NEW YEAR !

Winter Solstice births a new solar year: The New Year.

quote : "This is the new year of the old Irish calendar," explained archaeologist Sam Moore. "The event marks the rebuilding of the sun -- the days get longer from this point. It is a time of renewal and hope."

THE IRISH INDEPENDENT Dec 22nd.

Life is born out of darkness. We as people are born out of the dark womb and into the light, so too is the sun born out of the deep darkness of the year immediately after the long nights of the winter solstice.(Solstice means the sun standing still)

Commonly, the idea is that the shortest day is Winter Solstice, Dec 21st however there are in fact two days of the same length. Each being of 7 hours 29 minutes and 53 seconds. This year many have celebrated WS on 21st December but they could have legitimately done so on the 22nd too!

On the 23rd the daylight increases to 7hrs 30 minutes and 1 second.

I am not sure whether the ancient people of over five thousand years ago would have been capable of measuring such a slight increase but they were certainly able to align the light box at Newgrange so that the sun enters the inner chamber at Winter Solstice.

(The daylight times I have given are only for Dublin)

© newgrange.com

Within some of the many and various pagan traditions are stories relating to that which occurs during the sun's stand still. Some say a form of chaos takes place in the darkness and that the Goddess reforms the world back into order again.In ancient Ireland the sun was seen as feminine, which perhaps gives some credence to that story.

Myself, I always dwell on the darkness within and meditate on questioning my motives during the past year, the pluses & minuses. Finally I welcome in the reborn sun, for doesn't everything look better in the light ?

© Jane Brideson

The picture I have chosen is one painted by Jane Brideson. It depicts the Great Goddess delivering the new born Sun, the back ground is Glastonbury Tor in Somerset. In the foreground is the Glastonbury Thorn that flowers twice a year, depicted here on Wearyall Hill, believed to have been planted by Joseph of Arimathea. Sadly some misguided person or persons have recently attacked this old tree and it is not known whether it will survive to flower again.

A cold winter's morn

On a cold winter's morn a surprise !

Delivered to our door, a wide white mystery

A package from England.

Addressed in a hand I knew not,

a sender address & postal code so vague.

Yet vaguely it tripped my memory

'TA' ? Taunton' said my mind but who ?

For those that I knew there,

Now are long dead

At the package I stared and felt carefully

Slim both ends yet fat in the middle.

Mystified I looked and listened

(No the English don't … send ?? )

So in normal fashion I tried

to prize paper apart - failed.

'Use scissors!' said She who knows

'O yes that's easier, how clever

Thank you' I said

The bright white outer layer removed

revealed a cat food box intricately cut.

Then playful poly-wrap with bubbles

that pop when squished.

(I enjoy to play as a boy !)

Layers next of fine dark blue tissue

with a carriage label attached

A private secret message from

A lass, an artist well read.

So unwrapped, lay a gift crafted by hand

In pride of place it now hangs and

Capturing early eastern light, flies

A Heron bright in clear centre panel

Etched, engraved forever in flight.

Our gratitude and thanks

to you dear liZZie

The Travails of Grandpa's Traveling

I arranged to fly out to the UK on 30th November for a short visit to my daughter & son in-law's home, primarily to see my grandson who was born on 20th October.

The journey ought to have been plain sailing however mother nature decided to give us some early snow. Our snow normally does not amount to much & generally arrives as a slight dusting on Christmas Day, followed a month or two later with a couple of inches.

We awoke on the morning of 27th November to about 3 inches of frozen snow, sub zero temperatures and a wild wind. By the time Tuesday came around there had been no improvement in the weather, with the temp down to -10C and my only way to the railway station for the Dublin train was by a friend's 4x4 jeep. I had decided to catch an earlier train than planned to allow for delays, it was just as well for the trains were running forty minutes behind schedule, all due to frozen points.

My arrival at the airport was uneventful, the check-in and subsequent security checks brought no problems. That is apart from my carelessness of spilling the two coin currencies across the floor. This caused a great laugh from the security staff and some jovial remarks cast in my direction, to which I could only give a big smile, as together we scrambled under the conveyors to gather up my loot.

