Santa’s Clearance

It was wonderful to hear our Minister for Foreign Affairs, Simon Coveney, making a statement from the Dail (Irish Parliament) yesterday about Santa being designated as an essential worker this year and being allowed to travel freely.

The Minister has a helluva lot on his mind these days with Brexit negotiations at a crucial stage and all the uncertainty that brings on top of Covid-related issues, not to mention all the other stuff he has responsibility for.

But, we all needed absolute clarity about Santa. No dithery dithers because Santa is super special in terms of lending stability and continuity in a very uncertain world.

I’m just so thankful that all that is sorted out nice and early. I don’t believe in getting into Christmas mode until Christmas week but Santa is an exception. Santa always was and always will be an exception.

Leaning into Nature

I’ve had a thing about war since I was a kid and have vivid memories of a hot Summer night in the early 1960s when I was feverish with chickenpox thinking that there were armoured tanks invading the small town in Co. Monaghan where we were living then.

When the Troubles broke out in Northern Ireland in the late 1960s , we were living just 3 miles from the Border and it was downright scary. For some reason, I seemed to believe that if we could somehow get to the Isle of Man we’d be okay. I think that it was probably because the Isle of Man had the name of having no violence. (Years later, I was fortunate enough to visit it and found it to be a delightful place where peace did reign.)

The rumblings of the last few days about World strife and nuclear attacks have stoked those smouldering embers and today I craved the comfort of nature.

Here’s where those cravings brought me:

 

Rhodos
Under the Rhododendrons

 

Bluebells
On my Knees among the Bluebells

 

Greenery
Luxuriating in Greenery

 

Mare and Foal
Dusking with a Mare and Foal

 

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Waves of Hope

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yet Another Ireland

There I was making a cup of tea with a tea bag and I got to thinking of all the things, of my lifetime,  that have vanished apart from fleeting memories of them. Here’s a few that might or might not jog a memory, draw a smile, a sigh or …

#1. Green public telephone boxes with button A and button B. (I saw one in a garden out in the middle of nowhere the other day.)

#2. The Riordans on RTE television

#3. Making a ‘trunk call’ and having to dial the operator.

#4. A time when there were no mobile phones and not all that many houses with telephones.

#5. Wooden tennis rackets

#6. The coming of the ‘hole in the wall’ that gave out money and how you’d say ‘Thank You’ ’til you realised what an eejit you were talking to a machine.

#7. The move to decimalisation

#8. When shops were shut on Sundays and from 1-2 for lunch.

#9. When you went to the chemist to collect your photos and get a new film.

#10. The doctor who dropped in after tea to check on ‘the patient.’

#12. Telegrams

#13. Butlins Mosney by the Sea

#14. Bedsits

#15. The border posts between the Republic and Northern Ireland

#16. When 99.99% of people in Ireland were white

#17. Days before Funeral Homes

#18. When JFK was revered in Ireland

#19. Showbands coming to town

#20.45s and LPs

#21. The washing-up ritual

#22. Talk of joining the Common Market

#23. Charles Mitchell reading the News on RTE

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Charles Mitchell on RTE ~ Photo: Wikipedia

#24. That first big green car wash when you forgot to close the window

#25. Jim Figgerty

 

#26. The Catholic Church ban on its adherents attending Trinity College, Dublin without special dispensation.

#27. Edna O’Brien’s The Country Girls

#28. When Sunday Mass included the priest reading out a list of who had given a donation to the church and how much it was.

#29. The first moon walk

#30. Listening to Radio Luxemburg under the blankets (no duvets then!)

Maybe you have a few or hundreds to add to the list?

Snowdrops

One of the highlights of my year is the arrival of the first snowdrops in my garden and today was the day.

Tramore was shrouded in muggy fog but deep down under the unpruned hydrangea by the front gate, I caught sight of the gleaming white of snowdrops. This moment symbolises so much to me: light after dark; hope after doubt; courage after falterings; reunion after separation; joy after teardrops …..

snowdrop
Hope

Even if the hopes you started out with are dashed,  hope has to be maintained.  (Seamus Heaney)                        

 

The Slip at Sunrise

It was very frosty this morning but there was a tint in the early morning sky that drew me down to the beach here in Tramore.

There’s no where in this world that feels more like ‘my’ place and being there brings me back to childhood days with buckets and spades; summer days when it’s packed with regulars and visitors all mingling with the salty air, scent of coconut suncream, happy screams of kids as they splash in the waves; old-timers with white sun hats and a passion for ‘The Tramore Air.’

Today, there was just me, the sea and the gulls. Same place but a new day, seen through eyes that never tire.

