All She Keeps

In the kitchen of a modest house in Tipperary, there is a beat up and cracked old toy.

Few would think it is worth keeping, especially with space at such a premium.

The kitchen is the heart of this home, and any who come to visit - rarely leave this space.

It has a huge and always piping hot old stove, a table bursting with seats, and a handful of scattered armchairs. Once your eyes have gotten beyond the pastureland, the Galtee Mountains stand tall in the distance outside each rear-facing window.

We come to this kitchen for stories, for warmth and of course, for the incredible food. Hot apple pies, traditional Irish breakfasts, and soul-warming cups of tea. Despite the close quarters, there is magically always room at the table for one more.

In it's prime, this house was home to 2 energetic parents and 9 children.

Eleven people in total, shared just four bedrooms. Well, three actually, since one room was always reserved for special guests. Today, far less frequently of course, it is the grandchildren who bustle through the doors.

I walked slowly through the house this time, it is simply bursting with memories of kittens at the back door, siblings swinging from bunk beds, and walking the family herd of cows to pastures on the way to and back from school. There are religious figurines and crosses visible at every turn. There are tables filled with pictures of beloved grandchildren in America. And, there are closets that ooze worn-out wellies in every shape, size and color imaginable.

Look at all she keeps.

This visit I couldn't help but focus on a haggard old water-filled toy. How had I not seen it before? I used to play with the same toy when I was younger. Pushing a button shoots rings through the water and the skilled handler shifts the toy around to catch rings on the hooks.

I learned that this faded orange gadget was the youngest child's toy. She played with it during her battle and ultimate surrender to leukemia. It was her hospital toy. It was her home toy.

As her mom kept caring for her and comforting her day in and day out - as she watched her little girl's hair thin and eventually fall out....the water-filled, ring-toss toy was played.

And her mom kept watch. Over her. And her toy.

Now, 25 years later - her mom keeps watching over the toy and the mirky water that fills it.

I'm amazed that she even lets visiting children touch it, but she does. They delight in the simplicity of it - bubbles, gurgling water, colorful rings. It requires no batteries, just attention.

Do my children remind her of her courageous little girl when they pick up the toy to play? I wonder.

When the children lose interest or turn careless with the toy - she removes the toy from tiny hands and returns it to the place of honor very near her kitchen sink in the back corner of the room. The taped side faces out.

In this cozy house the mom keeps watch over the wellies,

the homemade pies,

the statues of Mary,

the memories of bunk bed wars,

the dairy cows mooing in the distance,

the picturesque mountains,

the kittens at the back door,

her courageous baby girl's water-filled toy....

and me.

This is all she keeps.

These Boots Were Made For....

Resting.

(Cape Clear Island. County Cork. Ireland. August 2011)

The Post to Make Me Remember...

We are just 5 hours in from a 2 week stay in the Motherland.

Our Holiday was all we could have every hoped for + a great big big bowl of cherries on top.

In so many ways, I return from two solid weeks in Ireland and think that Americans complicate life more than they need to.

Let this be the post to make me remember that

bigger isn't always better

closer doesn't always mean close

a shortcut isn't always

families stretch far beyond the limits of bloodlines and lineage.

We (Dame and I) joked about the amnt of photos we'd taken along the way....

I guessed a good 700+.

As the computer churns out the 1,500+ pictures, I have nothing to do but await them....

Humbly.

Ever so Patiently.

And of course, above all...

Anxiously.

I think I know my favorite photograph already.

(But only time will tell).

Ireland was spectacular in every way. Do I even need to tell you that?

At nearly all crossroads, I felt a first line of a blog post brimming up inside me and I felt a tug on my heartstrings to set down and write.

So here is to the pots of gold awaiting my little ones,

and me,

and you...
at the end of each rainbow.

May we appreciate them and
May we know them

when we reach them.

(More pics to follow....God willing).

To all things green, gold and everything in between.


And to our super lovely leprechaun of a chauffeur this afternoon who helped us through the transition from dreamland to reality.


We love you Mr. O'Rourke.

And then some.

I Will Always Have...

When Declan was a peanut (days old)... my BFF Claire flew in from Brazil to meet him.

As if it were yesterday, I can still picture her holding Declan down at the edge of the lake.

I took pictures as the sun set off in the distance, silhouetting Claire and Dec.

And, I can still hear her softly spoken words to my 12-day-old-son, "I am your Auntie

Claire..... and I will always have gum....".