I need not have bothered catching an early train, for the plane took off about three and half hours late, for the forty-five minute flight to Birmingham and then onwards to see my grandson Oliver.

At six weeks old he is a bright little fellow with an array of facial expressions and such sideways glances with his eyes, that I can only think that he is an old soul who has returned for some particular mission. I felt an instant connection with him and am greatly looking forward to watching him mature, for I feel sure that we shall have many things to talk about. Oddly enough he actually reminded me of my present wife's late father; I think it was the manner in which Oliver sleeps with his mouth open & lips pursed. Time will tell whether I be right or wrong.

Two old boys

The least said about my return journey the better as it took even longer all due to the flight being delayed for four hours.

I do though have to mention the great kindness shown to me by a fellow passenger: Paul Duggan, who gave me a lift in his car from the airport to the Midway Hotel in Portlaoise. Had he not, I would have had to spend the night in Dublin Airport.

As it was I did not arrive home until 2 a.m. and into the arms of my loving wife!

Purrs, Pears & Oral Language

The other night I distinctly heard Mrs H saying 'I am going to have a purr'

to which I replied 'Oh, so you are going into competition with the cats then ?'

Two purrs Magic & Squeaky

'No, I am going to eat a purr' she said. 'Ha'h you mean a pear Mrs H ' I said

'Yes a purr' she said again.

We often have these little misunderstandings, it is all to do with Mrs H having an East Dublin accent.

I had better explain that Dublin is on Ireland's eastern seaboard. Geographically there is a North Dublin, a West Dublin and a South Dublin, the Irish Sea is in the east and across that channel of water, lies the great City of Liverpool where the citizens speak with an east Dublin accent.

I, who matured in England's West Country, have a base dialect that is distinctly different to that of Mrs H and so what I actually hear is often a different word.

That sort of misunderstanding is quite common, not just between ourselves but with others too.

For example when I first came to live here the expression that I used when leaving a shopkeeper was to say 'so long' as I went through the doorway. Within a few weeks my friendly butcher congratulated me on using the As Gaeilge (Irish Gaelic), this puzzled me somewhat for the only word I knew was agus (the word for and). Then he said 'what I mean is that I hear you say Slán' (farewell) whenever you leave here.'

Considering this I realized that it was the speed of my speech which was reducing so long to s'lon, the 'g' being hardly uttered.

What we say and how we speak can be very humorous on occasions. Some years ago I went with a good friend of mine over to Glastonbury from Ireland for a short holiday. It was her first time in that part of England.

We decided to catch a bus to Street. There was a long queue at the bus stop and it wasn't obvious which end was which. So I, knowing how sensitive folk are to queue jumpers, asked a man which was the front of the queue.

Four times I asked the question and each time he shook his head not understanding me, eventually my friend with her very strong Co Louth Irish accent said "He wants to know which end is front of the queue ?"

My mispronunciations were due to me having a heavy cold.

That event amused me at the time the irony of it all and even as I write this I am still amused.

INNER & OUTER SPACE

I have been thinking about space the last few days and of infinity. I can get my head around it alright, even though the concept of endlessness is amazing.

The first time that I ever attempted to understand what it was all about, was many years ago when I visually put all of the universes in a box and then realized ok so what is on the outside of the box - more space was/is the answer.

The Large Hadron Collider has done some real business recently by colliding lead ions together or rather head on, at almost the colossal speed of light and in doing so the impact manifested temperatures a million times hotter than the centre of the Sun. I wonder just how they dispersed the heat energy. Answers on a postcard please.

I have been having problems with a small space my self just recently. It all started when I was up in the loft and noticed a small cloud of smoke drifting upwards to the skylight. Now it is quite a common sight to see smoke up there, for I do enjoy a few puffs on my pipe while sitting quietly on a bench and musing on what to do next. This particular time although the pipe was in my pocket the lighter was not.

Not my smoke, this was coming from the chimney breast. I removed the fire from the stove & made a phone call. My builder returned in rapid time and rendered the brickwork.

