Monday, August 10, 2009

Paul told me that I missed some great craic
at J. Geraghty's pub last night -- a fantastic
flute and whistle player, accompanied by
guitar and, I think, fiddle. I stayed home.
I was peopled out. I laid on the bed and read
the Irish Times -- what a great newspaper --
until I fell asleep. Paul met up with some new
friends, Anka and Tuen, from Holland.
The flute player returns, at a different pub,
Thursday, and I plan to be there.

Giant balers came into the newly-mown hay fields
and gathered up all the rows of hay into neat
bundles, then wrapped them all in black plastic,
and carted them off to somewhere. Crows peppered
the fields in their wake.

I am interested in roads down which I have never
traveled, and often, when I ask Paul to drive down
this road or that, he'll say, "there's nothing down there."
This happened in Texas, when I said I wanted to see
West Texas, which apparently is mile upon mile
of blank flat landscape. He wouldn't take me there.

The same thing happened yesterday, in Carrowholly.
I realized that we'd never turned left at a crossroad,
as our house in straight ahead. (We'd turned right
once, for some reason.) So I said, "let's turn left
here next time we're on the way home."
And again: "there's nothing down there."
So I said, "I want to see the nothingness.
I want to know what the nothingness is!"

So down we went: country road, farm, fuschia,
cow, horse, inlet, meadowsweet, gull, honeysuckle,
dry-stone wall, barbed wire, hill, mountain, grass,
hay, house, driveway, cove, saltwater, waves, wind,
cloud, blackberries, barn.....

And across the bay, the Westport Quay in the distance:
a colorful row of three-story buildings side-by-side.

Not nothing: Something!

Next stop: West Texas.
To see what nothing contains.


Lunch today at Sol Rio.....


Dinner tonight: chicken breasts sauteed with
mushrooms, onions, capers and a white wine
reduction; served on fresh egg noodles
with a side of roasted carrots, zucchini and cauliflower.

(I must add that Paul is a champ when it comes
to driving down roads which we've never travelled.....)


  1. Let's hear it for all that nothingness you found. T--blackberries ripening here. I expect lots of pie in a few weeks! Let Paul know I'd be commenting on his blog but google won't let me submit--hmmm.

  2. There's a lot more nothing in Texas nothing than on a green fertile isle like Ireland!

    Love, C.

  3. My post yesterday had to do, indirectly, with mown fields, minus the black plastic, stooking instead of baling, and threshing the oats in Scotland. There was a poem sleeping in that paragraph, just making its presence known. Maybe snoring slightly. I particularly liked the crows peppering the fields. And I applaud that left turn. It's always something.

  4. I'm actually FROM West Texas....Paul is not lying....flat as a board but great skies. My town was named Land of the High Sky.

  5. Robin, I'm ready for some of that pie!

    Foxessa, I believe you, but still....

    Mairi, I love the notion of the snoring poem. Maybe that's why my husband keeps waking me up at night to get me to stop, er, (snoring). It's just a bunch of poems percolating!

    Ima -- Hey! I wanna see those skies!