behavior was affecting her loved ones, but she was fairly certain that it was somewhere near the twentieth time that her mother let Sean misuse an objective pronoun in a sentence. It was completely unlike her not to correct her grandsons. In fact, it was completely unlike her boys not to be more conscious of the way they spoke around their Nana. Her boys did not like to be corrected. And, more importantly, they did not like to be corrected by Nana. It was as if in being corrected by her they were somehow failing her, and that was what they wanted to avoid at all costs.
The feelings of fear and the resulting anger finally started to ease the fist that held so tightly in her stomach. She could feel the tension starting to ease off and she mentally berated herself for letting it have such a long hold on her. Life was far too short to waste it on misguided anger. "I am so glad you made it safely back to us, Mom," she said. "I am sorry that I took so long just to tell you that."
"I know," said Fiona. "Sean, I think you have abused the English language enough for one night, don't you?" said his Nana turning to smile and wink at him.
Sean smiled back at his Nana. "I didn't think you noticed there for awhile. I thought I was going to have to go through the whole day and maybe even start making things up."
Ian added wryly, "You made enough up as it is."
Lin was surprised to note that they had traveled almost the entire distance down the coast to their destination. They had been driving for quite sometime. Apparently, she really had let her fear and anger take her away from her family for far too long. She would have to be careful. If she could cover this much distance in a dazed state like that, how much danger did that present to her passengers? She was a good driver, but how much attention had she really been paying to the road if that much of it had gone by unseen?
They were nearing the Mullet peninsula and soon would be coming to the bed and breakfast where they would be spending the night. The following day would find them on the ferry that would take them over to North Inishkea, the destination that Sean had chosen. As they drove the rest of the way, Sean told them that the islands, both North and South, were abandoned in the 1930's after a tragic accident was suffered by the people of the Islands during a violent night storm that took a significant number of the fisherfolk out to sea never to return. He wanted to go to the North Island as it was the original home of the Naomhog (the Godstone) said to have properties that would keep the land on the island fertile and the clear waters full of game. Legend had it that the Naomhog was stolen and taken to the South Island, where it was eventually cast into the sea at the urging of one Father O'Reilly. The Father's attempt to purge the Islanders of their belief in the stone did not seem to work as there continued to be an annual festival to dress the place where the stone was formally housed for decades afterward. Sean was also fascinated by the fact that both islands were known to be active homes for piracy, with the deliberate wrecking and pillaging of boats a highly organized operation off the islands. Finally, and certainly not least, was the find that a French archaeologist had made on the North Island that showed signs of a seventh century monastery that produced a purple dye from shells of the dog whelk. Sean pointed out that it would take about 500 shells to get enough color to decorate one letter in the Book of Kells, so this particular dye was very important and highly prized. It was a major part of the history of the Irish people and was tied directly to "one of the most famous books ever produced by man," he finished with a triumphant gleam in his eye.
Fiona had to admit that she was rather proud of the boy for choosing the spot for so many reasons, the last of which certainly made her proud. The idea that he would choose this wild island because they made the ink that was used for major lettering in the Book of Kells, that was really something. She was very proud of Sean. She was very proud of Ian, too. She thought back to her experience at Poulnabrone. If Ian had not chosen that place, she would not be carrying the pebble in her sweater pocket. She would not have wanted to pass that moment up for anything, and she certainly could not imagine being separated from the pebble now that it belonged to her. Yes, she had to admit, there was something purely magical about her grandsons. They were simply lit from the inside. It was such a pleasure to be with them.
Lin pulled into the lot for the bed and breakfast. She asked if they were hungry enough for dinner or if they would just like her to pick something up from the local grocer to nibble on. In unison they agreed that snacks would be fine. She let them pull out the bags, and Fiona orchestrated the check-in while she went to get a few supplies for the evening.
Driving through the small town, she turned toward the docks that would lead them over to the island the next day. She parked and wandered out toward the sound of the sea. At first the soft crush of the waves on the rock was almost soothing, but as the wind picked up and the rush increased, she felt a vague sense of unease begin to settle around her. Tugging her jacket more closely around her neck, she turned and headed back to the car. She was letting the day's events get to her again. All that time not knowing where her mother was had been just frightening enough. She was letting it put her back up. There was nothing on an old abandoned slip of an island that should cause any trouble. After all, they all had some amount of common sense, even Sean if he opted to use it. It would be fine. The weather was supposed to be clear and they were only going to look at a few old ruins and the view of the coastline from the island's perspective. She stopped, shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and then started out again. It would be fine, she decided firmly.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Participles and Portents (22)
Dancing in the Light
Ian was all chatter the following morning over his full Irish breakfast. As he shoveled down brown bread, eggs, sausage and tomato, he managed to keep talking at full steam. Not even Sean was able to swing in a comment or two at the breakfast table. It was a good thing that the other patrons were not up and at the table or he might have driven their appetites away with all of his technical spiel about the way the Burren was formed. Lin wasn't sure, but she suspected that a discussion of millions of years of mud and sediment building up and forming into shale, flagstone and limestone was probably not the average traveler's morning table talk.
Ian finally slurped up his last bit of tea and pronounced himself ready to go. He jumped up from the table and raced off to get his pack, not even bothering to see if anyone else was following. Sean, Lin and Fiona all burst out laughing, then continued on with their breakfasts. About five minutes later Ian came back into the room looking both put-out and puzzled.
"What are you doing just sitting there?" he asked. "Aren't you ready to go?"
"We are working on it," replied his Nana, as she poured a bit more tea into her cup.
Ian made a grumbling noise and plopped down into his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his chin down as well, glowering up under his brows at the lot of them. He was clearly vexed at how long they were taking over breakfast. Sean was the first to break under his stare, gulping down his last bit of milk and pronouncing himself ready as well. Lin and Fiona gave in at that point too and cleaned up the table. They all retrieved their bags and stowed them in the car. Once everything was in its place and everyone was finally in the car, Ian's smile beamed again. They were finally off on his leg of the journey.
He was going to the "Bhoireann", a stony place in the Gaelic language, to the "hole of sorrows," as his brother had aptly translated Poulnabrone the day before. He could feel the excitement pumping through him. He fingered his camera and played with a pencil. He had lots of pictures and sketching to do today.
Sean was busy making plans for the following day in his head. He knew today was important to Ian, but he just could not seem to get excited about a pile of rocks that did not seem to have any real story attached to it. At least tomorrow they would be going someplace with real history. He wondered if anyone had any idea what Inishkea was about other than himself. He had to admit that it was more than likely his Nana would know something. She knew something about everything. And it was possible that Ian would because he might be interested in some of the things that were there, too. If his Mom took the time to think back to all of the old tales she used to read to them when they were little, she might make the connection, but he doubted she would. His Mom didn't do anything like that anymore. She never read anything anymore that did not have something to do with things that you could prove were real. He had to admit, he missed that. He missed the silly voices she made up when she read the old stories. He even missed the times they would make up their own stories on long drives. She had changed a lot these last few years. "People change," he thought, "but they are still the people you love no matter what."
As the car slowed down and turned, both boys looked out their windows; they had arrived at the visitors center. Lin parked and they climbed out, each taking their packs with them for the day. The boys waited while fees were paid and then asked if they could just go off on their own. It was clear that they did not want to start out with the tour, so Lin told them to be back by noon so they could meet up with that tour group. They boys were gone almost before she finished her last sentence. "Remember, you are your brother's keeper," she reminded them.