The following evening I re-lit the stove and smoke started to enter the ground floor rooms, again I took out the fire & phoned himself. We spent the rest of the evening stripping out the alcove press (cupboard) that adjoins the chimney breast. This revealed a series small sooty cracks and soot stained walls, the same procedure as before was followed and this time we were totally successful.

Getting in is similar to Leaving

All I have to do now is rebuild the shelving that I had hastily removed and emulsion the walls. There is a slight problem caused by two pipes that go across the bottom part of the press making access difficult. And I am so glad that I started off my working life in the confined spaces of yachts and small ships. So re-building the press is rather like going back in time for me.

These days in Ireland you never know who you will find in a press.For recently our former Taoiseach Bertie Ahern made for himself a pile by doing a commercial for the Irish News Of The World. He is the actor who says "I never thought that I'd end up here"

see: www.irishcentral.com/story/roots/emeraldextracts/former-irish-leader-bertie-ahern-hides-in-a-cupboard-in-new-tv-ad-104306589.html

So following in Bertie's footsteps or better still my version of Sylvester Stallone in the 1970 film 'No Place To Hide' which I have renamed 'Dammit You Have Found Me ! '

Dammit You Have Found Me !

Samhain

Tomorrow night, 7th November I will celebrate the Samhain (sow-in) Fire festival with a group of friends. Historically it is the last harvest, a time when the animals were selected from the herds or flocks to be culled and the last of the berries would be plucked from the trees. All of which would provided food for the family over winter.

The mists of Samhain

The word Samhain, as Gaeilge, means end of summer. It is the start of winter and of darkness, a time to remember those who have passed over. For them a place will be set at the table. The old stories will be told and new ones added as memories are revived about the various characters who have died. Sensitive people may feel a slight chill pass over their feet, leg or arm as an unseen visitor drops in and it is at this time of the year that some say the veil between the worlds is thin.

Many of us in Ireland have revised the dates on which we hold the Fire Festivals. For example : The date of Samhain is determined by the angle of Sun and is held at the mid point between an Equinox and a Solstice, thus it is not on the same date every year. In similar vein the date of the Solstices and Equinoxes vary too for all are connected to the Sun's position with the earth.

The Samhain sun in The Mound of the Hostages

on Tara, Co. Meath.

(photo http://www.knowth.com/tara-samhain)

Into the chamber of The Mound of the Hostages on the Hill of Tara in County Meath, pours the rising sun at Samhain - not on 31st October as many people believe. This act defines Tara as a Samhain site, just as Newgrange is a Winter Solstice site. The back walls of the chambers are illuminated by the rising sun and the very same thing occurs at other ancient sites on other festival dates around Ireland.

The Mound of the Hostages

We do not see Samhain as being the start of another year. For us the Winter Solstice is more likely, for it can be seen as a double celebration, firstly of deep darkness which occurs when the sun appears to stand still - the actual meaning of the word solstice. And secondly as a celebration of the rebirth of the sun when daylight lengthens. This year Winter Solstice, the shortest day, is on 22nd December. The birth of the new sun will fall on 26th December for daylight has by then increased by 1minute!

One of the many local Samhain traditions is to have a bonfire at the crossroads in rural areas. This one was taken a couple of years ago.

Tomorrow, when we gather, we will remember our ancestors, our friends and the spirits of this land who gather about us.There will be storytelling, singing and we will have great craic around the bonfire (weather permitting!).

Positive Distraction !

Oh the plans of mice and men! Yes, I did say that my blogging would be more frequent then it may have appeared to have lapsed. I have been distracted this while and full of expectant joy.

Nothing at all to do with the Irish Lotto which reached the dizzy heights of €16,000,000 last week to which I generously donated €4.00 in preparation of being the lucky winner (was not). Plans had been roughed out in my head of likely recipients amongst my friends and relations. Those ideas are now on hold; the party though is going ahead.

