Drowning The Shamrock...
“After all this intensive living, it would be safe to assume I am quite “drunk”... all of my senses are full to the brim and it’s not even final call. Meanwhile, whether wearing green or not, I do pinch myself quite often as I can hardly believe my luck to be here.”
For starters, “drowning the shamrock” is the phrase used here for the last swig of magical brew on the day of celebrating St. Pat. Which has a literal meaning as they tend to wear a corsage of shamrocks pinned to their chest throughout the day. One of those lucky clovers — (of THREE LEAVES btw) — is then sunk to the bottom of the beer (or whiskey) glass before drinking it all down. All to put an exclamation point on enjoying one’s life with family, friends, and a bit of good luck courtesy of the patron saint. (ok — there is also the revelling of a sanctioned reprieve from Lent on this holiday, which only heightens its popularity as both a tradition and an allegiance to the wonderously talented St. Paddy — another post, another time)
For me, ”drowning the shamrock” is a more metaphorical experience. Being immersed in this land of emerald, I’ve been drinking in all of the wonder of adventures in a place where everything is new- yet oddly familiar. Aside from the bit about being surrounded by salt water on all sides, it’s not so different from Ohio actually in that if you don’t like the weather, stick around it will change. If you count Lake Erie, then Ohio is about the same size and the terrain is mostly flat with some rolling hills, a few high enough to count as a mtn. range. It’s predominately agricultural, scattered with forests, tiny towns and a few small cities to add an urban vibe to the mix. People here, just like at home, are mostly friendly and willing to help you out. Also helpful is that they speak a version of English you can mostly understand once you get acclimated to the musical cadence of their sentences, regional variations in dialect, and new monikers for most nouns, verbs, adverbs, adjectives, etc. It’s all slightly exhausting yet mostly enchanting.
Conversation is a crucial key to unlocking the mysteries of this place where history, myths, legends and remnants of architecture from eons ago are found around every bend. Everything and everyone has a story — what is refreshing is that they take time to tell you theirs whilst also genuinely wanting to hear yours. Best example of this phenome was moments after arriving and summoning up the courage to get behind the wheel on the wrong side of the car to drive on the wrong side of the road for a 3.5 hour journey sans any working navigation or an actual address (aka even I’M not in the mood to chat;) — I offer apology to the lady at the toll booth as all I have are bills of 50 euros. After assuring me its “no worries”, she asks me where I’m from, where I’m going, etc. etc. — there are CARS BEHIND ME AND NO ONE IS HONKING. What? In shops, people patiently wait their turn. At the quick store, the attendant needed to go round back to get us our “cozy coal” — the rest of the line waited patiently… no grumbling, foot tapping, eye rolling, sighs of exasperation — none of it. So NOT like OHIO or any other state for that matter. People here take and make time to connect. Even in Dublin, there aren’t many cell phones out. How refreshing.
Whether famous or everyday folk, this is truly a land of story tellers, poets, musicians, artists, and of course, dancers. Which is a very long way to say I believe I’ve found my people. Directed by conversations encountered by chance and intuitions whispered on the wind, I’ve kept myself busy exploring external and internal landscapes, truly embracing the leap, love, learn mission statement of this collection of thoughts. Important and essential “work” albeit not always smooth sailing, all that. After a decade or more of various life events on the dark side, something about the healing journeys of the heart comes to mind. In terms of actual locations thus far, I’ve spent significant time in Ballina, Enniscrone, Dublin, and now Westport — with excursions to Paris (because that’s always a good idea) and Italy (because we were hungry) and also Northern Ireland (because, well, why not? in for a penny, in for a pound...or a euro for that matter).
After all this intensive living, it would be safe to assume I am quite “drunk”. All of my senses are full to the brim and it’s not even final call. Meanwhile, whether wearing green or not, I do pinch myself quite often as I can hardly believe my luck to be here.
DISCLAIMER- I’ve even typed this entry up with some evidence of knowledge of proper punctuation — truly an indicator of intoxication. My ee cummings meets bell hooks meets runaway train of thought musings are evidence of my more intuitive nature — supported by my lack of ever properly learning how to type — and my respectful disrespect for rules of grammar and punctuation no matter what side of the pond as quotation marks with periods and commas are confusing no matter which rules one favors. IF you are someone who treasures those things — think of this blog as a collection of poetry — or just skip it all together. My purpose with all this is to force myself to do some writing. Tossing out all the rules is another way to bypass that perfectionist nature that tends to put a damper on getting started.
