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 Since my children were small, I've made a great fuss over St. Patrick's Day. It was not something we did growing up in Ireland, but as a treat to amuse my wee ones years ago, I began to colour their milk and potatoes green for this special day.

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The notion exploded, and really...how was I to know they would never get over it? Now a table of full-grown adults, and whomever else we can con into it graciously invite, gather at table each year to partake of green wine and a motley assortment of viridian-tinged victuals.

 It is great sport to check out the reactions. We've had guests who were quite unable to eat at the sight of dark, mushy peas crowding up against lividly-tinted spuds...and skinless chicken that glows fluorescent green on the outside and is fish-belly white when cut seems to repel everyone.

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 It must be said, however,

 that others have fit

 right in, stuffing

 food into their mouths 

in the knowledge that 

it all tastes just 

the same 

anyway.

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These people we embrace  

into the family!

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This year, scheduling conflicts force us to postpone celebrations

 until next week...cancelling was not an option, apparently!

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 I leave you

 with a few photos of previous dinners, and a collage of my girl

 Meeghan in her

 St. Paddy's Day pullover.

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But should you hear the raucous sound of the Pogues somewhere in tomorrow's celebrations, you'll know I'm having a grand oul' time singing along with them!

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Have yourself a wonderful day!

Watery Wednesday: Wild Irish Seas

I have been a long-time lover of the sea, drawn back repeatedly by the lure of its blue-green depths and the endless cycles of its tides. And I am a lover of wind...from the softest of summer breezes to gales that wildly toss about everything they touch.

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Combine wind and sea, and you will find me, and my husband, transfixed with wonder.

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A trip home to Ireland in May of 2007 became especially memorable to me for the vibrant play of wind and water we encountered at every turn.

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As we drove the coastline, misty spring skies would grow broody and dark, and even if out of sight, waves could be heard crashing into shore with joyful abandon.

From the seas caves of Northern Ireland’s Causeway Coast, to the Cliffs of Moher in west Ireland and the Skellig Islands in the south, water races ceaselessly in to throw itself time and time again against the rugged Irish shoreline.  

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It is timeless magnificence to behold, and is but one of many reasons why this small island’s magic will always keep time with the rhythm of my life's blood… 

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I am linking this post to sweetnsaxy's Watery Wednesday meme...do check out her wonderful link for more watery pics...

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http://waterywednesday.blogspot.com/

The Immigrant Experience

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Cameras played little part in my childhood. This is a rare, early photo of me with my brother Martin in Belfast.

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I came to Canada as a child, caught up in the wave of hopefuls who fled Great Britain in the difficult years following WWII in search of a better life. Like many, circumstance forced me to adapt to a culture very different from my own. Such a move required courage and determination, and I lacked both at the start. Strange sights and sounds overwhelmed me. I longed to go back home, sure that I could never be happy here. Time proved me wrong and I adjusted to Canadian society with relative ease, building a good life among people who accepted me as one of their own. Even as a child, I recognized that my smooth integration differed markedly from that of other newcomers, particularly those whose ethnicity spoke out in the colour of their skin. I came to understand that the elitism facilitating my assimilation made sure others would remain forever on the outside, no matter how long they might live in their adoptive country.
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Bigotry darkened my childhood from birth. As Protestants in Northern Ireland, my parents charged me to spurn Catholics...they were not our 'kind'. Exposed to Canada’s diverse range of cultural groups, my father's ire was simply re-directed. One day, after listening to a vitriolic tirade about foreigners taking over the country, I reminded him timorously that we were not born here either. My father responded with raised eyebrows and imperialistic indignation, “Why, you cannot compare us to outsiders. After all, we're white..and we're British!” I understood that his specious logic was the only justification needed to vilify real foreigners. Helplessness silenced me, even as I sensed an uncomfortable truth behind the arrogant words. I could not deny that my fair skin and Irish background influenced people to welcome me warmly. My old-world ways matched their preconceived notions and granted me easy access to where others were denied admittance.