We shall have a joint celebration dedicated to newness. The extensive modernisation of this cottage and now… bang drums, blow whistles, trumpets and clash cymbals; for I have become a Grandpa to Master Oliver, who was born on Wednesday 20th of October at 21.02 weighing in at 8 lb. 12 oz, in Warwick Hospital, England. Oliver is precisely 9 oz heavier than his mother was at her birth which is an event that I remember with the greatest of clarity.

During the process of Oliver's birth, although in Ireland, I was mentally and emotionally carried back in time. To a small cottage hospital on the edge of the Mendip Hills in Somerset, where the promised gas & air was not available and seemingly hadn't been in operation for months rather than hours. This event provided me with my bonny blue eyed daughter, with whom I have a great friendship along with lots of laughter, so much so I would not be surprised if she views me as an eternal hippie.

For this birth my presence was not required. Yet it seemed to me that I was there, due to the very frequent mobile text messages, that passed between Oliver's parents and myself throughout that long day. In fact I felt a couple of twinges pass across my belly below my navel this being the travails of the expectant grandpa.

Oliver

Yes, I am to be referred to as Grandpa, not grandfather or even as granddad as those titles seem in my mind to be rather austere and severe. My intentions when with him are to have fun together to sing and skip along roads. Plus the memory still has a variety of Mel-spun bedtime stories that I used to tell to my daughter. Of course they will need modernising with a bit of cosmic light and instead of trips to mysterious islands it will be visits to planets etc.

The strange thing about my family is that I am the first living grandpa on my father's side since 1903. Both my father and his father died in their early fifties

and neither of them lived to see any grandchildren. It was because they both passed on early that I decided to remove myself from the rat race at the tender age of 48 and have some years of leisure with pleasure. Now almost twenty years later the life style continues. Not that I spent every year as a cloud counter!

There was a transition period though as I sorted my interests. First was an involvement with holistic health, which oddly took me into Development Education people issues, the third world and the study of wealth/work sharing plus gender matters.

I am not in total agreement with today's politicians who think that because people

are living longer that their working life needs to be extended. I feel that the decision

needs to be left largely with the individual and in any case there are physical and mental agilities needed in some positions that pre-determine a working life. With tongue in cheek : I personally believe that no politician should be allowed to serve for more than twenty years or past the age of 50, he/she should then be returned to the workforce. Persons who retire though do need to keep physically and mentally active for as long as they are able.

A Distant Hill

Myself and Mrs H have a fondness for a particular foothill of the Slieve Blooms, it is a peaceful place where we often chill out and only a few minutes from home. Here we bring a flask of coffee and a few nibbles, to look at the cloud formations, the effect of the ever changing light on the fields beneath us and talk. It was here some years ago on a chilly September night of the Harvest Moon, that I proposed to her. The rest is history.

In the distance a large blue hill rises skywards. Croghan Hill in Co.Offaly whose proper name is Cruachán Brí Eile, meaning mound of the 'Exalted Eile', referring to the cairn which stands at its summit. It is also thought that the name may have derived from the Old Irish croccán, a vessel or pot.

Eile was the daughter of a local king, who ruled around 100 BCE and her sister was Queen Maeve of Connacht.

Local legends have it that Brigid was born near the foot of Croghan Hill and that later as St. Brigid she visited there. There are though other places on this island that claim to be her birth place, another is on the outskirts of Dundalk.

Croghan Hill itself is an extinct volcano and it is beneath here that Brigit Begoibne had her smithy where she created beautiful cauldrons.

From Croghan Hill flow three springs which at one time fed the three sacred wells at its' base. The two wells below the southern slope were known as healing wells and boasted venerable ash trees although sadly these have long since disappeared, as have the original names of the wells.

Croghan Hill is the stump or neck of an ancient volcano active during the Carboniferous period of circa 250 million years ago. During this period activity began below the earth's crust resulting in volcanic necks rising through the Carboniferous limestone above. Croghan Hill was the main vent with other smaller hills forming nearby and as the activity subsided lava welled up filling the vents with a plug of basalt. Such plugs being much harder and more resistant to weathering than the surrounding limestone now stand out as low hills. The rock here is quite distinctive. The volcanic ash is exposed over the main hill on the southwest and eastern sides, and also on the summit, with a major deposit which is restricted to the southern half of the hill. The northern half has basalt as its dominant rock type. (Geikie, Vol. 2, 1897, PP 37-41).