At the time, her not-meant-for-me-to-hear-words melted my heart.

This was my best friend, who had flown in from a hemisphere away,

to hold my dear son in her hands and to tell him, in a simplistic way,

that she'd always have something exciting to offer up -

even on his darkest of days.

For anyone who has ever tuned in to the sitcom "Friends", you'll know that our Dear "Auntie Claire" borrowed her lines from "Aunt Monica", who offers the same promise of a never-ending supply of gum to her nephew Ben (her brother Ross' son).

Regardless, Claire's words meant a lot to me. And they have meant a lot to Declan in the days since, when Claire has filled days with creative and enthusiastic FUN and on occasion, gum.

****

Last night, I lay in a tent in the middle of my backyard with 4 nieces and nephews, 1 son, and 1 daughter.

I'm so proud of my little campers.

They did a beautiful job relaxing under a star-filled sky, snuggling into their soft sleeping bags, and giving way to the power of falling asleep with a cool breeze on their face and far-off animal cries in the distance.

During the night

I helped Cormac scamper from the tent and pee just before dawn.

I made sure Aidan wasn't suffocating himself as he nestled deep in the corner of the tent.

I became surprisingly proud of Anna, who was on her first official sleep over and was the first to give way to her exhaustion. She got my unofficial vote for "best all-around-camper".

I was comforted by the calm, still, presence that Mags exuded from the far edge of the tent. I knew she was one of the last to fall asleep, but I also knew she was enjoying the view of the star-filled sky from her cozy spot.

I was happy to have Declan snuggle up between his cousins on the night of his 6th birthday.

And, I was amazed that Nonie fell asleep so soundly, long before the cousin tent winded down.

****

While the cousins fell asleep, I recounted (outloud) the number of nights I've spent in a tent:

(must be close to 400) - from Glacier Peak in Washington, to the frozen lakes of Minnesota and Ontario, to the Alpe d'Huez in France, and the chipmunk overrun beaches of Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia - and of course, the sandy beaches of the Vineyard and South Carolina. For a moment I was impressed with the amount of time I've logged in tents. Intense.

I encouraged the cousins to listen for new sounds. NOTTOSLEEP.

And, to try to ID familiar ones. They listened for a long time and finally came the question I was waiting for:

"Can we stop listening and start sleeping now?"

To ease anxiousness,

I twirled the hair of my 6-year-old nephew.

I unzipped and zipped and unzipped and zipped the tent for tiny bladders.

I shined the light on the grass to direct the mid-night peeing.

I sang out-of-tune-songs like "You are My Sunshine" "This Little Light of Mine" "ABCD -" Nonie's request)....and "50-Nifty-United States...."

Just to be sure that you're sure. I did sing each song out of tune... though I had them begging for encores.....

****

In the midst of all this, I paused

and realized I was so happy.

I took a deep breath of fresh, fresh air.

Then, I took a deep breath again.

I gazed at the stars and at the blinking lights of planes flying high above.

For a moment, I wondered where the planes were going. Ireland?? Maybe.

After a while, I couldn't hear much of anything.

Except the sounds of amazing children sleeping.

Once I knew all the tiny little children around me were asleep,

I whispered to them in the dark of the night:

"I am your Auntie K,

and, I will always have room in my tent for you."

What I Found.

In the living room tonight, Declan and Nonie sleep side by side.

They are camping out.

In doors.

It is summer.

Isn't this what kids do in the summer?

Sleep in different places, and giggle with each other while they feel special about sleeping in exciting and usually off-limits places?

At least, this is what my kids do in the summer.

Just for kicks I took their glowsticks from the freezer (which had been there since the concert the other night) and hung them to the light fixture above them for instant summertime ambience.

It is in the dim glow of fading light sticks, that I'm taking time to reassure my babies that I am with them while they fall asleep in this new and mysterious place.

I pause to think about how, in the future, there will be many new and mysterious places they choose to rest their heads - and I won't with them, to stand guard over them, 4 steps away.

Also, I am using the quiet time to

download my camera. It has been a while.

401 pics to be an exact count of how long the long while has been.

