THE JOURNAL

6 March 2025 Thursday

We were at BusAras, waiting in front of Door No.6 for the Cork bus. When it arrived, passengers disembarked and then the driver got off and ran into the station and right past us. He waved to the bus official at the door but he did not stop. He continued running to the far side of the station and down the stairs. The official turned to the twelve or fifteen of us standing in the queue and he explained that the driver needed a pee. He said that it is a long drive all the way to Cork so it is essential that the driver go to the toilet now. He suggested that we would all be well-advised to have a pee ourselves before we get on the bus too, because this bus has no toilet and there would be no rest stops along the way. He gave us much more detail than we needed but he seemed to enjoy having an audience and the chance to be the person with something important to say.

7 March Friday

Yesterday, as we waited for the bus in Dublin, an elderly man sat down beside me. He assured me that his friend, who is a clairvoyant, has assured him that Donald Trump will not last for two years in this term as President of the USA. She told him that it might be because of death or it might be that he just gets sick of the job. She is not certain of the reason yet. He told me that this clairvoyant is never wrong with her predictions. I am trying to hold this thought.

9 March Sunday

There was a frenetic clamor of barking, braying and howling up in Scully’s wood.  I know this is not the time of year for The Hunt so I wondered what was going on.  I worried about the fox. As I drove up the boreen to go and collect the Sunday papers in the village, I met a man I had never seen before walking along whistling and calling out.  I asked what he was looking for. He told that me his dachshund, Ernie, was around somewhere.  I told him about the noise from the woods and he said, “Yes. That will be Ernie. He will be with the rest of the hounds.  They are chasing rabbits.”

11 March Tuesday

We have one warm and bright day and the next is cold with bitter wind.  Everyday is different and everyday is a surprise. Yesterday I ate lunch sitting outdoors by the kitchen door. Today I am unable to step out without a scarf and hat and gloves.

12 March Wednesday

Occasionally things blow down from the farm when the winds are strong. Sometimes I find an escaped empty plastic feed bag. Today I picked up a shiny silver package to throw away when I reached home. It had contained a Vaginal Delivery System for Cattle. This is a first.

14 March Friday

I went to visit Tommie in the hospital. He said he was happy to see me although he was terribly weak. His oxygen tube was hanging off his lip instead of being in his nose. I helped him to get it adjusted and then we talked a little. He was unable to project his voice. I sat near to him on a stool and listened carefully. His rasping lungs were louder than his voice. He told me that he did not think he would get out of there alive. A priest came by wearing a long narrow scarf. I believe it is called a stole. It was bright purple. The priest was short and black and round. He read Tommie’s name off the sign above the bed and then asked in a loud and kindly voice: “Would Thomas like to receive a Blessing today?” Tommie said yes and the priest performed his ritual. He turned to me and asked with his eyes if I too wanted a Blessing but I shook my head No. Tommie kept telling me that he was glad that I had finally come Home. I left when his eyes started to close. He was ready for a nap. I promised to return next week.

15 March Saturday

I recognize the things that are flowering, but often I do not know their names. I have come to accept that I do not really care if I know their names or not. If I really wanted to know I would look them up when I got home, or I would get an app to provide myself with an immediate answer but I am okay with the Not Knowing. I am happy for things to appear every year at the same time just as I appear every year at the same time. There are dandelions, primroses, and Lesser Celandine as well as masses of daffodils. The wild garlic is pushing up too.

16 March Sunday

I am short. This is not new. I have always been short. I now resort to using a small stepladder in the house since the last time I jumped down off a chair I broke a bone in my foot. The stepladder is more cumbersome to locate and to drag around but it is safer. This morning I climbed up the two steps to reach the bag of porridge oats. My head, up near the low ceiling, was immediately covered with a thick coating of cobwebs. I could store the package of oats somewhere else, but this is where we have always kept it. I can easily stand on tip-toes to return it to its shelf, but when the package is new and full, it is a tight fit on the shelf. That is when I need the ladder. And now all of the cobwebs are gone, so the problem is less pressing.

18 March Tuesday

We were delighted to see the first rhubarb of the year on Keith’s table at the market. We bought it. We cooked it. We ate it. It was delicious. It is good to know that there will be more and more rhubarb in the weeks to come.

19 March Wednesday

I was out for a walk and I met Yolanda on the road. She is Australian and I am American. We both turned off our phones in order to chat for a minutes in the bright sun. She had been listening to an opera from Milan as she walked. I had been listening to a novel set in Tasmania. We laughed at this international moment. My phone rang. It brought us back to Tipperary. I was sad, but not surprised to receive the news that my dear friend Tommie is dead.