It ruffled his feathers, but Ian was determined not to have to chase around looking for Sean when it was time to meet back up with everyone. "You have to promise to stay with me today," he said.
Seeing the earnest look in his big brother's eyes, Sean agreed. He would do his best not to wander off. It just got so boring waiting for Ian to finish his sketching. He did not understand why he just didn't take a picture of it and keep moving. There were times when they really did not think anything alike at all. Still, he did like listening to most of Ian's explanations.
They headed off together, with Ian beginning a lengthy explanation of the Lower Carboniferous period.
Lin and Fiona wandered into the visitors' center and had another cup of tea. It was a good two hours before they would have to meet the boys and neither of them thought they would be that interested in wandering the Burren or viewing the Dolmen that they couldn't take the time out for a bit of warming. The bitter wind of the Atlantic made quite a bite. They talked for a bit and then lapsed into a companionable silence. Lin took out her notebook and began writing. She filled in some background on the time since they had gone to Coole, surprised that she had not written more. She read the odd little poem she had written. It occurred to her to strike it, but she had never taken anything out of the book before, so she left it. It was a place for her thoughts, odd as they might be. Fiona excused herself from the table; it was clear that Lin was involved. She was going to have a turn around the site and would be back before the boys most likely.
Fiona wrapped her scarf around her head and pulled up her hood. She slid on her gloves and silently said a quick prayer of thanks that she had remembered her long underwear for this day's journey. She set out across the rocky path toward the Dolmen. The wind whipping around her made a kind of hollow silence with its constant presence. The clear blue of the sky was almost as blinding as blizzard snow reflecting in the light it was so crystal pure. As she neared the portal tomb, she could feel the pulse of the place. This was definitely a place of long ritual. Yet something about it felt eerily vacant, vacated and lost. It felt hollow and sad. She walked round the portal. She could feel a growing numbness and wondered if it came from the biting cold, or the biting sorrow of this place. As she neared the completion of the first circuit, she felt a sort of change in the atmosphere. She felt a bit of an inner warming as if somehow the tomb was becoming more at peace with her presence or she at peace with being there. It was hard to describe. It was still a hauntingly vacuous space, but one that held an oddly serene presence too. She made another circuit and she felt the thrumming vibration she had sensed begin to increase its pace. The sky seemed to get brighter as well, if that were even possible. The wind whipped at her sharply and her hood fell back; she grabbed for it and pulled it into place. Caught up in the feel, she did not even note whether or not there were any other visitors around her. She made two more circuits around the portal tomb, and each time the intensity of the feeling she had seemed to increase. On the fifth circuit, the wind took her hood firmly in its grasp and literally threw it off her head, wrenched off her scarf and sent it directly between the stones that held the capstone aloft.
Without hesitation or thought, Fiona followed her scarf under the pillars that held up the capstone. Just as she caught the tail end of the scarf and turned on her heel to retreat, the world slipped away from her. The bright blue sky slipped into the deep indigo of a perfect starry night. The wind and the biting cold fell away and she found herself instantly warmed and caressed by the gentlest of breezes. It felt almost like a lover's breath on her neck and shoulders. She could no longer see any rock at all. In fact, there was nothing to distinguish ground from sky so that it seemed she was standing on the sky. She was transfixed and suspended there. She could hear the faintest of melodies echoing. She closed her eyes.
Opening them, she found herself still in that wondrous starry night. She shed her coat and stepped forward, the deep ink taking her weight with ease. The melody grew around her. She closed her eyes and let herself lean into the sound. She moved just a bit, swaying with its softness. A hand slipped into hers. She did not open her eyes. It was a hand she would have known anywhere. The smooth tips and rough calluses, overly large palms that made her hand seem so fragile in its strength. "Hello," she whispered. An arm slid around her and pulled her closer. The music swelled around them. She recognized the song then, one of his favorites, and thus it had become one of hers. They danced together flawlessly, moving like liquid silk over the indigo floor. She ran her hands over his back and through his hair, not once daring to look. As the song slowed and began to come to its inevitable end, he whispered, "Thank you for loving me." Then she felt him kiss her hair, her eyes, her cheek and finally, softly, her lips. She dared to open her eyes just a fraction, just enough to look into his, "That part is easy," she said, and kissed him back. He smiled and squeezed her hand, leaving a very small, almost star-shaped pebble in her palm. "Take care of my girl." With one last kiss and another to her hand he was gone.
The warm swirling breath left to embrace her felt almost cold with his absence. She turned in the inky sky. The music had left her too. She felt oddly serene and yet completely empty all at the same time. She tucked the pebble inside her sweater pocket and buttoned it up. Then she picked up her coat and scarf and calmly put them back on. As she fastened her hood, the wind began to pick up. She found herself caught in what felt like a growing maelstrom, and then she was thrown from the shelter of the realm she had entered. Expelled out onto the rocks, where she landed with no grace at all on the hard shale just beyond signs she had somehow not seen earlier that were to keep tourists from entering the Dolmen itself. Several other visitors hurried over to ask if she was okay and to help her up.
'Tricky footing around here," said a strange man.
"Yes, indeed," replied Fiona with a wry smile.
She looked at the sky. It was not that beautiful clear blue anymore, it was purple and pink and orange. She knew then that she had definitely missed the noon tour. Her daughter was going to be furious with her and she doubted that her explanation was going to make sense to anyone. It didn't make sense to her. Yet she felt lighter in a way, as if something had been lifted from her or given to her that made her spirit easier to carry inside her. She stood looking at the "Hole of Sorrows" and thought, "Perhaps they have this wrong, perhaps you should be called the 'Point of Joy.'" She gave a little silent prayer of thanks for the moment she had just had and turned to leave, then turned back. She did not know if it made any sense, but she wanted to leave something there, something of hers. She looked through her pack and found nothing that was worth the leaving. Then she reached up and took out one earring. It was a simple Trinity design, but it seemed fitting. She slipped around the sign and ran toward the opening; she could hear some yelling behind her. She whispered to herself, "I love you," then added, "Thank you," and threw the earring through the pillars under the capstone. Then she turned and ran back, "Just catching my scarf," she said. Before the man could point out that she had the scarf on, she took off through the crowd. As she had done no damage, she assumed he would not follow her, and she was right.
When she got to the visitors' center, her daughter was toe to toe with one of their security people. It was obvious that she was trying to get them to start a search. "Lin," said Fiona, "I'm here."
Lin turned with obvious shock. "We have looked everywhere for you. Where have you been?"
Fiona tried a smile, "You would never believe me if I tried to explain. Let's just say I've had a bit of a Sean moment and leave it at that, okay?"
Sean looked visibly put out at his Nana's words. He was, however, very relieved she was back. He gave her a hug. "I have no idea what you mean by that, but I am glad you are here. Can we get something to eat now?"
Ian was all chatter the following morning over his full Irish breakfast. As he shoveled down brown bread, eggs, sausage and tomato, he managed to keep talking at full steam. Not even Sean was able to swing in a comment or two at the breakfast table. It was a good thing that the other patrons were not up and at the table or he might have driven their appetites away with all of his technical spiel about the way the Burren was formed. Lin wasn't sure, but she suspected that a discussion of millions of years of mud and sediment building up and forming into shale, flagstone and limestone was probably not the average traveler's morning table talk.
Ian finally slurped up his last bit of tea and pronounced himself ready to go. He jumped up from the table and raced off to get his pack, not even bothering to see if anyone else was following. Sean, Lin and Fiona all burst out laughing, then continued on with their breakfasts. About five minutes later Ian came back into the room looking both put-out and puzzled.
