a simple yarn

Warning: Yet Another Non-Crafting Post Ahead

Last lovely cappuccino at Avoca

How ironic that after winning ‘Best Craft Blog’ at this year’s Irish Blog Awards, recent posts have been eerily devoid of any crafting. Deepest apologies for that. Needless to say, there is great appreciation for your collective patience as we pace ourselves through this trans-Atlantic transition.

But there is much to be excited about at our new ‘vintage-cottage-in-the-city’! A broad palette for creativity to be found in the garden, in the kitchen, on the needles and on the loom. Just a little while longer…

So, to celebrate new life in new environs, this space is gonna need a new face, I’m thinkin’. And I’m gonna need help…I’ll keep ya posted. And there’ll be some cool Irish Kilcarra tweed yarn in the offing.

Yep, there are good times ahead…

Irish Friends: “How do you feel about moving ‘home’?”
Me: “My feelings change about as often as I change my socks.”

Ask me and I’ll say, I will miss living easily amongst antiquity. Ancient ruins readily available and accessible, offering passage to echoes of early Celtic days gone by. The US is so young and modern, mere teenagers to the older cultures of Europe.

Ask my kids and they’ll say, if you’ve seen one 12th century castle, you’ve seen ‘em all. They’re just rocks, right?

For me, I will miss the relational culture of Ireland. Sure, the maddening pace of post-modern life has certainly landed on this island, but still…there is something within the genetic wiring of the Irish that continues to bring people together for a good aul’ meaningful chat over a pint. I find Americans to be busy.

For my kids, the US has good libraries and ice-skating rinks and theme parks. What could be better?

But I have to say the US does infrastructure well. Roads are wide and smooth. Car parks are large and manageable. Choices are abundant. Washing machines hold a full load of clothes. Healthcare, albeit expensive, is quick, dependable and respectful of an individual’s dignity. Schools are generally well-funded. It is easier to live life in America.

Still, I will miss the quality of our life and relationships here, even while I look forward to being on the same continent as family.

Is it ungrateful to say this doesn’t seem like moving ‘home’? Actually, I feel quite at home in the Irish culture. Always an American, mind you, but comfortable here nonetheless. No, it’s more like moving to the US, like we might move to France or England or Italy…another new place requiring cultural adjustments.

Such a perspective may seem rather normal…or perhaps emotionally muddled…guess it depends upon your point of view.

“No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main… because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” -John Donne, English Poet, (1572-1631)

Okay, so it’s a bit ominous sounding…since he’s talking about death and all…but still appropriate in its theme that we are all connected to one another regardless of where we are physically…or geographically, for that matter.

And why am I quoting old English poets?

Simply put, the bell has tolled for our family, so to speak, and our time at The Bell House is coming to an end.

Since June of last year, Husband-Will has been commuting between our home in Dublin and his work in Washington, DC. That’s a lot of air miles and time zones and jet lag and carbon footprinting. So, we’re packing up so we can live together in one country on one continent. Fair enough.

Understandably, creative energies will play a supporting role to more pressing, non-creative things…like cardboard boxes…for the next couple of months. Yep, a bit of dejá vu from, say, just last autumn…

And so, the New Year’s photo is rather prophetic,

for we have taken a different fork in the path and stand ready to see what this newest bend in the road will hold for us.

…off to Cork for a brief Easter holiday with family and friends, a few archive photos from one of my favourite spots in Ireland.

The Rock of Cashel, in Co. Tipperary, served as the traditional seat of the Kings of Munster. The majority of buildings on the current site date from the 12th and 13th centuries. Cashel is reputed to be the site of the conversion to Christianity of the King of Munster by St. Patrick in the 5th century A.D.

Right, I realise I’ve been sounding like the Irish Tourism Board of late, but the Kiddies are out of school which minimises craft time. Sigh. Hope to finish a knitting project while on our mini break!

Hard to capture but yes, there is a second rainbow in the sky.

Wishing you and your family a very joyous Resurrection Sunday!

It’s a good day.

I awoke to be presented with these two handmade-with-child’s-love Mother’s Day cards…

Holiday Observation Interruption
While living in North America, I had no idea that other countries celebrated Mother’s Day at differing times during the year. Today, the first Sunday in March is ‘Mothering Sunday’ in Ireland. And what about the traditional US holiday on the second Sunday in May? Perhaps if I play my cards right, I might be able to eek out another celebration, don’t ya think?

The only challenge is remembering where I put the cards purchased for my own mother, mother-in-law, and grandmother after buying them 3 months previously!

Anyway, after the lovely start, I was also presented with a stunner of a gift, certainly earning Husband-Will huge amounts of kudos. As most of his time is currently spent in the US for work, he nailed the occasion with this splendid antique pen from an estate sale. Mother of pearl handle, sterling silver engraved grip, petite. A-maz-ing. Think he might read the blog occasionally…

Could it get any better?
Yep.