20 March Thursday

In the shop, there is a lot of discussion about Tommie. The news of his death is spreading. Without exception, people agree that he was A Real Gentleman. That he was a gentle man. That he was A Great Man for the Chat, which means that he always had time or that he always made time to talk with whoever was there for a conversation. Tommie left school young and worked as a farm laborer all his life.  He did jobs for people and helped wherever he was needed.  No one has a bad word to say.

21 March Friday

We went to Tommie’s wake. I did not like seeing him laid out in his coffin in the middle of the room, though I was glad to see that he was wearing his gold Pioneer lapel pin. He was so proud of that pin. His hands were clasped around his rosary beads. We shook all the hands and spoke to all of the extended family who were lined up against the three walls. We heard the news that Tommie’s old friend Aiden died today. Then we drove home and had supper.

22 March Saturday

We decided not to go to the Farmers Market this morning because Tommie’s funeral was being held at eleven. I picked Breda up and we drove together down to the village. She did not want to go alone. She said she wanted someone to Take the Bare Look off Her. The area all around the church was full of people, and it was still early. There were twenty-five, or maybe thirty, men and boys, some in their hurling uniforms, waiting on each side of the road at the base of the bridge. As the hearse carrying the coffin drove over the bridge all of the hurling players, young and old, started walking slowly into the village on either side of the vehicle. Tommie had been an avid sportsman. He would have loved being accompanied to the church by this Guard of Honour. The athletes stood in two long lines as he was carried into the church, followed by the family, and then by the rest of us. The church was packed. By the time the burial was being performed in the churchyard, the rain was bucketing down. People began to leave because it was simply too wet and too cold to stand around.

24 March Monday

Someone drove their car into The Hair Den. They must have been traveling at a great speed when the car crossed the road to hit the corner of the building. I heard that the driver had a bloody lip but was otherwise unhurt. No one is mentioning the name of the driver, but almost everyone knows who it is. I do not know who it is. Besides the smashed corner which took the impact, the building has horizontal cracks along the front. The consensus is that it will be many months before it can re-open for business.

 

16 November Saturday

Between ourselves, we called him Johnny the Timber. He has delivered trailer loads of firewood to us every year. He also cleans our chimney, although these two jobs are done at different times. He would never bring us firewood and then hop up on the roof to clean the chimney. He cleans chimneys on Saturdays. Top down. He no longer has any timber to sell, so we changed his phone number name to Johnny the Chimney. His Monday to Friday job is as a Postman. So he could also be listed as Johnny the Post, but he is not our Postman so it is best to keep his name tied to the Chimney. Our postman is Derek.

17 November Sunday

The names of places do not change even when they change.

Nugent’s bar is called Maryanne’s by the locals.  Maryanne was Rose’s mother and she ran the pub for decades until it became too much for her and Rose and her husband Davey took over. Maryanne made change in a metal box. She was the only one allowed to go into the box. She held the key and she kept it in her pocket at all times. The name Nugent’s is painted on the front over the window, but it makes no difference. People still speak of meeting down at Maryanne’s for a pint.

The Regional was the name of the big hospital in Cork. It is now Cork University Hospital (CUH ), but if you ask any taxi driver in Cork city to take you to The Regional, you will certainly be delivered to CUH.

The Roundabout was the name of the bar in Ardfinnan. A roundabout is a traffic circle. There is only one roundabout in the village so it is a simple thing to know which bar is being discussed. The bar has been called The Pure Drop for at least twenty-five years. The name, referencing a line from Edmund Spenser’s work The Faerie Queen, is painted in big red letters on the car park end, but most people call it The Roundabout.

18 November Monday

We bought two sorts of blue cheese both made in the Glen of Aherlow. One is called Cool Paddy and the other is Cool Mary. The lady at the cheese stall wrote the name of each one on the paper in which she wrapped the cheese. We took them home and tasted them and decided that we liked each of them equally well. Having them both out on a cheeseboard at the same time meant that they got mixed up. It is only Monday and they are already separated from their names. We know that Cool Mary is made from sheep’s milk and Cool Paddy is made from goat’s milk. I cannot taste which is which.

19 November Tuesday

Each time I cut a rose to bring it into the house, I am certain that this rose is the last rose of the year. Each time I am pleased to feel that I am saving this final blossom from death by a sudden hard frost. A few days later, another rose comes into bud on a different rosebush. Each rose may be a late rose, but none of the roses are the last rose.