"What are you doing just sitting there?" he asked. "Aren't you ready to go?"
"We are working on it," replied his Nana, as she poured a bit more tea into her cup.
Ian made a grumbling noise and plopped down into his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his chin down as well, glowering up under his brows at the lot of them. He was clearly vexed at how long they were taking over breakfast. Sean was the first to break under his stare, gulping down his last bit of milk and pronouncing himself ready as well. Lin and Fiona gave in at that point too and cleaned up the table. They all retrieved their bags and stowed them in the car. Once everything was in its place and everyone was finally in the car, Ian's smile beamed again. They were finally off on his leg of the journey.
He was going to the "Bhoireann", a stony place in the Gaelic language, to the "hole of sorrows," as his brother had aptly translated Poulnabrone the day before. He could feel the excitement pumping through him. He fingered his camera and played with a pencil. He had lots of pictures and sketching to do today.
Sean was busy making plans for the following day in his head. He knew today was important to Ian, but he just could not seem to get excited about a pile of rocks that did not seem to have any real story attached to it. At least tomorrow they would be going someplace with real history. He wondered if anyone had any idea what Inishkea was about other than himself. He had to admit that it was more than likely his Nana would know something. She knew something about everything. And it was possible that Ian would because he might be interested in some of the things that were there, too. If his Mom took the time to think back to all of the old tales she used to read to them when they were little, she might make the connection, but he doubted she would. His Mom didn't do anything like that anymore. She never read anything anymore that did not have something to do with things that you could prove were real. He had to admit, he missed that. He missed the silly voices she made up when she read the old stories. He even missed the times they would make up their own stories on long drives. She had changed a lot these last few years. "People change," he thought, "but they are still the people you love no matter what."
As the car slowed down and turned, both boys looked out their windows; they had arrived at the visitors center. Lin parked and they climbed out, each taking their packs with them for the day. The boys waited while fees were paid and then asked if they could just go off on their own. It was clear that they did not want to start out with the tour, so Lin told them to be back by noon so they could meet up with that tour group. They boys were gone almost before she finished her last sentence. "Remember, you are your brother's keeper," she reminded them.
It ruffled his feathers, but Ian was determined not to have to chase around looking for Sean when it was time to meet back up with everyone. "You have to promise to stay with me today," he said.
Seeing the earnest look in his big brother's eyes, Sean agreed. He would do his best not to wander off. It just got so boring waiting for Ian to finish his sketching. He did not understand why he just didn't take a picture of it and keep moving. There were times when they really did not think anything alike at all. Still, he did like listening to most of Ian's explanations.
They headed off together, with Ian beginning a lengthy explanation of the Lower Carboniferous period.
Lin and Fiona wandered into the visitors' center and had another cup of tea. It was a good two hours before they would have to meet the boys and neither of them thought they would be that interested in wandering the Burren or viewing the Dolmen that they couldn't take the time out for a bit of warming. The bitter wind of the Atlantic made quite a bite. They talked for a bit and then lapsed into a companionable silence. Lin took out her notebook and began writing. She filled in some background on the time since they had gone to Coole, surprised that she had not written more. She read the odd little poem she had written. It occurred to her to strike it, but she had never taken anything out of the book before, so she left it. It was a place for her thoughts, odd as they might be. Fiona excused herself from the table; it was clear that Lin was involved. She was going to have a turn around the site and would be back before the boys most likely.
Fiona wrapped her scarf around her head and pulled up her hood. She slid on her gloves and silently said a quick prayer of thanks that she had remembered her long underwear for this day's journey. She set out across the rocky path toward the Dolmen. The wind whipping around her made a kind of hollow silence with its constant presence. The clear blue of the sky was almost as blinding as blizzard snow reflecting in the light it was so crystal pure. As she neared the portal tomb, she could feel the pulse of the place. This was definitely a place of long ritual. Yet something about it felt eerily vacant, vacated and lost. It felt hollow and sad. She walked round the portal. She could feel a growing numbness and wondered if it came from the biting cold, or the biting sorrow of this place. As she neared the completion of the first circuit, she felt a sort of change in the atmosphere. She felt a bit of an inner warming as if somehow the tomb was becoming more at peace with her presence or she at peace with being there. It was hard to describe. It was still a hauntingly vacuous space, but one that held an oddly serene presence too. She made another circuit and she felt the thrumming vibration she had sensed begin to increase its pace. The sky seemed to get brighter as well, if that were even possible. The wind whipped at her sharply and her hood fell back; she grabbed for it and pulled it into place. Caught up in the feel, she did not even note whether or not there were any other visitors around her. She made two more circuits around the portal tomb, and each time the intensity of the feeling she had seemed to increase. On the fifth circuit, the wind took her hood firmly in its grasp and literally threw it off her head, wrenched off her scarf and sent it directly between the stones that held the capstone aloft.
Without hesitation or thought, Fiona followed her scarf under the pillars that held up the capstone. Just as she caught the tail end of the scarf and turned on her heel to retreat, the world slipped away from her. The bright blue sky slipped into the deep indigo of a perfect starry night. The wind and the biting cold fell away and she found herself instantly warmed and caressed by the gentlest of breezes. It felt almost like a lover's breath on her neck and shoulders. She could no longer see any rock at all. In fact, there was nothing to distinguish ground from sky so that it seemed she was standing on the sky. She was transfixed and suspended there. She could hear the faintest of melodies echoing. She closed her eyes.
Opening them, she found herself still in that wondrous starry night. She shed her coat and stepped forward, the deep ink taking her weight with ease. The melody grew around her. She closed her eyes and let herself lean into the sound. She moved just a bit, swaying with its softness. A hand slipped into hers. She did not open her eyes. It was a hand she would have known anywhere. The smooth tips and rough calluses, overly large palms that made her hand seem so fragile in its strength. "Hello," she whispered. An arm slid around her and pulled her closer. The music swelled around them. She recognized the song then, one of his favorites, and thus it had become one of hers. They danced together flawlessly, moving like liquid silk over the indigo floor. She ran her hands over his back and through his hair, not once daring to look. As the song slowed and began to come to its inevitable end, he whispered, "Thank you for loving me." Then she felt him kiss her hair, her eyes, her cheek and finally, softly, her lips. She dared to open her eyes just a fraction, just enough to look into his, "That part is easy," she said, and kissed him back. He smiled and squeezed her hand, leaving a very small, almost star-shaped pebble in her palm. "Take care of my girl." With one last kiss and another to her hand he was gone.
The warm swirling breath left to embrace her felt almost cold with his absence. She turned in the inky sky. The music had left her too. She felt oddly serene and yet completely empty all at the same time. She tucked the pebble inside her sweater pocket and buttoned it up. Then she picked up her coat and scarf and calmly put them back on. As she fastened her hood, the wind began to pick up. She found herself caught in what felt like a growing maelstrom, and then she was thrown from the shelter of the realm she had entered. Expelled out onto the rocks, where she landed with no grace at all on the hard shale just beyond signs she had somehow not seen earlier that were to keep tourists from entering the Dolmen itself. Several other visitors hurried over to ask if she was okay and to help her up.
'Tricky footing around here," said a strange man.
"Yes, indeed," replied Fiona with a wry smile.
