Fir Cones, Shamrocks and More of Ireland

It's true-- I would have been much worse off in Ireland without my Keepsake Shawl. All that complaining about how much time it took to complete, all the moaning about the largeness of it: I take it all back. It was easy to fling on when exiting the coach; easy to slide off when it was too hot in the bus; it was the perfect weight for the Irish winds. It did shed quite a bit, but I had forgotten to give it a good tumble in the dryer before I left.

I loved it so much that when I got home I started another "utilitarian" shawl, this time the Fir Cone shawl from Folk Shawls, in the color of Ireland.

The yarn I am using, Harrisville Shetland on a cone (not a flavor of ice cream) has not been fulled yet, so it feels rather stringy and waxy. But when it is washed it will bloom and become soft and cozy.

Yesterday I walked out of the house to take the Sherlock for a walk, and had to smile when I saw what had sprouted and grown in the empty planter while we were gone:

They seem to say Cead Mile Failte, don't you think?

And for those of you with a constant hankering after the poodles, here is proof that Sherlock survived our absence:

I realized yesterday that the cruise with my side of the family is only little more than a week away. How many of us will there be? That's right-- eleven. The Alaska Eleven will be totally different than the Ireland Eleven, but still quirky in their own ways.

Speaking of the Ireland Eleven, imagine my surprise when, while analyzing them, I came up with an astonishing conclusion: they are "normal"; I am not. It's so vewy, vewy twue. The folks I hang out with are not normal, either, so it's difficult to understand how not-normal one is until you are set within the confines of a 24-seater coach for 8 days with "normal" people.

Normal people don't mind asking or answering the same question five times within 30 minutes. They don't mind that you didn't listen when you asked the question the first time (maybe they don't remember?). But this asking but not listening thing drives me nuts.

Normal people don't see the inconsistencies in their behaviours, or if they do it doesn't bother them. Being on time can be important to them when there isn't a real reason other than arbitrariness to be on time (such as, let's spend x amount of time in Killarney before going back to the hotel), but can be unimportant when there is a reason (such as a scheduled show that may be difficult to get into). In other words, normal people just go with the flow.

I'm not expositing on this subject as a whine or a complaint. It's simply in my nature to analyze and provide inner critiques no matter where I am or what I'm doing or who I'm with. I believe this sort of personality evolves in part from the activities or vocations in which one becomes immersed. Knitting, weaving, computer programming, editing-- all these things require a critical mind. I don't know about you, but my mind does not have an on/off switch for this trait.

So you see, I learned quite a bit about myself and others on this trip.

Want more pictures?

Here is the monastic settlement at Glendalough, where St. Kevin's cross is to be seen. This is a view of the monk's tower, where they ran for protection when the marauding...er... marauders... were coming. It also served as a signal tower.

The Gray took this fabulous picture, which I didn't see until we got home. It immediately looks to me like a herd of sheep or perhaps buffalo crossing over the ridge, but in fact those are oak trees, the native species to Ireland.

As we made our way south and west, we stopped to Newross to see the Dubrody Famine Ship, a replica of the Dunbrody, which was used to transport emigrating Irish to America and Canada. The ship holds 176 passengers but many times was loaded to twice that. The bunks are a mere 4 feet wide and five feet long, but each held up to five people. The names on the passenger list and those on the bunks are real names of real emigrants. I took these photos in the steerage deck, thinking of my friends Ryan and Terri:

The story of the famine is heartbreaking. I knew that there had been a great famine, but what I had not known was that the English owned or laid claim to everything but the potatoes, and potatoes were the only means by which the Irish people could survive-- not only did they eat them, but they sold them or traded them for other foods and clothing. Nearly half the Irish people left their country between 1845 and 1850, while over a million died from starvation, many times whole families, now buried in mass graves-- a definite genocide. I'm very glad that Anglo-Irish relations are not the same today.

I apologize for these very long posts-- if you've read all the way to the end, I thank you!

Posted by Sheila at July 28, 2005 07:05 AM Posted to Ireland | Sherlock | TrackBack