20 November Wednesday

Tommie is back at home. He is feeling better in himself, but his legs are not. He says that his knees are not keeping up with his spirits. He is not doing the exercises the physio gave him to do and he is not sleeping well. He does not feel Able for a trip to Dunnes. He would like to buy some boxes of chocolates and a few bottles to give as Christmas gifts, as well as some razors for The Shaving.  I said that we can make a list and that I will go to the shop to buy things for him. I dislike shopping at Dunnes and he loves shopping at Dunnes. I will do the shopping for him and he will feel sad that he has missed a favourite outing.

21 November Thursday

There was snow falling when we woke up. Everywhere was beautiful and white and silent. It was a heavy wet snow, so I knew it would not last. But for little while the white mountains and hills made it look like we had been transported to Switzerland. I drove down to the shop carefully. There is no such thing as snow tyres here and most people have no idea how to drive in icy conditions. As I crossed the little hump-backed bridge into the village, I remembered the signs in New Hampshire, always warning that a BRIDGE FREEZES FIRST. I have never seen such a sign here. I doubt that this fact is common knowledge. Things rarely drop to freezing.

22 November Friday

The candidates for Tipperary South in the General Election are everywhere. The candidates and their helpers are knocking on doors, and paper publicity arrives daily with the postman. The run-up to the election is only three weeks so everyone is busy getting their message out. There are posters up on trees and utility poles. Mattie McGrath seems to be the only one who owns a home-made tent-like trailer with his name and photograph on two sides. It is parked in various spots around the county. Just as we grow accustomed to seeing it in one place, it is gone. Its absence becomes a surprise. It will re-appear somewhere else for a few days, before being moved again. In these days building up to the election, I find myself rushing about saying, “Chicken Brennan. Chicken Brennan.”  This is the name of another candidate who is running for office.  His name is Michael “Chicken” Brennan. His posters on the utility poles make me smile. Michael Brennan is a common enough name, so if most people know this man as Chicken, it is wise to have that name on the poster so that people know which Michael Brennan is running for office.

23 November Saturday

Because the new kitchen door is so tight and well-fitted, we feel no drafts. It is a surprise how much warmer the room is. I no longer need the long curtain that used to hang up over the door at night specifically to keep the winds out.  I cannot bring myself to get rid of the small hooks that Simon cut out of oak a long time ago from which to hang the curtain rail.

24 November Sunday

Edel described the dog as Gentle Out.  She said that he is the easiest and most docile creature she has ever known and that he is a Pure Dote around the children. People often say that someone is Happy Out, but this is the first time I have heard Gentle Out. The meaning is easily understood.

25 November Monday

Heavy rains fell all weekend. We hardly noticed the rain because the winds were so fierce and so unending. We could hear the thrashing and blowing everywhere inside the house. There was no escaping the brutal noise. I was surprised to see that the fields all around the village have disappeared. The fields have disappeared and so have the sheep that were grazing in those fields.  Everywhere is replaced by lakes.

26 November Tuesday

Ute corrected me about the two German brothers who own the discount supermarkets Lidl and Aldi. It turns out that I was wrong.  We all believed that these two men are brothers.  The two men are indeed German, but they are not brothers. They are competitors, and both stores have special offers now known as The Middle Aisle. That is where the similarity ends.

27 November Wednesday

Ruth the Feral Farm Feline never seems to get any bigger. She is petite. Tidy. Every morning I find her outside the kitchen door playing soccer by herself with a wine cork. She is good with her feet. This is a delightful game to watch, but it is dangerous too. Each time I step outside there are wine corks in funny places on the path waiting to send me flying.

28 November Thursday

Clothing Banks are located near Bottle Banks, or all alone at the remote edges of car parks. They become stuffed full to overflowing with used clothing. When the small hole is so full that nothing more can be deposited, clothes must be left in bags on the ground. Whenever this happens, people come along after dark and rip open the bags to see if there is anything that they want inside. This activity is usually blamed on the Traveling Community but I do not believe that they are always the guilty party. It is rural tradition to blame any and all anti-social behavior on the Travellers.

29 November Friday Election Day

We voted down at the elementary school. The children had the day off school in order to accommodate the polling station. Campaign posters everywhere are looking bedraggled and some are torn.  The ongoing wind has not made this electioneering easy. I asked Tommie if he had received his card in the post to allow him to go and vote. He was outraged.  He said, “I do not need a card. I have never needed a card. The people down there know me. They all know me.”