She looked at the sky. It was not that beautiful clear blue anymore, it was purple and pink and orange. She knew then that she had definitely missed the noon tour. Her daughter was going to be furious with her and she doubted that her explanation was going to make sense to anyone. It didn't make sense to her. Yet she felt lighter in a way, as if something had been lifted from her or given to her that made her spirit easier to carry inside her. She stood looking at the "Hole of Sorrows" and thought, "Perhaps they have this wrong, perhaps you should be called the 'Point of Joy.'" She gave a little silent prayer of thanks for the moment she had just had and turned to leave, then turned back. She did not know if it made any sense, but she wanted to leave something there, something of hers. She looked through her pack and found nothing that was worth the leaving. Then she reached up and took out one earring. It was a simple Trinity design, but it seemed fitting. She slipped around the sign and ran toward the opening; she could hear some yelling behind her. She whispered to herself, "I love you," then added, "Thank you," and threw the earring through the pillars under the capstone. Then she turned and ran back, "Just catching my scarf," she said. Before the man could point out that she had the scarf on, she took off through the crowd. As she had done no damage, she assumed he would not follow her, and she was right.
When she got to the visitors' center, her daughter was toe to toe with one of their security people. It was obvious that she was trying to get them to start a search. "Lin," said Fiona, "I'm here."
Lin turned with obvious shock. "We have looked everywhere for you. Where have you been?"
Fiona tried a smile, "You would never believe me if I tried to explain. Let's just say I've had a bit of a Sean moment and leave it at that, okay?"
Sean looked visibly put out at his Nana's words. He was, however, very relieved she was back. He gave her a hug. "I have no idea what you mean by that, but I am glad you are here. Can we get something to eat now?"
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Participles and Portents (21)
There and Back Again........
They made good time from Coole out to the Burren. Ian spent most of the time giving tribute to the dolmen specimen they would be visiting. The Poulnabrone dolmen in the Burren of County Clare was fairly well known; he made sure to tell them. He explained that this portal tomb, also called a cromlech in the Welsh tongue, was a type of single-chamber megalithic tomb that typically consisted of three or more upright stones supporting a flat capstone. Ian was heavily into the subject and would not have noticed if the family had long since stopped listening, so it was actually a good thing that he was entertaining them with his profusion of knowledge on the subject. He went on to tell them that most of the portal tombs date all the way back to 4000-3000 BCE or the early Neolithic period and were originally covered with earth to form a barrow. Some are still found this way, he noted, but most are skeletal, meaning that the earth has weathered away and only the stone structures remain.
Sean cut in suddenly and irritatingly to Ian’s monologue. “I thought the word dolmen actually meant stone table, you know, like the one from the books about Astalan.”
“You mean the C.S. Lewis novels?” asked Ian
“Yes, that’s what I mean, and I thought that Poulnabrone meant “hole of sorrows.” Is that true?”
“Actually, I think you are right,” said Ian sounding surprised and impressed. “Did you know that when they excavated the site in the mid-1980’s they found about 20 adults and six kids were buried in this portal tomb? They also found a newborn baby in the portico just outside the entrance along with all sorts of pottery, crystals, weapons and other stuff.”
“That’s kind of cool and gross all at the same time,” said Sean.
Fiona added, “Not too far from this area of the Burren is another famous burial site, though it is not given as much press for the tourists. It is one of the largest famine burial sites in all of Ireland. You will only see a very small monument erected there. But there are actually several mass graves in Ireland to mark the passing of so many from the great famine; it just so happens there is one in this area too.”
Lin took that moment to point out the scenic drive as they came in view of the sea coast. She thought it was a great time to change the topic. “We should soon be in Doolin,” she noted. “We might make it in time to slip over to get a view of the Cliffs of Moher before we register and have a bite to eat. I know you will remember that view, Mom, 700 feet over the Atlantic and all power and magic.”
“Great, more photos,” chorused the boys with wry smiles on their faces.
Those smiles turned to total wonder and awe not more than 20 minutes later as they crested the top of the footpath to look out over the view of the cliffs. “See there,” Lin pointed, “That’s what we dubbed the Wizard’s Key. I don’t know what they really call it. Isn’t it grand the way it just juts up out of the water so tiny with the enormous cliff next to it and yet so powerful all the same. If you watch, you can see the sea swirl right around it when the waves catch it just right.”
They watched as the waves did just that, magnifying the insignficance of the rock and yet at the same time making it seem somehow incredibly powerful. It was quite an inspiring sight.
They wandered the cliff edge together until the sun began to set. The boys actually took out their phones and snapped a few pictures themselves along the way. Both Nana and Lin noticed, but knew better than to make a remark on the “camera” usage, or the kids might not take another shot for the whole trip. They made it back into Doolin, found the bed and breakfast, and then went into town to one of the local pubs known for having music along with good food.
They were in luck as the pub did have a band in that evening. They made much more of a night of it than they had planned, staying out a couple of hours longer to enjoy the music and the company at the pub. Sean managed to get into a lengthy discussion about football with a couple of the men, which Ian plucked him out of in time to go back to the bed and breakfast. It was a good thing both boys loved soccer enough to be able to speak it in just about any culture they encountered, Lin thought. Though it might have been a bit more polite if Sean had at least pretended to think that the Irish team had some merit at the last World Cup.
With everyone settled, and the Guinness spinning happily in her system, she pulled out her notebook to jot down a few remnants of the day. She found herself just coming up with fragments of thought. She wasn’t really sure if they came from the waves or the music or a combination of the two, but she penned what came to mind:
Tossed on the Tide
Floating, no, rushing at high tide
Tumbling on the sand
Spilling and shifting
Then gathering her skirts and
Running back to sea
The salt spray in his hair
grit on his skin
it stayed with him on the shore
Him - barefoot and laughing with
the tumbling girl in the waves
She wasn’t sure he knew the source
of the taste of the water
But he did not drown in it
That was in his favor
And he was there
Towel in hand
at the next rising of the tide
to gather her up, froth and foam and weed
ply her with wine and laughter
And set her free when the tug came
back to the sea
Somehow what she remembered
As the waves whipped her hair
Was the towel in his hand
and the smile on his face
Lin slipped the notebook back in her pack, her mind wandering to the cavern, thinking of the moment when she had caught the laughter in Roary’s eyes when he caught her glance after she had managed to pull up the feed for the bird. She shook her mind’s eye free of the moment. What an odd thing to dredge up. She thought of the legend of Una and her tragic love and return to the sea. The old Irish tales were definitely melancholy. She padded into the bedroom where Fiona lay reading. “Goodnight, Mom, love you,” she said, slipping into bed and flipping the light off on her side.
Roary, for his part, had not enjoyed his trek to the cavern the last two days. It had been wet and miserable, which was partly his fault the first day as he had not timed it well and had actually had to wade through the beginnings of the rising tide in order to avoid spending the night in the place. It was actually quite reckless of him, but he would be damned if he was going to stay there overnight, so he had risked it. He ended up with a well-nicked shin for his efforts, but did get to sleep in his own bed.
It misted on his way over the second day. At least it was clearer now, he thought, as he made his way out to the ledge to “fish” for the swan’s dinner. As he positioned himself on the curve, he had a brief vision of Lin curled out over the water, looking for all the world like a piece of the sea herself. He almost let go of the outcropping that he was anchoring himself to with one hand with the effort to push that vision out of his head. He shoved the retriever down into the water with a bit more force than was necessary and snagged a bit of weed for the swan. Reeling himself in both mentally and physically, he made his way back to the cavern. He absentmindedly fed and bandaged the bird. Taking out the lunch he had brought with him, he also pulled out his now well-worn piece of paper and re-read her poem. He really should throw the blasted thing away, it was just that it intrigued him. She intrigued him, the ambiguity between the poem's lines and the girl who dared the sea and hummed softly to the vicious swan he now had the custody of. On an impulse, he scrambled through his pack and pulled out a pencil nub. Turning the page over and resting it on a relatively smooth rock, he began to write.