The sea was calm but playful:

And all the while, I knew that Tramore was smiling down on me from her haunts up on the hill:

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Tramore Town from the Prom

 

Bookends of the Year

While I’m not out on the razzle-dazzle, New Year’s Eve is a pretty big deal for me for a whole host of reasons. Lots of key things seem to have happened on New Year’s Eves over the years so it’s kind of etched in my heart.

I see New Year’s Eve as being like a book-end holding in all the moments from a particular year. I took a look at how I started 2016 here on Social Bridge and found that it was an urging to self to Smile more. I’ve tried and it does work reasonably well but forced smiles are no good! Here’s the post, just in case you want to have a read.

I made it my business to try and see the sunrise and the sunset of today and, of course, there was the Wishing Stone Ritual.

Here’s how the day looked when it greeted me down the beach:

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Sunrise over Tramore Bay 

There was a softness in the air that made it feel more like a Summer’s morning than the depths of Winter. I was surrounded by seagulls and I rather like this photo (that Dad would certainly have condemned to the ‘Dud’ category.) There’s something surreal about it New Year’s Eve can feel surreal:

ny
‘Old time he is a flying…’

Now to the Wishing Stones. I’m delighted to report that we are just back from the casting. I had gone out to Newtown Cove earlier in the day to collect the stones for everyone who had requested that I cast one for them. It was really nice to have the time to ‘browse’ on the shore and select the stones which I felt matched the people that I was picking them for. I placed them all in a little nook in the rocks as I collected them. You’d be amazed how particular stones pushed themselves forward as being suitable for the individuals I have come to know through ‘blogland.’ Here is a photo of the stash:

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The Wishing Stones

It was like the day got into a sulk at sunset time and it just clouded over and we had no dramatic sunset at all.

Tonight, son, Harry,  and I went out to Newtown Cove and cast our own stones as well as those of people from all over the globe who had requested that I cast one for them. It was beyond magical. There was a poignant moment as I cast one in memory of our beloved Paul Curran, who died earlier in the year but who touched the hearts of so many of us here on WordPress. He adored the ocean and it felt so right to give his stone a little kiss of remembrance from us all.

So, the midnight hour is approaching here in Tramore and I would like to wish you all a very happy, healthy and peaceful 2017. Also, I would like to thank everyone who has been so supportive in 2016 in all sorts of different ways.

Finally, may I say, that I still think that we need to Smile, Smile, Smile as much as we can but always be true to ourselves and to others in those smiles. A sincere smile can light up a person’s day …

Here’s smiling at you as I raise my glass to 2017!

 

 

 

 

Street Art

It’s often on street walls  that you see the most profound messages.

Given all the debate that is going on about ‘global warming’ right now, I feel that this particular message that has been on an old wall in New Street in Waterford City for a while now is very pertinent.

It always has the effect of making me acutely aware of the way in which moving into abstrations can distance us from things that we are enveloped in- both as contibutors and victims. Yes, this certainly brings out the nature-loving sociologist in me!

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At New Street, Waterford City.

 

Old Habits

My father had quite fascination with nuns’ habits and he passed this on to my sister and me from when we were very young. He would take photographs of nuns on beaches, of all places, while Big Sis and I would do everything in our power to try and work out if nuns were bald or what they did with their hair.

nuns
The Nuns ~ early 1960s ~ Photo: Frank Tubridy

The mystery was at its most mysterious in the days before Vatican 11 in 1965 which gave nuns permission to relax their dress. It didn’t happen overnight, though, and some orders were quicker than others to answer our childish questions.

The old style nuns made for great subjects for one with a photographic eye and the photo above was always called The Nuns in our house.

Dad seemed to be able to spot nuns on beaches like no one I’ve ever known. I suppose they did stand out all garbed up on hot Summer days when the rest of us were running around in swimming togs and half nothings, by the standards of those days, anyway.

The hair question eventually got answered when the veils were moved back and hair appeared ~ black, brown, fair, red, mousy, grey or some combination of these.

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Post 1965 ~ Photo: Frank Tubridy

The mere mention of nuns would send Dad back to a rhyme that was part of his youth:

I’ll tell the nuns who stole the tupenny buns ….

This was the first line … but there was more that I can’t remember now.  Dad had great fun regaling my son, Harry, with this when he was a child and the pair of them would be roaring laughing. One day when Harry was about seven, Dad told him to ‘Go and tell the nuns …’ so Harry, who was bursting to see inside a convent, went and banged on the door of the convent nearby and told them that his grandfather had told him to call. Dad had taken photos of the convent so when the nuns ascertained who Harry was, they were lovely to him and gave him sweets.

It’s easy knowing that neither Dad nor Harry ever went to a Convent school like my sister and me. We definitely wouldn’t have been knocking on convent doors with such abandon after all the years of discipline and ‘Yes Sister, No Sister!’