Settling in
Feeling back at home after a few days here in the West. The rhythms of life seem familiar and so comfortable. Shopping at O'Connors Supervalu, driving the Newport Road into town, the ever-changing and organic rotation of shops in the town - never enough coffee shops and bakeries, they all seem to thrive - recognizable faces, favorites consumed at The Creel, at Madden's Bistro, a cherished brown bread from O'Connors, remembering to turn on the hot water and power shower at the cottage. It feels awfully good.
I played a full round at Westport Golf Club yesterday, teeing off at 9 with a few friends of Padraic's. I need to play three rounds to be assigned a handicap for the purposes of participating in the local competitions and to secure the cherished GUI (Golfing Union of Ireland) card. Shot par on holes #1 and 3 and thought I might post an artificially low round, an outcome that would assign me an artificially low handicap and obliterate any chance of having a fair competitive advantage for future rounds. Not to worry. I soon carded an 8 on hole 4 and a 10 (!) on hole 7. Pride cometh and all... Nevertheless, a pleasant walkabout in the "shadow of Croagh Patrick." My partners were Jerry Moran and Mick Lavelle, a retired teacher and a retired arborist - hale and hearty companions whose games were somewhere around mine, with Jerry certainly a few strokes better.
Up to dinner at Padraic's of the night and, as usual, a bounty. Cheeses, breads, smoked mackerel and salmon, prawns. Then dinner... A beautiful piece of hake poached in aromatics, a freshly made chilled potato salad, eggs baked and presented in a devilish manner, and a bountiful green salad. For dessert, an ice cream cake and barista coffees. And, of course, when would ice cream cake be enough, so chocolate-enrobed cookies made the rounds.
An especially gracious pleasure was the presence of Padraic's son Diarmuid, his wife Lorraine, and their children, the darling Sarah and Dara. The young Duffys are back from a ten-year sojourn in Australia. Diarmuid left as the Great Recession robbed opportunity from Irish people and he mustered up the courage to move halfway around the world to create a better life for Lorraine and himself. All of us would be deeply saddened to have our children move so far away. I'm sure that the sadness was mitigated to some degree with the knowledge that M and P would have the wherewithal to visit Oz (Australia to you and me) at least yearly. But, I wonder if we would understand their sense of loss completely. I believe (as I always say, I need very little information to form a strong opinion) that this kind of separation has a special meaning for Irish people. So many generations have had to say goodbye at the boat or the plane or the train due to famine, poverty, political strife, oppression, or "transportation" for minor crimes. And many of these families would know that they'd never see their loved ones again. In the past, families would even have "wakes" at the ship's mooring. Certainly, times have changed, but I think there is an almost genetically-infused sorrow about such occasions. One can find these feelings mournfully expressed in any number of Irish songs and stories. What a joy that these lovely young people have come back home after establishing a life rich with friends and affections so far away. The tug of family, and of wanting their children to grow up as fully Irish, seems to have constituted an irresistible pull toward home. As we might say here, Thanks be to God.
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| Milseain in the center of town - the Mall along the Carrowbeg river |
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| Despite a glorious day, mist and clouds gather at the Reek |