When There is Here
Here on this beautiful strange planet, habitable but cold,
is it distance or radiation that I feel - that softens my eyes,
this thinness of the atmosphere, high and fine - but blue?
And gold! It's tinged with gold at the edge, a bright blue bubble
This time of a rushing tide that should have come but once
and now returns as if it can't be held.
And back to the questions of distance and time,
and is it infinite or finite, and why?
And all the while it radiates and flows, across this gulf,
there to connect, radiate and flow.
Suddenly the goals evolve, the There is Here,
and standing on my crossed toes I can just see the beginning,
As it should have been.
Ah, the luxury of space and the longing of time,
and the promise of an expression to be shared.
He put his pencil down and read through what he had written. Reading it, he felt a very strong desire to erase it, but realized that to do so would mean ripping the paper to shreds. He wasn’t quite willing to part with the other poem yet. He folded the paper up and shoved it in his pocket. He wasn’t quite sure what he had meant with his words. They seemed to tie somehow to a distant past and yet also somehow to the bright girl on the ledge he had seen just a couple of days ago. The girl he was fairly certain wasn’t all that fond of him. He spent way too much time in his old books with the myths and legends. He really did need to live more in the here and the now as his friends so often reminded him. He packed up the rest of his supplies, hummed an off-handed and quick goodbye to the bird and his companions, and made his way out.
Climbing down onto the strand, he decided that his brain had gone to mush with all the wet. What he needed was a good drying out by a nice peat fire and some time with friends. He decided to have dinner at the pub that night and to put all this fluff and nonsense out of his head. He would take care of the birds and leave the flights of fancy to them. He took a big breath and started off toward the village with renewed vigor, glad for the sharp bite of the wind in his face.
They made good time from Coole out to the Burren. Ian spent most of the time giving tribute to the dolmen specimen they would be visiting. The Poulnabrone dolmen in the Burren of County Clare was fairly well known; he made sure to tell them. He explained that this portal tomb, also called a cromlech in the Welsh tongue, was a type of single-chamber megalithic tomb that typically consisted of three or more upright stones supporting a flat capstone. Ian was heavily into the subject and would not have noticed if the family had long since stopped listening, so it was actually a good thing that he was entertaining them with his profusion of knowledge on the subject. He went on to tell them that most of the portal tombs date all the way back to 4000-3000 BCE or the early Neolithic period and were originally covered with earth to form a barrow. Some are still found this way, he noted, but most are skeletal, meaning that the earth has weathered away and only the stone structures remain.
Sean cut in suddenly and irritatingly to Ian’s monologue. “I thought the word dolmen actually meant stone table, you know, like the one from the books about Astalan.”
“You mean the C.S. Lewis novels?” asked Ian
“Yes, that’s what I mean, and I thought that Poulnabrone meant “hole of sorrows.” Is that true?”
“Actually, I think you are right,” said Ian sounding surprised and impressed. “Did you know that when they excavated the site in the mid-1980’s they found about 20 adults and six kids were buried in this portal tomb? They also found a newborn baby in the portico just outside the entrance along with all sorts of pottery, crystals, weapons and other stuff.”
“That’s kind of cool and gross all at the same time,” said Sean.
Fiona added, “Not too far from this area of the Burren is another famous burial site, though it is not given as much press for the tourists. It is one of the largest famine burial sites in all of Ireland. You will only see a very small monument erected there. But there are actually several mass graves in Ireland to mark the passing of so many from the great famine; it just so happens there is one in this area too.”
Lin took that moment to point out the scenic drive as they came in view of the sea coast. She thought it was a great time to change the topic. “We should soon be in Doolin,” she noted. “We might make it in time to slip over to get a view of the Cliffs of Moher before we register and have a bite to eat. I know you will remember that view, Mom, 700 feet over the Atlantic and all power and magic.”
“Great, more photos,” chorused the boys with wry smiles on their faces.
Those smiles turned to total wonder and awe not more than 20 minutes later as they crested the top of the footpath to look out over the view of the cliffs. “See there,” Lin pointed, “That’s what we dubbed the Wizard’s Key. I don’t know what they really call it. Isn’t it grand the way it just juts up out of the water so tiny with the enormous cliff next to it and yet so powerful all the same. If you watch, you can see the sea swirl right around it when the waves catch it just right.”
They watched as the waves did just that, magnifying the insignficance of the rock and yet at the same time making it seem somehow incredibly powerful. It was quite an inspiring sight.
They wandered the cliff edge together until the sun began to set. The boys actually took out their phones and snapped a few pictures themselves along the way. Both Nana and Lin noticed, but knew better than to make a remark on the “camera” usage, or the kids might not take another shot for the whole trip. They made it back into Doolin, found the bed and breakfast, and then went into town to one of the local pubs known for having music along with good food.
They were in luck as the pub did have a band in that evening. They made much more of a night of it than they had planned, staying out a couple of hours longer to enjoy the music and the company at the pub. Sean managed to get into a lengthy discussion about football with a couple of the men, which Ian plucked him out of in time to go back to the bed and breakfast. It was a good thing both boys loved soccer enough to be able to speak it in just about any culture they encountered, Lin thought. Though it might have been a bit more polite if Sean had at least pretended to think that the Irish team had some merit at the last World Cup.
With everyone settled, and the Guinness spinning happily in her system, she pulled out her notebook to jot down a few remnants of the day. She found herself just coming up with fragments of thought. She wasn’t really sure if they came from the waves or the music or a combination of the two, but she penned what came to mind:
Tossed on the Tide
Floating, no, rushing at high tide
Tumbling on the sand
Spilling and shifting
Then gathering her skirts and
Running back to sea
The salt spray in his hair
grit on his skin
it stayed with him on the shore
Him - barefoot and laughing with
the tumbling girl in the waves
She wasn’t sure he knew the source
of the taste of the water
But he did not drown in it
That was in his favor
And he was there
Towel in hand
at the next rising of the tide
to gather her up, froth and foam and weed
ply her with wine and laughter
And set her free when the tug came
back to the sea
Somehow what she remembered
As the waves whipped her hair
Was the towel in his hand
and the smile on his face
Lin slipped the notebook back in her pack, her mind wandering to the cavern, thinking of the moment when she had caught the laughter in Roary’s eyes when he caught her glance after she had managed to pull up the feed for the bird. She shook her mind’s eye free of the moment. What an odd thing to dredge up. She thought of the legend of Una and her tragic love and return to the sea. The old Irish tales were definitely melancholy. She padded into the bedroom where Fiona lay reading. “Goodnight, Mom, love you,” she said, slipping into bed and flipping the light off on her side.
Roary, for his part, had not enjoyed his trek to the cavern the last two days. It had been wet and miserable, which was partly his fault the first day as he had not timed it well and had actually had to wade through the beginnings of the rising tide in order to avoid spending the night in the place. It was actually quite reckless of him, but he would be damned if he was going to stay there overnight, so he had risked it. He ended up with a well-nicked shin for his efforts, but did get to sleep in his own bed.