Without further ado, here is a sampling of what I found:

sunny sunflowers growing along the white picket fence - a sure sign that summer is here

at long last.

surfer girl brushing her teeth in front of her

favorite audience and biggest fan.

cousins sharing secrets at the seashore.

fathers standing guard.

little rascals getting herded for a group shot.

no comment.

the hubs, hiding from my lense -

oh I'll find you every time my dear.

the best we could do.

after a few seconds of jostling around, the youngest ended up at the bottom...
like a tiny grain of sand.

and I agree with the look on her face - it ain't fair.

hand holding.

a daughter's sparkle.

we weren't even playing charades.

fences in bloom. 02539.
hats with personality.

anniedeux.

running bases played by the adult relatives. with one token youngster thrown in the mix.

average age of runners? 36.9

in my mind I call this picture "life is a game".

1/2 a picture.

1 story.

high five for granny.

t-shirt competition.

summertime silhouettes.

practicing for his first day of school.

practicing for his first day at school.

jumping in at mile 4.99.

celebrating at mile 5.0.

A treasure trove of memories.

What I found.


oh and as if you didn't notice - a very persistent smudge on my camera lense
yup, I discovered that too.

... beneath my feet began to crumble.

Earlier today, just after Nonie was dropped at school, Dec and I made our way through my early morning "To Dos".

One of the items on the list was find our darn video camera cord so that I can be certain to capture my sweet 2.5 & 5.5 year-olds on film.

Their voices are so high, their words are so cute. And, for the life of me, I can't find the cord to charge our camera. It has been driving me bonkers. I must record their cuteness.

Dec and I removed two big drawers from the living room chest and rifled through a tangle of cords - none of them belonged to an electronic device I recall owning. He couldn't take his hands off them. This only made my work harder. But boy, do I love him.

Suddenly two words caught my eye and I quickly dropped everything that was in my hands.

A VHS tape that read "Rehearsal Dinner" had made its way to the top of our pile.

Rehearsal Dinner Wha? Who's? Ours?

My mind raced to our rehearsal dinner. I didn't recall anyone taping it at the time.

I simply had to pop the video in to see.

(And yes, as Emah constantly reminds me, I'm the only one left in the world who still owns a VHS player. See how handy it comes in Emah?)

Two images flash before my eyes immediately:

Me as a 3 year old. Then, seconds later, the Hubs as a five year old.

We're both in photos taken at the beach.

The next shot is me on a big wheel at the age of 6. Then, the Hubs on his dirt bike flying high through the air. Age 10.

The video plays on, the photos alternate between the soon to be bride, and soon to be groom.

Dec is shouting behind me, "Who IS that?" "Who is THAT?" "Really Mom, WHO is that?"

Then his questions morphed into "Is THAT Daddy?" "Is that GRANNY????" "Is that LILY?Look at Lily, she was such a cute little NUGGET!!!" (I kid you not, he said that Lils - and, you were about ten in the picture, wearing the pink Laura Ashley dress).

We watched it twice. I cried both times.

The photos were set to this tune (which I can't get out of my head, eleven hours later)...

We were so young.

The pictures of us when we were dating simply took my breath away.

We were so young.

Did I mention that I cried for the duration of both viewings?

But, I managed to pull myself together to answer Dec's pressing questions:

A picture of the Hubs circa 1995 (college years, before I entered the picture)...

"Why was daddy wearing a dress?"

I don't know sweety, you'll have to ask him when he gets home.

And, of the picture of the Hubs as a 10-year old rockin' this insane jump on his dirtbike...

"Why didn't daddy jump higher than that?"

I don't know sweety, you'll have to ask him when he gets home.

Thank goodness the image of me as the Montessori Christmas Elf next to the Hubs as the Montessori SANTA CLAUS, only elicited a shriek of "SANTA, MOM, LOOK SANTA!".

Phew.

While the tears flowed, beneath my feet began to crumble....just like in that song.

And I let myself enjoy the reminder of where and when that music and the magic began.

*** Due to the emotionally exhausting jaunt down memory lane, No, I did not find the darn video camera cord..... maybe tomorrow.***

Looking Back on Beautiful Days.

I just got a really funny lump in the furthest point in the back of my throat

when I flipped through Dec's archives

and came across this:

And this excerpt from a letter below - which I wrote to Dec and called: "Today Was a Beautiful Day":

Dear Dec,

We played together from the start of the day until it ended.

We made lego tunnels for the speedy yellow and black wind-up cars and raced them all around the kitchen. We laughed when

they
"crashed and burned" and we

celebrated when they

made it through the tunnels AND mommy's legs.

After breakfast we danced to your music and you got so excited while you were dancing that you

kicked the fridge with bare feet and it made you cry and you snuggled in my arms and held onto
me
until you stopped crying.....

