Blarney in the area of language and storytelling.
I grew up doodling little green shamrocks. I was taught
that St. Patrick converted the (pagan) Celts from their
sorcery by using this little wildflower that covers the
landscape with many shades of green. I, myself, came
to minimally understand that the Blessed Trinity was
three persons in one God, by looking at a shamrock.
And if St. Patrick could chase all the snakes out of
Ireland, what other super hero could a person need
in their life? Of course, there were leprechauns and
banshees, but these mythical creatures lived in the
land of faeries. And we could always search for them
at the end of the rainbow where they could find a
pot of gold. Wouldn't that be nice for all of us in
today's economy?
One story I do tell is about my own family.
I speak about how I was lucky enough to travel to
Ireland with my mother and sister, the summer I
turned 9 years old. This was my Mother's first
home visit, since her emigration to the USA,
14 years earlier. The five weeks I spent on
my grandmother's farm were simple days filled
with new sights, sounds, and smells. There were
barn animals,with all of their delights. There
was a peat stove that cooked the family meals,
and warmed the afternoon "tea". There was
even a 'wishing' well like in the story of
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. I have
so many memories from that one experience.
But the one I share at this time of year, has
to do with Faith and Family. During the five weeks
I was there, my sister, Irene and I, didn't have any
toys to play with. So, my Grandmother gave us
each a tablespoon to explore with. And explore
we did! And when it was almost time to leave,
Irene and I hid our spoons and a few small
treasures in the stone wall that separated
the chicken courtyard from the path to the
outer property where the larger animals grazed.
We did not mention this to my Grandmother,
at the time. I was nine, and Irene was seven
years old when we left Ireland.
When I was eighteen, my Grandparents came
to this country for a month long visit, and I was
able to visit with them, for a day. My Granny
said nothing about the spoons. So I asked if
she had ever found them. "No" she said.
Then, when I was in my early thirties, they came
again to visit. This time, Granny called me aside,
and asked me if I remembered where in the wall the
spoons were hidden. I said, "Yes!" and she told me
that she and Dody (my Grandfather) were repairing
the wall, and came across the spoons Irene and I
hid so many years before. They made the decision
to leave that part of the wall as it was, so Irene
and I could return one day to find our treasures.
I was married then, and had two small children.
I had always intended to go back.
But.......
As Granny and I were saying our goodbye's, I
remembered that she was now 86 years old. I
knew I would probably not see her anytime soon.
But she asked me to return for the spoons and
to sharea cup of tea. And I promised I would.
At the door, when we went to hug goodbye,
I noticed she was wearing a Miraculous Medal
of our Blessed Mother, with blue enamel.
Understand, this was a woman I loved,
but had only seen for a total of about forty
days in my entire lifetime! As we hugged I said,
"Oh! You love her too!"
(referencing a devotion to Mary, the Mother of God,
and the medal's promises). Granny said,
"Yes, and the next time we meet,
it will be in heaven with her,
and we will have that cup of tea!"
Within the next two years, I had another
baby, and Granny died, in Ireland, in the home
I had visited. My sister, and my Mother returned
to Ireland for the funeral. Irene went back to
find the spoons...they were there....as Granny
had promised. So, Irene left them there for me.
I am much older now, and have still not found my
way back to Ireland, but two teacher friends' were
making a vacation trip there a few years ago. I gave
them directions to "Granny's house" and the cemetery
where Granny and Dody are buried, in Connemara
Clifden, Galway. To my surprise, they actually found
their way to the house. They found the neighboring
house, where my Aunt Chrissy welcomed them, and
fed them lunch ~ and a cup of tea. Angela and Elsje
found their way to the cemetery and they visited the
graves of my beloved relatives. And while there, there
remembered the words I had been teaching Religion
Classes in an Irish song called "Danny Boy". (listen below)
With Faith, these words say it all.
Without Faith....What is there?
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying
'Tis you, 'tis yo must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.
And if you come, when all the flowers are dying
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.
And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be
If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me
I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.
I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.
She is my Joan of Arc. I have complete faith and confidence in her. But most of all, she loves deeply. She is honest and faith filled. Her smile brightens up my day. I live for her hugs. This is the child who will stand her ground, no matter what the consequence, through every emotion a disciplining parent could feel. That is until, you hug her and tell her she's safe, and you love her. 
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