It misted on his way over the second day. At least it was clearer now, he thought, as he made his way out to the ledge to “fish” for the swan’s dinner. As he positioned himself on the curve, he had a brief vision of Lin curled out over the water, looking for all the world like a piece of the sea herself. He almost let go of the outcropping that he was anchoring himself to with one hand with the effort to push that vision out of his head. He shoved the retriever down into the water with a bit more force than was necessary and snagged a bit of weed for the swan. Reeling himself in both mentally and physically, he made his way back to the cavern. He absentmindedly fed and bandaged the bird. Taking out the lunch he had brought with him, he also pulled out his now well-worn piece of paper and re-read her poem. He really should throw the blasted thing away, it was just that it intrigued him. She intrigued him, the ambiguity between the poem's lines and the girl who dared the sea and hummed softly to the vicious swan he now had the custody of. On an impulse, he scrambled through his pack and pulled out a pencil nub. Turning the page over and resting it on a relatively smooth rock, he began to write.
When There is Here
Here on this beautiful strange planet, habitable but cold,
is it distance or radiation that I feel - that softens my eyes,
this thinness of the atmosphere, high and fine - but blue?
And gold! It's tinged with gold at the edge, a bright blue bubble
This time of a rushing tide that should have come but once
and now returns as if it can't be held.
And back to the questions of distance and time,
and is it infinite or finite, and why?
And all the while it radiates and flows, across this gulf,
there to connect, radiate and flow.
Suddenly the goals evolve, the There is Here,
and standing on my crossed toes I can just see the beginning,
As it should have been.
Ah, the luxury of space and the longing of time,
and the promise of an expression to be shared.
He put his pencil down and read through what he had written. Reading it, he felt a very strong desire to erase it, but realized that to do so would mean ripping the paper to shreds. He wasn’t quite willing to part with the other poem yet. He folded the paper up and shoved it in his pocket. He wasn’t quite sure what he had meant with his words. They seemed to tie somehow to a distant past and yet also somehow to the bright girl on the ledge he had seen just a couple of days ago. The girl he was fairly certain wasn’t all that fond of him. He spent way too much time in his old books with the myths and legends. He really did need to live more in the here and the now as his friends so often reminded him. He packed up the rest of his supplies, hummed an off-handed and quick goodbye to the bird and his companions, and made his way out.
Climbing down onto the strand, he decided that his brain had gone to mush with all the wet. What he needed was a good drying out by a nice peat fire and some time with friends. He decided to have dinner at the pub that night and to put all this fluff and nonsense out of his head. He would take care of the birds and leave the flights of fancy to them. He took a big breath and started off toward the village with renewed vigor, glad for the sharp bite of the wind in his face.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Participles and Portents (20)
Hounds and Holes:
The day at Coole started out magnificently. The air was sharp and clear, the scents carrying themselves so pungently that they seemed to be able to bring forth all the memories shared by those who had labored here to urge a merging of the cultural past with the chaos of the then-present political concerns of the country. These peaceful grounds seemed to froth with the energy of all those who had struggled with outer and inner turmoil here.
After making their way through the guided tour, they followed Nana around as she made her notes for the travelogue she would eventually write for the literary-minded public. The boys eventually grew tired of the slow pace and the constant camera flashing. Asking permission to investigate on their own, they took off together to delve more deeply into those areas that interested them most. Lin reminded them that they were their brother's keepers, the idea being that they should always stay together. She hoped they would remember the recent events with Sean and stick close together, but she feared their differing interests might not keep them on track. Despite her misgivings, she knew they needed the freedom to explore. She watched them disappear around the tall hedges, hoping that there was little trouble they could find on the estate. They were to meet back up at the copper beech in just over an hour, little enough time to find too much trouble, she mused. She excused herself from her mother and set off to find a quiet place to enter her thoughts into her notebook. Fiona waved an absent-minded hand in her direction; she was absorbed in her project. It was good to see her Mom so happy and involved. Wandering through the estate sent a sort of energized thrill through Lin. She had studied the work of Lady Gregory, Yeats, Synge and the others who had worked to bring the Irish National Theatre into being. It was something of a treat to be here at Coole for her. She made her way to the autograph tree and curled up on the ground where she could view it. She could not make out the carvings from where she sat, but she could see the rough edges of them. She pulled out her notebook and began to write.
Sean and Ian stayed together until they reached the edge of the lake. Ian was disappointed; he had hoped that the bed would be dry. He had wanted to search the dry bed for the swallet. The best he could do now was check out the vegetation and make note of any that was typical only to turloughs. It was not a highlight for him. He trudged up to a rise and found a place to sit. Pulling out a pad of paper and a pencil, he began to sketch the area. With his head tucked down and engrossed in his drawing, he did not notice when Sean, bored with the current location, walked on.
Sean loved the feel of the air. It was sort of electric. It wasn't unpleasant like the static that builds up on your socks at home, it was a tingle that wandered all over your skin making you want to wiggle and giggle at the same time. He felt sort of silly, but, it made him want to smile, a huge silly smile. Noting that he was alone, he did just that. He was not the kind of kid that whistled or hummed, but he found himself humming along and almost skipping as he made his way along through the tall grasses. It was such a fine day. He found himself on the edge of a small turlough, not even really big enough to be called a lake. He dipped a finger in, it was icy cold. Sucking on the finger, he found the taste of the water was somewhere between fishy and sweet, not exactly appetizing, but not too gross. He put down his bag and laid back with his head on it. He supposed he should be doing something important, like writing down his thoughts or trying to document the space in some way. He just did not feel like doing anything more than lying here and enjoying this great place. He watched as the clouds danced around the sun beams and, smiling, drifted off to sleep.
Ian was surprised when the old man sat down next to him on the small rise. He had not even heard him approach. He guessed he must have been really into the sketch, though looking at it now, it did not seem like he had gotten very much down on paper. He had only managed a bare outline of the place and the hint of the way the light struck the water. The man sat there quietly, as if waiting for Ian to notice him. Finally, if for no other reason than it seemed the polite thing to do, Ian said, "Hello, I'm Ian."
"Hello, Ian," replied the Old Man. "I don't suppose ye come here often, do ye?"
"No, we are only just touring through," replied Ian.
"Well, then," said the Old Man, "What would ye most like to know about?"
The question caught Ian off guard. Who was this man that he would ask something like that? Was he a curator for the estate? "Do you mean about Coole?"
"No, I mean about anything," said the Old Man. "What animal draws you the most from all the old Irish tales?"
"Well, that's easy," said Ian. "I've always liked the tales that have the Irish Wolfhounds in them. I guess the stags are cool, and the one with the magic fish, and of course that one with the wild boar."
"Well, that's more than one, but we can start with the first one you mentioned," said the Old Man. "Would you like to know more about why the wolfhound was so important to the Chieftains of the land?"
Ian turned to face the Old Man, definitely intrigued. His pencil rolled from his hand into the tufts of weed near his knees. "Yes," he replied, "I think I would like that very much."