A quick check of my email brought me news that I’ve won Best Craft Blog for the 2008 Irish Blog Awards. Crikey! There are so many great Irish craft blogs…I’m really appreciative. A very big thank-you to Coastal-Aussie, who made the nomination. Will this go to my bloggin’ head? I give you leave to enroll me in slap therapy if it does. And I know a few people locally who would do the slappin’!

It’s not even noon and it’s already been a great day!

While other minds ponder great intellectual or philosophical pursuits, mine gets hung up on how a unique word like ‘pudding’ can mean so many different things.

I was at the supermarket when my thoughts began to wander. I was standing in the meats section…bacon, sausages, things like that…and my eyes landed on the pudding.

You know, the black and white kind.
Well, more like bloodish-brown and deathly-gray.
The kind that’s fried and served with a full Irish breakfast.
The kind that’s made of unknown leftover animal bits.
The kind that, in my opinion, is rather revolting.

So why in the world, I wonder, did they decide to call it ‘pudding?’

In my North American frame of reference, pudding is a lovely custardy dessert. And if you really love your kids, you will make it on the stovetop…from scratch. But if you’re more of a modern mother, you’ll open the familiar little Jell-O brand box, add milk, stir, refrigerate, and you’re kids will make short work of it.

However, if you’re sitting next to my posh English friends, you might hear them say, ‘Mummy, what are we having for pudding?’ They aren’t asking if there’s a custardy concoction coming soon, rather they’re asking what’s for dessert. So how did the word pudding come to stand for all sweet things following dinner?

Illustration of ‘pudding’ from Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management, 1861

And yet, if you’re sitting somewhere in the British Isles during the Christmas season, you will more than likely see a Christmas pudding on the table topped with ever present brandy butter or rum sauce. If you’re lucky, it will be set alight. And if you’re really lucky, as we were, you may see someone’s sleeve catch on fire. Anyway, how did a goopy, underdone cake come to be called a pudding?

And then there’s Yorkshire pudding…more of a pancake gone wonky. Surely a quick internet search will clear things up.

Sadly, Wikipedia isn’t troubled by the vast differences in what makes a pudding a pudding and is rather all-inclusive to incorporate them all. How politically correct of them to quite simply outline it like this…!

3.1 Baked, steamed and boiled puddings
3.1.1 Savoury
3.1.2 Dessert
3.2 Creamy puddings

They also say the word pudding probably comes from the French boudin via the Latin botellus, meaning “small sausage,” referring to encased meats used in Medieval European puddings.

So as I look at the little-meaty-remnants-encased-to-make-a-sausage, I realise that these represent the original intent of what it means to be a pudding. Sigh. I just can’t accept that. And when I’m feeling the need should I say I’m going to rip open a little box of Jell-O-brand-chocolate-creamy-custardy-dessert-mix?

Nope…just gotta call it pudding.

My conscience has been itching again… man, hate it when that happens…

The last time I had a tussle with my conscience, the resulting conviction led to me stop colouring my hair. Happy with the outcome, but the process was kinda tough. And now, it’s at it again. Perhaps it’s an every-January-occurrence for me…the natural pendulum swing following the excesses of December. And I thought I lived a simple life.

It’s this whole eco-living-reducing-your-carbon-footprint-sustainability stuff.

Oh sure, I recycle. Feel good about that and my efforts to ‘save the planet’. Put out the rubbish bin with greater infrequency. But when did the totally eco-friendly cleaning supplies become infiltrated with fruity smelling popular dish soap or a convenient name brand cleanser? Guess it happened when I wasn’t looking…

Once upon a time I sang loud the praises of all-organic produce. It’s still my first choice, but if I can’t find that particular fruit or veg of the organic persuasion, am I willing to go without? Tracking veggie air miles to be sure, but tracking seasonal-ness? Hmmm….

And even longer ago, in a land far away, baking daily bread, making stores of soap, reducing dependence upon corporate mega-opolies was second nature. But how did that store-bought-and-even-on-rare-occasion-(gasp)-white-bread come to be in my cupboard? Might blame Husband-Will, but we all know he’s on another continent…

Dublin is one of the more expensive cities in Europe…but do I trick myself into saying  it’s only being frugal when I purchase cheap-not-sure-if-it’s-made-with-child-labour clothing?

You see, a simple life is not that simple.

It seems so overwhelming, living in such a responsible way. Will there ever be a time when I won’t have to wrestle with choices on a regular basis? The enormity of it sometimes paralyses me. And the obsessive-compulsive gene in my head says that it must be an all-or-none sustainable, renewable lifestyle, much like Tom & Barbara Good or Rebecca. But certainly there must be an in-between in this process…

Well, no simple solutions here. No grandiose resolutions. No immediate to-do lists. Just thinking and pondering and tweaking what’s already in progress.  Perhaps I’ll go bake some whole wheat bread…

“A little simplification would be the first step toward rational living, I think.”
Eleanor Roosevelt

Never underestimate the ability of a child.

Last week I passed a milestone of age…not a big milestone, mind you, just a little one. I confess I’ve had better birthdays, as this particular one happened to include—
1) A favorite dish broken
2) A minor-yet-enough-to-do-a-good-amount-of-damage bashing of the car
3) A husband still in the US

Ah…but then, the kids did their ‘Happy Birthday Mama’ magic.