It was pretty silly of you to kick the fridge so we checked on it to
see if it had a boo boo and it did...

We went outside when it was almost time for daddy to come home and though I thought we were just

going out for a five minute check of the sunflowers and pumpkin patch - we ended up at the

lake.

That is where you wanted to go so I was your follower and you were my leader and with your

little

fishing

rod

you led me to the

lake.

Around downed trees, touching green green moss, listening to chipmunks along the trail.

I
heard you spell your name for the first time -

as
you scurried along the trail. It was like you

turned it into a little song. We saw a mouse that wasn't moving and figured either the skunk
cabbage (your guess) or a hawk (my guess) had gotten to it

You fished for a long time today.

It was windy and
cold.

You had shorts on and a winter coat.

We kicked your shoes and socks off so your feet
could dangle in the water. It was cold, you said,
but you kept them in the water anyway.

We caught grass

Then we caught more grass.

But -
no fish.

You asked where the swans were and I didn't know.
The geese were all around us but you
didn't really care about them. Just the swans.

No rain today, the weather man was wrong.

You are a very good boy.

I love you so much.

Today,
you asked me what love means and

I said it means
that your heart feels like it is singing.

Today my heart sang all day.

Because I was with you.

Love Mama

12. may. 2008

10 Giving Thanks.

When there are 10 giving thanks at the homestead on thanksgiving...

T's pumpkin snowman looks to the drive and wonders where all the cars are.

And when we gather round the fire, we're all close enough to feel some of the warmth.

The cousins are controllable, quiet even -

And there is no Marky standing guard over the turkey plate.

And "who's missing?!? something's missing..." rattles in our heads... Our hearts.

And there is elbow room at the table, with conversations that are audible.

With just 10, there is room in the dishwasher for dessert AND dinner plates.

I can't recall the last time that has happened.

The dogs don't dodge oil splatters back by the pool, and they miss hanging with the boys amidst the fried turkey excitement/chaos.

There is no mention of hat parties - no pinatas are hung. But a few times, people do comment on how "small the group is this year...".

There was no line at the buffet!

In fact, the three cousins present ate dessert in the shadows of photos - pics of the missing four cousins.

There's the turkey plate Marky - see? No one dropped it.

When it is just 10 of us giving thanks together at thanksgiving,

the food tastes delicious, of course,

but none of us can shake the fact that

2/3 of the clan is missing.

And 2/3 of the clan is missed.

I missed it.

Down at the church tonight I heard the hippies screaming.
Oh, I thought, those hippies will holler at just about anything. Actually, they usually keep to themselves, except for their overflowing pumpkin stand and yard full of chickens. So what's all the hoopla?
Upon further investigation, I discovered that they were admiring what I can only describe as the most unbelievably beautiful rainbow I have ever laid eyes on.
I felt like I could reach out my hand and touch it. Standing on the hill of the church, the rainbow looked to start on the town green, arch over the picturesque Vermont bridge, the quintessential red barn and land somewhere on Bolton mountain which was ablaze with foliage. I wanted to holler with them.
I admired it for a minute or so and then I thought, I must go get my camera.
No, I'll ruin in.
Yes, you'll capture it forever.
No, it will be too long.
Yes, you will never remember how lovely this is.
No.
Yes.
So one more blink of the eyes to lock into memory, just in case, and off we ran to the house.
Getting a funny look from some young father, carrying his baby on his back, who did not appreciate me telling him where he should be standing for the best view, down the street to the house, wet shoes on the floor, grab camera, run back to see...
I missed it.
The rainbow was there in name only. Its beauty, I found out, was fleeting. And I spent the best part of the rainbow running away from it to get something to help me remember it.
I missed it.

I wonder why my memory of things is not enough. Why I need shiny or digital proof to know that something existed at all. That I need a picture of something to see how beautiful it is. In running off to capture these moments, I'll miss them.
Lesson learned, from the hippies.
If you want to remember something, hoop and holler at it. And then it will be, like, remember that awesome rainbow that we screamed through the town about? Instead of, remember that amazing rainbow that I went inside for?

The Tree. And My Baby Who Will Always Be.

Despite the heavy rain and strong wind of late, this morning my Baby Tree looked healthy, happy even.

I checked on her as I do most every morning. Sometimes I don't even venture outside.

My wondering eyes peer at her through the front window. Does she know I love her?

Other times we do rock painting, bug catching, worm racing - right in her very shade.

I thinks she likes these days the most. I know I do. Can she feel me thinking about her?