"The story is not that hard to tell. Ye see, young Ian, wolfhounds are animals of great loyalty and strength. Their strength is in their body, their character and in their heart. Once ye bind a wolfhound to ye, he will’na’ break that bond and all that he does will be to support the one he calls his own. So ye see, these beasts became prized of the Chieftains. It was the High King Conor who brought them to their lofty level. He kept them, many of them at his fireside. It is said that he loved his hounds more than his Fianna. The hounds lived in the main hall and were treated to the best of the best. Many criticized the King for this. Then there came a time when the lands were threatened. The people were ravaged and many members of the Fianna were lost in battle. When the King learned of the fighting, he led his men from the keep and took his hounds with him. Again the people laughed at him. But this would be the last time they laughed. That day on the field of battle, there were those that watched as the battle raged and those hounds defended what was theirs. They defended with all that they were, with their strength of body, of heart and of character. They rose as a pack, stronger than the strongest wedge of the Fianna. It was the hounds that led the wave that broke the enemy's back and sent them literally hounded back into the sea. And so it was from that day forward that all the leaders of the land sought to have such prizes of loyalty and strength tied to support them. Of course, ye will hear other stories of his hounds, but that is for another day."
The Old Man smiled and tapped Ian on the back.
"If I were an animal then, that would be my choice, to be loyal and brave and strong like that," said Ian.
"Lad," said the Old Man. "It's a good thing ye think that way, but probably not wise to be speakin' it out loud in these parts, faery land and all." He chuckled good naturedly and rose to his feet, pulling a gnarled stick up with him. "I had best go find my supper now. I enjoyed passing the time with ye."
Ian realized how late it must be and jumped up, dropping his pad. "I enjoyed it too, Mr.?"
But the Old Man had already started down the path and did not answer. Ian scooped up his pencil and pad stuffed them in his pack and began calling for Sean. He couldn't believe how much time had passed. Sean was nowhere in sight. He could not go back without him. He ran back to where he had seen him last. He could just make out some breaks in the tall grasses. Trying to think like a tracker, he followed what seemed like a drunken sailor's path. He found Sean asleep at the side of a small lake. He shook him awake and urged him to hurry. Sean pulled himself together.
He did not seem to understand the urgency, but followed his brother anyway. Why Ian always had to be in such a press just did not seem to register with him. When they got back to the beech tree, Nana and their Mom were patiently waiting.
"You're back early, that's a surprise," said Lin. "Well, that should make the evening drive smoother, let's get going."
The day at Coole started out magnificently. The air was sharp and clear, the scents carrying themselves so pungently that they seemed to be able to bring forth all the memories shared by those who had labored here to urge a merging of the cultural past with the chaos of the then-present political concerns of the country. These peaceful grounds seemed to froth with the energy of all those who had struggled with outer and inner turmoil here.
After making their way through the guided tour, they followed Nana around as she made her notes for the travelogue she would eventually write for the literary-minded public. The boys eventually grew tired of the slow pace and the constant camera flashing. Asking permission to investigate on their own, they took off together to delve more deeply into those areas that interested them most. Lin reminded them that they were their brother's keepers, the idea being that they should always stay together. She hoped they would remember the recent events with Sean and stick close together, but she feared their differing interests might not keep them on track. Despite her misgivings, she knew they needed the freedom to explore. She watched them disappear around the tall hedges, hoping that there was little trouble they could find on the estate. They were to meet back up at the copper beech in just over an hour, little enough time to find too much trouble, she mused. She excused herself from her mother and set off to find a quiet place to enter her thoughts into her notebook. Fiona waved an absent-minded hand in her direction; she was absorbed in her project. It was good to see her Mom so happy and involved. Wandering through the estate sent a sort of energized thrill through Lin. She had studied the work of Lady Gregory, Yeats, Synge and the others who had worked to bring the Irish National Theatre into being. It was something of a treat to be here at Coole for her. She made her way to the autograph tree and curled up on the ground where she could view it. She could not make out the carvings from where she sat, but she could see the rough edges of them. She pulled out her notebook and began to write.
Sean and Ian stayed together until they reached the edge of the lake. Ian was disappointed; he had hoped that the bed would be dry. He had wanted to search the dry bed for the swallet. The best he could do now was check out the vegetation and make note of any that was typical only to turloughs. It was not a highlight for him. He trudged up to a rise and found a place to sit. Pulling out a pad of paper and a pencil, he began to sketch the area. With his head tucked down and engrossed in his drawing, he did not notice when Sean, bored with the current location, walked on.
Sean loved the feel of the air. It was sort of electric. It wasn't unpleasant like the static that builds up on your socks at home, it was a tingle that wandered all over your skin making you want to wiggle and giggle at the same time. He felt sort of silly, but, it made him want to smile, a huge silly smile. Noting that he was alone, he did just that. He was not the kind of kid that whistled or hummed, but he found himself humming along and almost skipping as he made his way along through the tall grasses. It was such a fine day. He found himself on the edge of a small turlough, not even really big enough to be called a lake. He dipped a finger in, it was icy cold. Sucking on the finger, he found the taste of the water was somewhere between fishy and sweet, not exactly appetizing, but not too gross. He put down his bag and laid back with his head on it. He supposed he should be doing something important, like writing down his thoughts or trying to document the space in some way. He just did not feel like doing anything more than lying here and enjoying this great place. He watched as the clouds danced around the sun beams and, smiling, drifted off to sleep.
Ian was surprised when the old man sat down next to him on the small rise. He had not even heard him approach. He guessed he must have been really into the sketch, though looking at it now, it did not seem like he had gotten very much down on paper. He had only managed a bare outline of the place and the hint of the way the light struck the water. The man sat there quietly, as if waiting for Ian to notice him. Finally, if for no other reason than it seemed the polite thing to do, Ian said, "Hello, I'm Ian."
"Hello, Ian," replied the Old Man. "I don't suppose ye come here often, do ye?"
"No, we are only just touring through," replied Ian.
"Well, then," said the Old Man, "What would ye most like to know about?"
The question caught Ian off guard. Who was this man that he would ask something like that? Was he a curator for the estate? "Do you mean about Coole?"
"No, I mean about anything," said the Old Man. "What animal draws you the most from all the old Irish tales?"
"Well, that's easy," said Ian. "I've always liked the tales that have the Irish Wolfhounds in them. I guess the stags are cool, and the one with the magic fish, and of course that one with the wild boar."
"Well, that's more than one, but we can start with the first one you mentioned," said the Old Man. "Would you like to know more about why the wolfhound was so important to the Chieftains of the land?"
Ian turned to face the Old Man, definitely intrigued. His pencil rolled from his hand into the tufts of weed near his knees. "Yes," he replied, "I think I would like that very much."
"The story is not that hard to tell. Ye see, young Ian, wolfhounds are animals of great loyalty and strength. Their strength is in their body, their character and in their heart. Once ye bind a wolfhound to ye, he will’na’ break that bond and all that he does will be to support the one he calls his own. So ye see, these beasts became prized of the Chieftains. It was the High King Conor who brought them to their lofty level. He kept them, many of them at his fireside. It is said that he loved his hounds more than his Fianna. The hounds lived in the main hall and were treated to the best of the best. Many criticized the King for this. Then there came a time when the lands were threatened. The people were ravaged and many members of the Fianna were lost in battle. When the King learned of the fighting, he led his men from the keep and took his hounds with him. Again the people laughed at him. But this would be the last time they laughed. That day on the field of battle, there were those that watched as the battle raged and those hounds defended what was theirs. They defended with all that they were, with their strength of body, of heart and of character. They rose as a pack, stronger than the strongest wedge of the Fianna. It was the hounds that led the wave that broke the enemy's back and sent them literally hounded back into the sea. And so it was from that day forward that all the leaders of the land sought to have such prizes of loyalty and strength tied to support them. Of course, ye will hear other stories of his hounds, but that is for another day."
