Finding My Way Home

There Be No Dragons Here

A few days ago a friend sent me this quote,

“Maybe your country is only a place you make up in your own mind. Something you dream about and sing about. Maybe it’s not a place on the map at all, but just a story full of people you meet and places you visit, full of books and films you’ve been to. I’m not afraid of being homesick and having no language to live in. I don’t have to be like anyone else.”

When we moved, I thought that over a period of time we would become Irish. I am beginning to realize what will happen is we will become “of Ireland.” The process is already beginning. There are aspects of my life that are deeply ingrained that were, are, and will always be American. I cherish them: books, movies, music, people, foods. They are part of my DNA and nothing will ever be able to change that.

At the same time, the things I have always loved about Ireland are beginning to gently infuse themselves as well.

A few nights ago, my two sons and I went to a local pub and listened to three hours of Irish pipes, whistle and guitar music. It was simply brilliant. There were never more than 20 or 30 people in the room and I was 10 feet away from the musicians — Eoin Duignan and Tommy O’Sullivan.  The cost? A gently nursed pint of Guinness. Such an opportunity simply would not be available in America.

I do not think I will become homesick. Instead there will always be the soft and gentle memories that will always be part of my everyday life. When we were walking home from the pub the other night my younger son said to me, “Dad, I know you love it here and will probably stay here the rest of your life, but you will always be American. You should be proud of that. But you should love your time here just as much.”

So it would appear that I will be living in my own country, full of the best of at least two lands, and probably more. That is an unexpected idea. One I like.

In ancient times map makers would label areas known to be dangerous or uncharted with the warning, “Beware there be dragons here!”

The one thing I am certain of……there be no dragons here.

A Year is A Long Time

It has been almost a year since I last posted. It had been my intention for the final post on this blog to be written from the SW of Ireland. And as I write this, I am sitting at the kitchen table in our house on the Dingle Peninsula. Out our front window is Dingle harbour. Our kitchen window looks out on Ballysitteragh mountain, the top of which is partially obscured by clouds. Sheep are scattered in pastures all over the mountain side, and a pair of Friesian cows are grazing in a pasture a few hundred yards away. 

Is Ireland everything we had hoped? 

It is and at the same time it is different. The reality of one’s dreams is never a precise recognition of one’s imagination. Daily life intrudes. Water heaters need to be repaired. Immigration paperwork needs to be filed. A new system of weights and measures needs to be internalized. But it is all working out. There will be bumps and bruises, but we will be fine. And the learning process while aggravating at times, is nonetheless fun. The transitioning of cultures is bringing the family closer together as we learn. Ireland is a different country, but it does not feel like a foreign land. 

The people are warm and generous. The music in the pubs is brilliant. And the natural beauty of the countryside surrounds us. I am particularly taken by the continuously shifting spectrum of light. The subtle shades of colour in the sky and across the land and water. 

It is a peaceful sanctuary for a family that has been in desperate need of calm. The country presents an opportunity to gather ourselves and begin again.

I was going to write about the issues that expedited our move, but it is best to let them disappear into the past. I refuse to let them own us.

As for starting a new blog, I am not going to. This one will work fine. It just requires regular attention. I have made a promise to a friend in Paris that I am going to do that.

Open your eyes you can fly……

What goes and what stays?

We had been delaying digging into the practical aspects of moving because we were afraid that it might jinx the sale of the house. Then we started to focus on what needed to be done in terms of paperwork and we decided to get to work. Worst case is that we are ahead of the game.

While I have read a few books and had conversations with a number of people in Ireland, and at the Irish Embassy, there is no question that the best resource for people considering moving is Scott Simon’s website movetoireland.com. It covers everything in minute detail. It is well organized and provides valuable feedback from other people who have worked through the process and successfully moved. He even has a monthly newsletter.

One of the things we are wrestling with is what personal possessions do we care about enough to ship overseas. My first thought was that we would take almost everything and then sort things out on the other side. Then I realised that cost was going to be an issue and years worth of things suddenly began to lose their importance. At the moment I think we are down to about a dozen things: our bed, a sofa we like a lot, a few comfortable chairs, one or two tables and some artwork. What is paining me the most at the moment are my books. I have collected them for years and they are a valuable asset that I use all the time. Many can not be easily replaced and are very precious to me. The problem?

They are heavy!

I want to take most of them and my Ikea bookcases that house them so well, but my wife is saying no to the bookcases — better she says to buy some new ones when we move and help the Irish economy. My wife checked and there is an Ikea in Dublin. So much for the bookcases — they are going into storage or to a yard sale. The trade-off is that I will be able to take more books.

It is very odd to wander around the house and look at things you have lived with for  over 30 years and pass judgment on their importance.

I was sitting in the living room last night looking at an 8 volume collection of Shakespeare’s plays published in 1847. I thought they had belonged to my grandfather. I had not read any of them for a while, and then I remembered that they did not belong to my grandfather, but did in fact belong to my great grandfather. My father told me that he had purchased them to refine his reading skills when he was a boy, and had passed them along to my grandfather and that is how they made their way to me. My father had read them when he was in high school. He insisted that was what made him decide to be an english major in college. He had memorized large sections of the plays and I grew up with frequent oratories from Shakespeare.

He loved Hamlet and for some reason this one has always stayed with me,

“What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god.”

Sorry I couldn’t resist the quote — these books are definitely going with me.

I’m still learning about blogging and I think that writing shorter entries more frequently may work better. I think this is a process that could become quite addictive.

Be well.

Why? It’s Complicated

Since I posted the first entry of this blog a few days ago, I have received some interesting reactions. A great deal of curiosity and encouragement, and some gentle concern as to my motivations for wanting to move my family to Ireland.