A picture by He-Who-Hates-To-Draw, which shows me at my favourite pastime. ‘You came out a little fat,’ said he, ‘but that’s because you’re wearing a woolly jumper you knit.’

A necklace chosen and paid for by Now-Eleven-Year-Old-Daughter-Kate, which was promptly put round my neck with fierce gratitude.

Not only that, the dishwasher was unloaded and lunches were made by Birthday-Gift-Giving-Hands. Nope, never underestimate the ability of a child to give a gift that fits just right.

‘We can start with who we are and what we have today, apply gratitude, then let it work its magic. There is no situation or circumstance so small or large that it is not susceptible to gratitude’s power.’ —MB

As I walked back from taking the Kiddies to the school bus today, I heard the bell on our house ring throughout the valley. What a haunting but beautiful sound. Yes, after about 4 months of transient living, we now have all of our worldly goods under one roof. We have slept two nights in our new dwelling. I am grateful.

But yet, I have found it difficult to be grateful. Hmmm……why is that?

I have to confess that this has been one of the more challenging moves…even more challenging in some ways than moving from the US to Ireland. So perhaps it is because my focus has not been on what I have, but rather, what I do not have.

Well, I don’t have—
Electricity. Ok, we’re not living by candlelight, mind you, but we’re nicking electricity from the Lodge and simple things like using the kettle causes severe brown-out. So, no oven baking for me for a while. How many stove-top recipes can I conjure? Waiting for the local energy monopoly to come out. Waiting….waiting….waiting….

Washing Machine. The knob broke upon delivery and as with any appliance, it’s not just a matter of picking up a new one. Waiting for a replacement machine and encouraging the Kiddies not to get dirty. Kinda tough to do when you’re surrounded by dirt…

Living Room Chaos

Phone. A land-line is coming, but not sure when. Thinking about taking up a ‘smoke signals’ course to communicate with the rest of civilization.

Mobile Reception. The beauty of this house is that it’s well insulated. And that same warm, toasty insulation also cuts out any mobile phone waves that previously snuck in or out.

Water. Right, I do have water. It’s brown. Stream fed and as natural as can be. Friend-Lucy-Of-The-Lodge calls it ‘peat filtered,’ claiming its benefits. Pat-The-House-Builder calls it ‘bog water.’ That can’t be good. But my cups of tea have a lovely deep amber hue…

Beds. Three out of four of the family are camping it, while Son-Alex is tucked up nicely in his own bed. Have ordered mattresses and am waiting for the delivery people to ring up to schedule delivery. Oh wait, no phone….rats.

Fibre Chaos

Sofas. So, going from the Usually-Furnished-Rental-Accommodation to the Unfurnished-Lotsa-Square-Footage-To-Fill means new sofas. That’s a good thing. Waiting for the delivery lads to ring…..oops, no phone….

Alright, having said all that, it’s time to apply a little gratitude to the situation, being thankful for the familiarity of small, but important pleasures in life.

The comfort of the familiar

And even with all the hiccups and the extra work to clean up the mold and mildew that attacked our belongings from the extremely wet summer, at the end of the day, amid the surrounding chaos I will let gratitude’s power work its magic on me.

The challenge lies not in the knowing….but in the doing.

Pat-The-New-House-Builder is a quiet man. Fairly simple in his outlook. After a long summer of endless rain and being behind schedule, he seems at ease…rather unflappable. And so was my comment to him, an amazement of his lack of worry. His response went something like this…

“Someone told me once that you can worry and at the end of it all you’ll die. Or you can choose not to worry and then you die. So, I guess there’s no point in worrying.”

Simple yet effective wisdom.

Sitting back enjoying a Sunday morning cappuccino gives me pause to reflect on recent dealings with Starbucks. The saga just won’t end…

You may or may not remember that it took me a good portion of the summer to figure out the unique Starbucks language to order a decent cup of cappuccino in the US. Let me repeat it in case you missed it…

“I’ll have a medium cappuccino…extra shot of espresso…pour it wet.”

Well, being back in Ireland and finding myself in Starbucks presented me with a bit of a conundrum.
How do I order my coffee?
Do all Starbucks’ employees go to the same barista university?
Do they speak the same language?
Will the nice European employee understand what ‘wet’ foam is?

The answer is no.

After refining my US ordering skills for the past couple of months to get what I wanted, I stood proudly at the counter and gave my now standardized order and do you know what I got?

A blank stare.

Still, it was a good cup of coffee (in a ceramic mug no less!) without dabbling in Starbuck-ese. Yep, I should have left well enough alone.

Change is the watchword around our house these days.

Warning: Definitional Diversion Ahead
Synonym:  alter, become different, adjust, adapt, amend, modify, revise, refine, refashion, redesign, restyle, revamp, rework, remodel, reorganise, reorder, vary, transform, transfigure, transmute, metamorphose, evolve, tweak, rejig
Antonym:  stay the same

Some people like change in small steps. Reflecting upon the face of change in our family finds it usually coming in great strides…