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While many emigrants struggled to be understood, my Gaelic lilt guaranteed an instant smile. Given unaccustomed foods like hamburgers and pizza, the fact that I cut them up neatly with a knife and fork made adults beam approval at my manners. I never had to deal with disparaging remarks about what I ate or how the scent of that food lingered on my clothes. Although this high level of acceptance helped me adjust to my altered life, being singled out embarrassed me. I wished only to belong. With haste, I swapped my school blazer for flip-flops and became so fluent in the local vernacular that I looked and sounded exactly like my Canadian playmates. I knew this was not the case for those whose customs were more difficult to merge. Although I abandoned much to fit in, others gave up more for a smaller return.
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I no longer stand silent in the face of exclusion based on stereotyping of any kind. If I measure someone's worth, it will be based on an individual’s contribution to society, not on a race or creed. In conversation, I seek words of tolerance and inclusion, regardless of accent. I am part of a cycle greater than my own life. This planet is my home and every inhabitant on it my brother or sister, forever linked to me by bonds of responsibility and compassion. I want to hear the stories they tell and embrace the differences that have shaped our diverse lives. Each one of us must reject apathy and actively make this a world wherein mercy and equality are the birthright of all people.

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That change begins with me.

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Ireland's Call

 I am homesick for Ireland today...something in the still morning air is nudging at my soul and urging my thoughts homeward...

In the past, I have shared tales of my childhood in Belfast, and of the Troubles which, with time and terror, tore my much-loved city in half.

But today, only sweetness is calling me back from across the sea, to that small green island whose rolling hills of yore and singular beauty never fail to enchant.

I close my eyes and can smell the meadows hung with mist, hear the waves crashing onto shore...and I give myself over to the true sense of peace that only comes from

being home.

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I have little cause for discontentment...my life

in Canada is a good one...I am blessed with comfort, safety, and the boundless love of family and friends who cherish me as dearly as I cherish them. I am fortunate indeed...

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But some days...this day...the girl who was whisked away through no choice of her own, remembers that other life and yearns to bridge the gap forged wide by a lifetime's separation.

   

Just for today...this girl's heart longs only for its first home...
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I am linking to Theme Thursday's prompt of 'Luck' at the link below, for I am lucky indeed that my heart has found twin homes in both Ireland and Canada!
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http://themethursday.blogspot.com/
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You might also enjoy these previous posts:
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 Irish Belleek China

http://imaginationlane.blogspot.com/2010/08/another-white-wednesday.html
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Irish Linen Tablecloth
http://imaginationlane.blogspot.com/2010/08/my-second-white-wednesday.html
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Irish Signposts

A wonderful crossroads in West Ireland.

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Profusion of signs... 

  shall I follow a lead or

  seek my own clear path?

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I am linking this post to 'Theme Thursday', graciously hosted by Megan, who supplied this week's prompt, 'point'. Do check out the link below...

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http://themethursday.blogspot.com/

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I am also linking to 'Signs, Signs', hosted by Lesley. You'll want to check out this link...
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http://signs2.blogspot.com/
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Irish Doors

I have recently discovered a new meme, which I know will quickly become one of my favourites.

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Mary at

'Window Views...and doors too!' clearly shares my lifelong fascination with arches and openings of all kinds.

Looking in or looking out...entering or leaving...every portal has a story to tell, a unique viewpoint that is like no other.

On a trip home to Ireland several years ago, I was fascinated to discover doors that were very old; some restored to a bright new gloss, others left to nobly bear the ravages of time. They are all beautiful to my eyes...

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I'm posting a few of my favourites here and linking them to Mary's meme. For more such photos, do stop by the following link...

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http://windowviews2.blogspot.com/

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Another White Wednesday

As I’ve posted Irish whites for the last two weeks, I thought I would also share my small collection of Belleek Parian china.

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This beautifully fine and translucent tableware originates in the town of Belleek, situated on the banks of the River Erne in
Northern Ireland.

With the exception of the one small terrier, my pieces are from the Shamrock Tableware collection. I did not acquire them in Ireland, however, but had them given to me by my gracious Canadian mother-in-law from her own china cabinet. Receiving them a few years into our marriage. I’ve had them for forty years now, and do not know how long Esther had them before that. I do know that their elegance will remain timeless.

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Pottery began in Belleek in the mid-nineteen century, when John Caldwell Bloomfield inherited his father’s estate, and looked for ways to provide employment for his tenants, robbed of their livehood and well-being by the Irish potato famine.


Since then, piece is made using techniques and materials handed down to new generations of craftsmen; and every brushstroke is still lovingly applied by hand.

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With my proclivity for awkwardness, I rarely bring them out, and handle them very carefully on those special occasions when I do! I love the glow they took on last night as I photographed them against the setting sun. I hope you find them as exquisitely beautiful as I do...