The Old Man smiled and tapped Ian on the back.
"If I were an animal then, that would be my choice, to be loyal and brave and strong like that," said Ian.
"Lad," said the Old Man. "It's a good thing ye think that way, but probably not wise to be speakin' it out loud in these parts, faery land and all." He chuckled good naturedly and rose to his feet, pulling a gnarled stick up with him. "I had best go find my supper now. I enjoyed passing the time with ye."
Ian realized how late it must be and jumped up, dropping his pad. "I enjoyed it too, Mr.?"
But the Old Man had already started down the path and did not answer. Ian scooped up his pencil and pad stuffed them in his pack and began calling for Sean. He couldn't believe how much time had passed. Sean was nowhere in sight. He could not go back without him. He ran back to where he had seen him last. He could just make out some breaks in the tall grasses. Trying to think like a tracker, he followed what seemed like a drunken sailor's path. He found Sean asleep at the side of a small lake. He shook him awake and urged him to hurry. Sean pulled himself together.
He did not seem to understand the urgency, but followed his brother anyway. Why Ian always had to be in such a press just did not seem to register with him. When they got back to the beech tree, Nana and their Mom were patiently waiting.
"You're back early, that's a surprise," said Lin. "Well, that should make the evening drive smoother, let's get going."
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Participles and Portents (19)
Tales and Travel
Lin was more than a little unsettled as the family put themselves together for the trip. She packed almost randomly, continuing to think back to the time in the cavern. She hoped that Roary would prove successful in taking care of the swan. She steadfastly refused to think beyond that thought - anything else that might have transpired was not worth the time or consideration. Sean interrupted her contemplations to inquire about when they would be going to Inishkea. She reminded him that would be the last stop. He whined a bit about the delay, but eventually wandered off to continue his packing. Ian was next to break her train of thought. He wanted to know which dolmens they would be visiting. She assured him that they were going to the one that was on the top of his list, the Dolmen at Poulnabrone in the Burren. Pleased with her response, Ian went off to make sure he packed all the information he had regarding that area. Finally, Fiona came in. Thank goodness she did not have any inquiries regarding the trip. She just wanted to know if Lin needed any help. Assuring her mother that she was fine, Lin put the finishing touches on her packing, adding the little green notebook to her pack.
They had everything settled in the car and were on their way with just enough time to make it to the bed and breakfast they had selected near Coole Park in time for a late supper. It was an interesting drive, with Nana giving the boys a lengthy description of the literary history of Coole and Ian joining in with a background on the geologic features. Most surprising perhaps was Sean's addition of a quote from one of Yeats' more noted poems about Coole.
"Under my window ledge the waters race,
Otters below and moor-hens on the top,
Run for a mile undimmed in Heaven's face,
Then darkening through 'dark' Raftery's 'cellar' drop,
Run underground, rise in a rocky place
In Coole demesne, and there to finish up
Spread to a lake and drop into a hole,
What's water but the generated soul?"
Ian noted that the lake Yeats referred to here was one of the turloughs on the grounds of Coole, a unique geologic feature typified by the inclusion of a swallet or swallow-hole where the water that is gathered during the high-water periods of the year seeps back into the earth at a sometimes very rapid rate. Even more interesting, he noted, was the sheen of white marl that is sometimes left behind on the turlough bed and the vegetation giving rise to speculation that turloughs were faery-held places. Nana, not to be outdone in the tale of the place, told them about its history in the development of the Irish National Theatre and the Gaelic Literary Revival in the late 19th Century. Here she definitely caught Sean's attention as she noted the autograph tree, the great copper beech that was said to be a source of inspiration for the launching of these ideas.
With all of this to cover on the drive, it did not seem to take any time at all to reach their destination. At the bed and breakfast they were given two rooms, one for Lin and Fiona and another for the boys. The proprietor, Shannon McFinnerty, offered them a late supper of shepherds' pie. The boys were in heaven. Luckily, Guinness was also on the menu as well as a glass of wine for her mother, making the first evening of their expedition very comfortable indeed.
As Lin settled into bed for the night, she wondered briefly why she had felt concerned at the start of this journey. Everything was running smoothly along. Unlike the stories you hear so often of families bickering on long drives theirs had been incredibly fun and everyone had been involved and interested. She smiled to herself. This trip was definitely worth the effort. Everything she wanted, everything she needed, was all together in this space and it was working. With that one grand, peaceful thought she drifted into sleep.
Lin was more than a little unsettled as the family put themselves together for the trip. She packed almost randomly, continuing to think back to the time in the cavern. She hoped that Roary would prove successful in taking care of the swan. She steadfastly refused to think beyond that thought - anything else that might have transpired was not worth the time or consideration. Sean interrupted her contemplations to inquire about when they would be going to Inishkea. She reminded him that would be the last stop. He whined a bit about the delay, but eventually wandered off to continue his packing. Ian was next to break her train of thought. He wanted to know which dolmens they would be visiting. She assured him that they were going to the one that was on the top of his list, the Dolmen at Poulnabrone in the Burren. Pleased with her response, Ian went off to make sure he packed all the information he had regarding that area. Finally, Fiona came in. Thank goodness she did not have any inquiries regarding the trip. She just wanted to know if Lin needed any help. Assuring her mother that she was fine, Lin put the finishing touches on her packing, adding the little green notebook to her pack.
They had everything settled in the car and were on their way with just enough time to make it to the bed and breakfast they had selected near Coole Park in time for a late supper. It was an interesting drive, with Nana giving the boys a lengthy description of the literary history of Coole and Ian joining in with a background on the geologic features. Most surprising perhaps was Sean's addition of a quote from one of Yeats' more noted poems about Coole.
"Under my window ledge the waters race,
Otters below and moor-hens on the top,
Run for a mile undimmed in Heaven's face,
Then darkening through 'dark' Raftery's 'cellar' drop,
Run underground, rise in a rocky place
In Coole demesne, and there to finish up
Spread to a lake and drop into a hole,
What's water but the generated soul?"
Ian noted that the lake Yeats referred to here was one of the turloughs on the grounds of Coole, a unique geologic feature typified by the inclusion of a swallet or swallow-hole where the water that is gathered during the high-water periods of the year seeps back into the earth at a sometimes very rapid rate. Even more interesting, he noted, was the sheen of white marl that is sometimes left behind on the turlough bed and the vegetation giving rise to speculation that turloughs were faery-held places. Nana, not to be outdone in the tale of the place, told them about its history in the development of the Irish National Theatre and the Gaelic Literary Revival in the late 19th Century. Here she definitely caught Sean's attention as she noted the autograph tree, the great copper beech that was said to be a source of inspiration for the launching of these ideas.
With all of this to cover on the drive, it did not seem to take any time at all to reach their destination. At the bed and breakfast they were given two rooms, one for Lin and Fiona and another for the boys. The proprietor, Shannon McFinnerty, offered them a late supper of shepherds' pie. The boys were in heaven. Luckily, Guinness was also on the menu as well as a glass of wine for her mother, making the first evening of their expedition very comfortable indeed.
As Lin settled into bed for the night, she wondered briefly why she had felt concerned at the start of this journey. Everything was running smoothly along. Unlike the stories you hear so often of families bickering on long drives theirs had been incredibly fun and everyone had been involved and interested. She smiled to herself. This trip was definitely worth the effort. Everything she wanted, everything she needed, was all together in this space and it was working. With that one grand, peaceful thought she drifted into sleep.
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