Words Have Consequences

    Senate Chaplain Barry Black spoke a wisdom when he said "...words have consequences..."

     In more than symbolic terms it was the missing piece of the puzzle, like the piece above. It was found on a parking lot. Imagine the reality that imposes on the person trying to work the rest of that puzzle some place.

     What Chaplain Black said is akin to the nose on each face in the US. It is there in front of us.
     The Senate minority leader Chuck Schumer observed that as Adam Schiff was wrapping up a day of making the case for removal, Republican Senators sat in rapt attention, listening to his every word. 
      Schumer said then and many nonpartisans have noted since, it was perhaps the first time these Republican Senators had heard details, the truth, the story and thus the case to remove. Words. They were powerful words. They revealed pieces in an impeachment and political puzzle.

     We live at a time when a particular ilk have weaponized words; in politics, media, social networks and amongst one time friends, now divided by words, often ignored or spoken with malicious intent.

 

    These are challenging times in the US, and the path forward is strewn, our footing is not always certain. Words are the engine and the means of both our divide, and perhaps rapprochement.
     A lasting impression of our travel in Ireland is the inherent value of language and the power of words and all that is constructed on that foundation. Words, and how they are used, and what they say, matter. 

   Wall poster at Dublin Airport

   Donald Trump is not revered, nor is he respected. There are no warm memories of him adorning public spaces in that distant land, home to so many ancestors.

    Something so easy to love in Ireland is the love of words and writers.

   Oscar Wilde 

    Where else might you find such as this, a statue memorial to a writer? 

   Historic St. Patrick's Cathedral has a fascinating literary side story. 

    Jonathan Swift is recognized for his work Gulliver's Travels and to a lesser extent his essay A Modest Proposal.
    Not so well known, perhaps, he was also the Dean of St. Patrick's, a position he was not entirely happy about. 

    He had a long tenure at St. Patrick's though he probably desired a posting to London. 
    He was a cleric who also wrote satire, essays, poetry, political pamphlets.
    He intended to provoke and used satire, sarcasm and wit to prompt the establishment into action. He was especially mocking in pointing out the indifference to the poor and the problems of starvation and poverty.
     His masterful use of words, angered those in power and so he was posted to St. Patrick's in his birthplace of Dublin.
     Earlier he spent years in Trim, in County Meath, observed and noted in previous posts in this series. Swift wrote prolifically in Trim. 
      While he championed the vulnerable, he angered the Queen and people in power. His life story is fascinating and it was marshaled always by words. 
       He wrote his own epitaph, in Latin.

     Jonathan Swift is buried in St. Patrick's.  The glare on the image above makes it a challenge to read. Here is what he wrote:
     Here is the laid the Body
     of Jonathan Swift, Doctor of Sacred Theology
     Dean of this Cathedral Church,
     where fierce indignation
     can no longer
     injure the Heart.
     Go forth, Voyager,
     and copy, if you can
     this vigorous (to the best of his ability)
     Champion of Liberty.
     
      Swift left most of his estate to a hospital for the mentally ill. Once known as St. Patrick's Hospital for Imbeciles, it remains open and the name has changed. Words have consequences. 

   Another Irish master of the word is Seamus Heany, who's words I have used in this series. 

  Through out the nation there is a celebration of words and those who have left them.

     There is a spirit in the use of words, and there is an intentionality. Irish newspapers still purvey significance.

   There is much to learn in a land that tells and hears stories, that takes the time to engage, to dig into meaning and purpose and remember and even celebrate the wordsmith.

    A unique pub is on our horizon.

    In the meantime our word of the day is Removal!

    See you down the trail.

WE WALKED INTO A PUB....PART 2

    The truth is we walked into a few. Hard to visit Ireland and 

and Scotland and do otherwise.

   Pubs are something special, culturally historic and important.

   But the point of this post is to tell you about two nights in particular.

 We were fortunate to be in Dublin on the day of the Irish National Football Championship.

      This is Irish football mind you. It's an extraordinary game and you'd do yourself a favor  to look up a couple of video clips and see how the game is played. 

    I would have loved the game as lad. As an old boy I was delighted to see it played. It requires skills found in soccer, rugby, basketball and even touches of American football.

    The national championship is huge-"It's our Super Bowl," my friend and host Jack reminded me a couple of times. 

  Walking from our hotel to where we set to meet Jack and Kay, every pub was jammed to the sidewalks, speakers were playing the pre game, and you could say Dublin was electric. 