Quite recently, on a warm autumn day, we took a few hours off to purposely visit Croghan Hill. It is a place that I have often driven past but never bothered to actually stop; there being a time for everything and the right time! This was one of those days neither to hot nor to cold.

Our route took us across country, passing through just one small town, to use a bridge over the Royal Canal and meander through narrow roads. Nestled at the foot of the hill and almost clinging to its' side is the village of Croghan; Where on the outskirts a fingerboard points to St. Patrick's Well. Upwards we went along a tarmac road that soon petered out to a stony, metalled surface with grass growing up the middle. Judging by the sound from underneath the car it was thoroughly swept clean of mud and I hope that was all. After about a mile we came to a wide grassy area, where a small structure with its' gable roof and stone walls left us in no doubt that this was St. Patrick's Well.

Almost finished !

I do understand if some followers had started to believe that this had become yet another neglected blog.... it hasn't; it is just that I have been busy elsewhere. I shall be back to my normal style of blogging very soon - in fact I am working on the next one already.

Our new meditation space is virtually complete, apart from the boards which need to be coated, a carpet laid, the choosing of two small table lamps and large cushions.

Specifically today I am showing the hatch raising mechanism made from recycled materials.

Incidentally the varnished boards on the end wall, were once part of a friends hotpress. (thank you Ms R). The wheel was part of the belt drive on a twin-tub, the cord the from a washing line and the ideas from my old head :)

I see one of those mysterious orbs has managed to

interject it's self into the picture

The electrical socket: I placed in a recess to

lessen it's intrusion.

The room beneath.

The large silver glass ball provides tension to the cord and pulling it downwards raises the hatch. The ball was given to us years ago and it looks as if it was once an expensive christmas decoration.

The opened hatch.

The closing gadget.

The closing gadget is an old mop handle with a brass coat hanger screwed to the pole, this idea came from my childhhood memories of having seen the Lamplighters go around the streets

with their long poles lighting the gas lamps, they had a very similar looking gadget.

That's all for now and normal service will be resumed very shortly.

Annual Show

There is a picturesque village about 5km to the west of us,

which early in September has it's annual show,

weather permitting. This year it went ahead, unlike the

2008 & 09 when those with clout, the Health & Safety

folk, prevented the show from going ahead. Rain

and wet ground was cause.

Mrs H thoroughly enjoys the Clonaslee show, the crowds,

the atmosphere and the animals, especially the bulls.

My first attention is always drawn to the horses, not

because I am a rider, for I am definitely not.

It is that they hold a certain majestic mystery for me.

Here they are, those magnificant animals, along with their

handlers. The younger men always seem to wear bowler

hats which rest upon their ears !

This is the supreme champion of the show,

a wonderful beast. Just look at that straight back

and the chunky forelegs, a fine specimen of bullhood indeed.

Now this is the correct way for farmers' wives

to enjoy their Sunday afternoon. Sitting in amongst

the bulls and enjoying a glass or three of wine....

and great craic !

Potatoes and onions on display, where shape, size

and colour, I presume, are important in determining the winners.

Here in the hall an assortment of exhibitions

from art to large nosegays plus breads, cakes, tarts and knitting.

From an earlier blog, you will no doubt recognise

this, our traditional fuel, that has been hard won

from the bog.

The competition here is about the straightest

block of turf and squareness of section, it must

also have weight, dryness and make a good clack

(sound) when two pieces are knocked together.

This then is the Clonaslee agricutural show, one of a number of shows

that take place in the locality. There is a far larger show in a neighbouring town

that draws in thousands of people from far and wide and each has different attractions.

Our local show is our preference of course as it is also a chance to catch up with friends,

neighbours and buy homemade goodies to take home for tea.

The Ancient Hill

We had a day off from our labours of love on the cottage,

to drive in a northeasterly direction for one and half hours.