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For more on White Wednesday, do pop in and visit Kathleen at

http://fadedcharmcottage.blogspot.com/

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A City Divided

A ‘Peace Line’ cuts the capital city of Northern Ireland in half. Euphemistically named, it is actually a series of twenty-six walls of brick and corrugated iron that separate the Catholic and Protestant communities in Belfast. It was built in the tumultuous years of religious and political strife known as the Troubles, but even today, gates in the walls are locked each evening and every weekend.

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Tour guides are quick to point out that it’s best to stay with one’s own, and take no risks going into areas where a welcome is not assured.
It is the familiar mantra of my childhood, made all the more chilling by decades of strife that have made this division worse, not better.

On a visit to my birth city three years ago, I was devastated to see the damage that’s been done in the name of liberation. In thirty plus years of civil war, the city has ceased to grow. Though my first time back in many years, I might have stepped off a bus anywhere and found my way to the town centre, so little has the city grown in size.

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The ravages of time are evident on every street. The ubiquitous Peace Line fences abruptly end streets, and
are boldly marked with sectarian graffiti.

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On a rain-soaked day, we drove past Divis Tower, situated by the fence that separates the opposing factions of the Falls Road and the Shankill Road. It is the sixth tallest building in Belfast...in the Seventies, the British Army occupied the top two floors. It was a hot spot during the Troubles, particulary after an Army sniper at the top shot and killed an IRA member on the ground below.

Ruin is to be found everywhere.

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The Crumlin Road Courthouse was designed by architect, Charlie Lanyon.

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A stunningly beautiful building, it closed its doors in 1998, and sits unused behind a tall fence topped with barbed wire.
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Everything about Belfast has been changed by the fighting. Today, it resembles nothing more than a war zone. Indeed, it brings to mind the Israeli Apartheid Wall between Israel and Palestinian West Bank, which has its own bloody history of confrontation. The similarities are patently obvious, and equally distressing. When will we start breaking down walls, not building more? When will human life become more important than religious differences or property lines? I don’t have an answer, but I know we must find one.

Israeli Apartheid Wall

http://mondediplo.com/2010/01/20palestine







Belfast Murals Wall

We are a planet in crisis. No longer do we have the luxury, or the promise, of pristine air and bountiful food for all. As a species, we are using up resources at a faster rate than they can be replenished. Greed and selfishness have become the driving forces that threaten our children’s futures, and put the whole world in peril. This is not a time to divide, but to unify. We are one family on earth, no matter which God we chose to follow,
and like a family, must trust one another and work together to heal our weary world. .

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At the end of our first day in Belfast, still reeling with shock at the desecration of my beloved city, we took a stroll along the banks of the River Lagan that I’d walked so often as a child. Here, little had changed. The beautiful green hills that Ireland is known for were freshly splashed with spring rain, and the pristine river was still home to the stately swans I had always admired. As if to remind us that beauty can thrive even in the midst
of horror, the sun peeked through the clouds and a glorious rainbow began to form in front of our eyes.

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I choose to see it is a sign of things to come, an acknowledgement that dreadful damage can be undone, and reason can prevail once more.

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For the sake of the world's future, I have to believe that I 'm right.

My Second White Wednesday

For last week's White Wednesday, I posted photos of the christening gown we brought with us to Canada.

Also in the crate of treasures that crossed the ocean with us in 1958 was this lovely tablecloth, a bon voyage present from my Grandmother. Coming from Ireland, it is linen, of course...imprinted with the words 'Irish Linen Double Damask'
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It is a beautiful cloth. An intricate Celtic knot border winds around the edge, and many small scenes are woven into the body, including that of a weaver. Celtic crosses decorate each corner.

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Also worked into the cloth are the four provinces of Ireland: Munster, Leinster, Connacht and Ulster..Ulster being Northern Ireland where I was born.

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It came with a set of eight napkins. When the cloth and napkins are freshly washed and starched, they are fit to grace any fine table.

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I do not get to use these linens as often as I would like. My prosaic menfolk fail to see its charm, and wonder aloud why I would make such work for myself, when paper napkins are perfectly fine!

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I am, therefore, happy to bring it out for display on this page. I hope it gives you as much pleasure to see it as it does me....

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Many thanks to Kathleen of 'Faded Charm" for hosting this event! To see more of White Wednesday, or to visit Kathleen's charming blog, please click on the link below....

http://fadedcharmcottage.blogspot.com/
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