It was three years ago I selected and planted Baby Tree. Just there up in front, by the white picket fence. She deserved one of the most prominent spots I could find in the yard.

It was three more days after her roots hit the soil that I went back to the nursery in pursuit of the perfect Mother Tree to stand guard in the garden behind her. When Mother Tree was in her place with ample water and plenty of soil steadying her, the ache that had hijacked my heart -my world really, finally subsided to the point where I could inhale.

Inhale. Deeply.

Though three years have gone by, I still wonder.

Every day I wonder.

Oh! How I wonder....

Though three years have gone by, I hurt.

Who would have guessed it would still hurt?

The ache fills my heart as I type....

Inhale. Deeply.

And, though three years have gone by, I still love.

My heart overflows with love -

For the baby I never got a chance to see -

- my baby who will always be.

Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad.

These Are My Stories.

It all started last week.

It was bedtime. So I told a story. And the minute I started to tell it, Nonie and Dec set their books down to listen. I couldn't help but notice that they sat a little closer to me.

***

It all started with...

A quick one about picking corn at Katama Farm and getting into "corn wars" with the other farm hands.

I talked of chucking ears of corn high into the sky - over 3, 4, even 5 rows at a time - with the hope of hitting an unsuspecting picker on the other side. From the old dirt road, Farmer McCarthy saw his investments flying in the air (ear by ear) and he knew we were up to no good. What a site! I still smile about it.

That story led to one about cleaning cow tails. Wearing long rubber gloves and armed with buckets of diluted clorox bleach we approached the cattle. All 100 of them. In one swooping motion, we'd scoop the buckets up the tail (to wet the arse too) and then scrape the arse and the tail with a rake-like contraption. Caked on poop would fly to the ground (and to our clothing, hair, shoes....) with reckless abandon. It was messier than my words can describe.


Oh, and it smelled too.

This was a totally unrewarding job. Most of the time the cow would get stimulated and poop on the arse we'd just cleaned.

Dirtiest Jobs Discovery Channel? You've got nothing on that one.

***

Dec's eyes grew large when I explained that these were my "jobs" as an eleven year-old summer resident of the Vineyard - and my payment, each day, was one single scoop ice cream cone.

We'd work our arses off for that ice cream. And trust me, it was delicious.

Dec's wide eyes made me wonder: was he amazed by the tasks I described, or intrigued by the "payment". I couldn't quite tell.

But I did notice that he was on the edge of his seat.

***

I have stories about exercising the horses along Katama Bay where the cars drive out toward Norton Point.

I told the kids about the one time my horse spooked when it walked by a milk crate stuffed with Quahogs in the shallow water. Sent me running for 1/4 mile. It was scary and exciting all rolled into one bumpy ride.

Trade that experience ever?

Never.


These Are My Stories.

Horse vs. Clams.

(Scooch a wee bit closer and and I'll tell you who wins.)

***

I have stories about taking outdoor showers in the rain. Told that to Dec this evening while he disappeared then reappeared in his bubble bath.

***

I have stories about being able to collect 2 rings on the Carousel and watching the "real islander kids" collect one on each finger.

Still can't get more than 2.


But, These Are My Stories.

I did win the brass ring once. And Dec relived the experience with me the other day on our car-ride home from the Island.

***

I have stories about deep-sea-fishing with Mark, Chris, and Dad on the Skipper, a charter fishing boat. There was a cooler of Sunkist sodas. I drank one and I felt like I was sinning 'cause I was about 10 years old and 10-year-olds in our house aren't allowed to drink sodas. Especially ORANGE ones. But I guess it was okay 'cause I was on a boat and it didn't really count.

Anyway, the captain taught us to drop our line 'til it hit the bottom...then reel it up three times...then wait for a fish...and wait for a fish and stand on the boat and wait for a fish.

Well, when my line caught on something I reeled it in with all my 10-year-old gusto only to find (10 minutes later) that I hadn't caught JAWS (much to my disappointment/relief) but I'd caught the person on the other side of the boat.

Our hooks caught under the boat!

***

At the end of that story Dec belly-laughed at the mere thought of his mother catching another person with a fishing pole.

And, Miss Nonie? Miss Nonie said "boat" every time I did.

"Boat" "Boat".

"Boat" "Boat".

(Priceless I tell you).

***

Yup, I have stories.

These are MY stories.

They are the stories that make Dec and Nonie set their books down and listen.

And sit a little bit closer to me.