The curiosity comes from people who have been considering making a similar transition and are interested not only in the practical pieces that need to be addressed, but also in the thought processes my wife and I have worked through to commit to such a major change.

The encouragement has come from friends in this country who have been aware of our interest for some time, and also from friends in Ireland. A delightful man from Mayo wrote and said, “If this is something you truly want to do, then go for it. All the evidence suggests we only live once.”

In many ways the most interesting feedback has been the expressions of gentle concern — which are understandable. I believe they are based in the notion that I have watched The Quiet Man too many times, consumed more than my share of Guinness, or have an overly romanticized notion of Ireland — an unrealistic sense that the country possesses some magic that will miraculously transform my family’s life for the better.

Our reasons are varied and complex.  They are grounded in family experiences I had as a child, travels to Ireland over the years, changing cultural, political and social environments in this country, and finally, an overpowering desire to begin a new phase of our life at a moment while we still can. This is not an idea that occurred to us a few months ago. It is something we have seriously been discussing for 8 years. Our efforts have been impeded by a brutal real estate market, some troublesome family issues, and a global economy that has been wracked with financial uncertainties. But we are hoping, as buyers’ interest has surfaced, that we may soon get the opportunity to act on our desire to move.

For the sake of this entry I want to touch on my basic reasons, and put to rest some of the concerns of well intentioned friends.

When you say Ireland, many people think of the National Geographic images of the almost impossible greenness of Kerry, fog drifting over the Cliffs of Moher, the remarkable barrenness of the Burren or the Poulnabrone dolmen in Connemara, looking south from Mizen Head to the sea, or the welcoming urban character and history of Dublin. Talk with anyone who has visited and they will have a special recollection.

It is impossible not to admit that the geography of this ancient country is a powerful draw. But what I love the most about Ireland, is its people. I appreciate their warmth and generous character, their quiet constancy, and above all the wonderful eccentricity of the Irish sense of humour. It is a culture that has been shaped by over 2,500 years of turbulent history and is now wrestling with a complex and challenging economic present. The Irish are fighting many of the same economic battles we are facing in the United States, but for a number of reasons I think they may dig themselves out faster.

Geographically Ireland is about the size of West Virginia and its population is about 4.5 million — about 2 million people less than Massachusetts. While I understand that Ireland is linked to the EEU, I believe that its smaller size may allow its political leaders the opportunity to get their arms around the country’s problems faster. It is going to be a painful process, much as it is here. And while I read about the understandable anger and frustration in the Irish newspapers, I have not encountered the fierce polarizations and unwillingness to face up to critical issues to the degree that we are experiencing here.

It may have to do with the fact that Ireland is a much older country and is stronger for its centuries of experience.

To give you some context, there is a pub in Dublin — the Brazen Head — that opened in 1198 and is 813 years older than the United States. I’m not sure exactly what to make of that, but it is a fact that has always amused me.

A friend in Tralee just sent me a note on my Facebook page saying that watching all of the current nonsense that is going on in this country is, “giving her a pain in the head having to listen to all of this…..”

My answer? It is giving me a pain in a considerably lower extremity having to live with it on a daily basis.

It would seem that the entire world is coming unglued in one way or another. And as every day passes, it seems that the choices that are available to a family become increasingly limited. If I am able to sell this house one of the choices that may be open to us is where we want to live.

I will tell you that if we can put the pieces together a quiet corner in the southwest is very appealing.

More later.

Slainté

The Urge for Going

His photograph sits on my desk. Before it was passed to me, my father had it on his bureau, and before that it sat on my grandfather’s desk. It is the only picture that exists in my family. It has yellowed over the years, but the image still remains strong.

He is my great grandfather Michael. He was born in Callan, Kilkenny, Ireland in 1841 and immigrated with his family to the United States at the age of seven. Like millions of other Irish citizens, driven by hunger and poverty, they boarded a coffin ship in Liverpool in 1848 and left a country they dearly loved.

A tall good looking man with a full beard and mustache, he is dressed in a long coat, vest, white tie, striped pants and a tall top hat. The shadow from the hat obscures his eyes, but the expression on his face is one of relaxed amusement.

I have always wanted to see his eyes. I have been told they were bright blue and sparkled when he was amused. Every time I look at this picture I am certain they were sparkling.

The photograph was taken at my grandfather’s wedding in California in the early 1900s — a few years before my great grandfather died.

This image is one of my most prized possessions, as it is the only tangible connection I have to the man. It is also a connection to a country that, as each day passes, feels more and more like home than the one where I was born. I have visited many times. I have friends and distant cousins there, and every time I leave I am overwhelmed with a sense of not wanting to go.

Some members of my family think I am daft and tell me to get hold of myself. Tell me that I really do not understand the implications of what I want to do — then some ask if we really do move can they come to visit.

Our friends are far more supportive. Almost to a person they want to come visit.

I have been reluctant to write about this process in part because I thought it was rather self-involved, and in part because I am afraid that I might jinx the transition. It is not as easy as it would have been 8 years ago. There is a house that must be sold, 18 and 22 year old sons to look after, and the complexities of the American and Irish economies to wrestle with. But there will never be a perfect time. If we wait for that time to come, we will never go and the urge for going gets stronger every day.

Friends have assured me that writing about my family’s efforts to make a new life for ourselves will be interesting to read. I hope they are right. I want to thank them for their encouragement. I will write about all this in the days and months to come.

It is my hope that the last entry of this blog will be written sitting in a new home somewhere in the SW of Ireland, and that that time will be much sooner than later.

Beannachtaí na Cásca go léir (Happy Easter to all).