To the ancient Hill of Tara in County Meath & recharge our

batteries. So while Mrs H sat in the cafe drinking coffee

I took myselfout with the camera to look for something

different.

I could not resist sneeking into Michael Slevin's bookstore

and taking a quick photo, while the dear man sat outside

in the sunshine with a straw hat on reading a newspaper.

It is worth a visit if only to soak up it's atmosphere. Mrs H

and I, she more so than me, are book fanatics. We spend our

winter nights with our heads stuck in books. More

entertaining you see to let the imagination create pictures

than watching TV.

This is the inside of the Mound of the Hostages and Tara's oldest

manmade structure. It is into here that the Samhain sun shines

illuminating the back wall. If you look at the stone on the left there

are some carvings to be studied.

To find this pair of newly decorated trees, dressed in finery

as a pair of Faery Trees. I suspect that there is more to it than that

and my senses are telling me that this probably where a recent

handfasting took place, for it has the feel of a wedding celebration.

On walking down from the Hill I could not help noticing

these poor visitors having lunch, alongside their expensive tour bus.

I was aghast at their audacity of parking virtually next door

to the Tara Cafe & Bookshop , which serves delicious meals at a

very reasonable price. Is it old fashioned of me to believe that part

of the experience of visiting another country is to partake of it's foods

and meet the people?

Transformation Complete !

Finally the outward transformation of our home is complete.

Internally there are though a few jobs to still to do.

As per the redecorating the front room & the addition

of a new computer desk as the present one now

looks decidedly tatty.

A slight set back has occurred in our planning, all due to

my carelessness concerning a ladder, that I postioned wrongly

when leaving the attic in a hurry. The consequence being that

like Humpty Dumpty & Jack (as in Jack & Jill) My head has been

repaired with string (four stitches) and glue but no brown paper!

Mrs Heron has barred me from entering the loft until the wounds

are fully healed; unfortunately I am not good at being a patient :)

There are though other jobs that I can do without a ladder,

a letter box needs to be put on the wall & perhaps the addition

of a door bell or chime, a brass bell would be nice except

that I fear that it might ring in the winds.

Sitting on the window cill is our black cat named Magic,

he was capable of opening the old transom

windows to let himself out and in.

Well let's see if he can manage these new ones!

This now untidy area is our Suntrap, it faces due south

and is the one place that Mrs H can be found enjoying the sun in

the early mornings drinking a coffee and smoking the first ciggy of

the day, whilst still in her dressing gown.

Smoky Visions

The centre of the home in Ireland is the hearth, where traditionally

food was cooked and it's heat was a comfort to all on cold wet days.

It was on the hobs on either side of the fire, that the story teller sat

to relate the tales of old history to eager ears.

This particular hearth is at the home of a friend, we took pictures

and only when we downloaded them saw that what appears to be spirits

in amongst the smoke and strange faces on the brickwork.

Because of what we saw. This gave me the idea of sharing with you.

So be my guest and stare at the photo below to see what may be seen

and share it with us in your comments, become the story teller.

I suggest you click on the photo to enlarge for greater clarity.

Progress report

The scaffolding has all been removed. Before it went my good

lady insisted on climbing it, with shaking knees, to paint the

cottage ( all to do with her being an artist !)

The tub on the left is our water saver for when we have a rare, dry summer.

Can you identify this gadget ?

I'll not keep you guessing it is part of the innards of a washing machine.

I am going to use it as a mechanism to raise the access hatch in the meditation space

without having to climb the ladder to do so. All will be revealed on a later blog.

This is the easy access to the upper loft , the floor is actually

a lower loft in our bedroom.

The meditation space cum sleeping area.

The varnished boards were given to me some years ago,

I like the effect that they give to the west window wall, for it looks old

rather than new.

The insulation material between the rafters is eco-wool and is

made from recycled plastic bottles. It does the same job as that

awful yellow fibreglass that is so damaging to the health.

The square hatch will eventually be capable of being raised from

the floor below. First though I have to complete the panelling.

Despite the working conditions, we frequently take our coffee up

into this room, as we enjoy the energy/atmosphere that it contains.