   It was Dublin vs Kerry in the replay--they had tied in the first championship game and this was the decider. Dublin has been on a bit of a roll in the last few seasons, but historically Kerry has been the big winner. 

   It seems that almost no one is uninterested, and with good reason. These are amateur athletes, school teachers, pilots, lawyers, businessmen, truck drivers  and farmers and the like. They practice during the week and on weekend, they put on the colors and have at it.

     Something historic happened here, in this pub on this night. They ran out of Guinness. They ran out! The taps went dry! 

    Kay, an Irish lass said in her entire life she had never heard of an Irish pub running out of Guinness. And on the night of a national championship, no less! 

    I was crestfallen, but soldiered on by ordering a whiskey, of which there are many great brands. 
    At some point in the match there was a commotion at the door that was greeted with loud applause from the crowd. A couple of gents were rolling in kegs of Guinness. They were getting a grand round of applause. 

   As aficionados know, Guinness is brewed in Dublin.

  Between Dublin and our south western destination of Dingle, there are many other pubs and of great variety.

    But there is one that looms large in our memory. It's near the court house in the wonderful and charming sea port of Dingle.

    My lifelong friend Jim, of Irish heritage and an accomplished musician, told me about a mind blowing place he visited when in Dingle the year previous. It was Tommy O'Sullivan's place. O'Sullivan is a renown player and the pub is not so much a place where "shows" are put on, or where people do "performances." No, it's a pub where musicians hang out and jam. A gathering spot for music lovers. 

   Some tourists surely must find their way there, but it's truly  a mecca for Celtic, traditional, Gaelic and even Bluegrass players. And for the locals who love the music. Lucky folk they are!

   People were jammed in, standing room only when we entered and people were queuing for seats near the players.
    A local gent turned around to me and suggested that Lana, Kay, Jack and I, take seats next to the players and Tommy's wife, their dog and the other players. It was right up front.
   The kind man and his party had been waiting for open seats but he somehow knew this was a rare moment in our lives and so he offered a dose of Irish hospitality. 

   That's Tommy on the left side, with his back to the wall, guitar in hand. Some Scots players were up with him at the time. 

  Memories for a lifetime and some of the most skilled playing you'll hear in several lifetimes. Thanks Jim for the tip and thanks to the man who gave up seats to put us "ringside."

   There's another pub we'll walk into, coming up as we visit the extraordinary Dingle and Dingle peninsula. 

    See you down the trail.

Convivial Dublin

     I've never heard anyone who has not enjoyed Dublin.

   It's hard not to love the Irish. OK, maybe I'm more susceptible-the first were Gaels and so were the native Scots, who were not Picts. 
   Kindred spirits or not, they live as they are; spirited, imaginative, creative, gregarious, lovers of the word and art. 

    Dublin is all of that and more. It's become a magnet for 

  for many from Europe, especially a young demographic. It is a city  of culture, history, and personality.

 Oscar Wilde statue in Merrion Square

Artist-Danny Osborne

     As a visitor, it is easy to fall in love with Dublin and to simply enjoy it. It is both classy modernity and classically historical. 

   At every turn it is vibrant and there is a great photo op.

  The Gaels started living here in the 7th century. The Vikings came, and so did the Normans. In the early 20th Century the spirit of independence gave birth to the ethos that led to the establishment of the Irish Republic. Dublin was pivotal. 

   Intellect, literature, story telling and music are in the DNA.

    These few frames can barely introduce the vitality and feeling that Dublin exudes and thus entices with.

    I learned that author Jonathan Swift lived and served here but not by choice. That is the subject of a coming post. 

    Close to 2 million live in the greater Dublin area, and it is a capitol of culture as well as government. 

    As someone who has traveled for work and pleasure I was surprised by how Dublin chefs have become such all stars and champions. I did not expect it.

    

     And in the spirit of full disclosure, as a long time Guiness fan, I took advantage of the abundance of the home town product, in Dublin and elsewhere in the beautiful nation. 

    A few words and a few photos here cannot embrace the culture that is Dublin. Historic and cutting edge, sensorial and cerebral, a full on passion for life and it is no wonder you can't help but enjoy Dublin.

    Irish side trips and We Walked Into A Pub, Chapter 2 are still ahead.

And a Note from Home

   The rain season has begun on the California Central Coast and we are seeing our annual Irish tint on the hillsides. It will be a green Christmas this year and that will call for a toast to our Irish friends, Kay, Willie, Kay and Jack and to our envoy Maura.

      See you down the trail.