28 October Bank Holiday Monday

Twelve or thirteen hounds ran down the track.  They raced around the house three times and then around the book barn and the tool shed another two times. They were barking and baying as they ran. As a mass, they jumped up the banking and disappeared into Joe’s field. We neither saw nor heard them again. We never saw a hunter nor anyone with a gun. We did not see any humans all day.

 

29 October Tuesday

The herd of young cattle in Joe’s top field rushed over to look at me as I walked by. The noise of that many large animals running was thunderous. Running as a crowd made them appear strong and fearless, but they stopped abruptly when they neared the gate where I was standing.

30 November Wednesday

I went to the Chinese acupuncturists. The man and woman work together. She speaks English and he does not. After having me explain things to her, she repeats everything to him in Chinese. He inserted needles and left me in a darkened room for about an hour. He hummed a little as he worked but the only thing he said was: “Okay Lady?” After removing the needles he gave me a vigorous massage and then repeated: “Okay Lady?” giving me a little tap on my foot to let me know that he was finished.

31 October 2024 Thursday

Walker and I walked up to the Green Barn. Whatever has been planted in the the fields is growing fast.

1 November Friday

I went into a shop in Cahir to buy a newspaper. There were two young priests waiting for toasted bacon sandwiches.  They also ordered coffee and picked out a selection of chocolate bars. They were wearing long white robes and sneakers. One priest said to the other that he loved the big pockets of their robes because he is always hungry.  He likes to carry a supply of chocolate.

2 November Saturday

The feral cats scream when the kitchen door is opened. The feral cats scream when the kitchen door is closed. The young one, who is no longer a kitten but not yet a full grown cat, is omnipresent. The big black and white bruiser arrives frequently, but the young cat’s mother rarely makes an appearance. I was on the verge of giving the small cat a name. I have grown fond of her. I think of it as a she but I have no idea of her sex. She sits on the pillow and she sleeps on the pillow and she is rarely not on the pillow on the bench. But now this screeching has begun. I thought it was a demand for food but once it has started the screaming and pushing at my legs and the door do not stop. The small cat screams as though it is in danger or in pain. She should be up at the farm catching rodents and drinking milk.

5 November Tuesday

We visited Tommie at St Patrick’s. He was not looking as robust as the last time I saw him. Maybe it was just because he was not wearing his bright red sweater. He was happy for a visit though he told us that he had had a niece down from Dublin earlier and he said she wore him out. He claimed that she never stopped talking for two solid hours. He told us a long rambling story about having worked under a bus for his whole life. He said he was never once Out From Under The Bus, not until the very last day of his job. He said he was happy to know that he need never again work under a bus. I knew he had worked as a farm labourer from the time he left school at 14. I could not make the connection with the word Bus. I am certain that Tommie has never ridden on a bus. He told me that once. It took time for me to understand that he was not saying BUS but BOSS. He was glad to be Out From Under the Boss.

6 November Wednesday

The day began grey and overcast. It promised to continue like this. The weather would not improve. Heavy cloud cover made everything feel sad. I did not know what to do with myself. The one thing I knew that I did not want to do was to talk to anyone. I did not want to talk and I did not want to listen. I decided to walk up the Mass Path. I have been unable to get through there since the spring because it has been heavily overgrown, and branches and trees have blown down. I decided the struggle of trying to go up there would be a good distraction from the ongoing and endless reports of results and analysis. Taking work gloves, secauters and a thorn-proof jacket, I pulled on my wellie boots and set off. Right away at the bottom, by the stream, I had to climb over and through a fallen tree. There were a few moments of clear walking but most of the journey was slow and difficult. I cut brambles and boughs out of my way in order to keep moving uphill. I got as far as Johnnie Mackin’s orchard, or to the part of the path that runs alongside the orchard. The path ahead was blocked for as far as I could see. There were apples on the ground, some rotting and some looking still good enough to collect. I thought I might return with a big bag. The smell was fetid. I could not go any further. The way was heavily tangled and overgrown. I considered climbing up the banking and into the orchard and continuing that way, but I quickly saw that that option was almost as bad. I turned around and started back down the hill towards home. I stepped on a mossy rock and crashed to the ground. I wrenched my shoulder trying to break my fall and I fell heavily onto my hip. I lay in the wet leaves and mud and I caught my breath. I wondered if I had broken my hip even while I knew that I had not. I burst into tears. I was not crying about the physical pain. I was crying about everything else. I was weeping in fear and disappointment and rage. I cried. I sobbed. Eventually, shaking with the cold and the wet mud soaking through my trousers, I stopped crying. I got up and continued my way back down the treacherous path.

 7 November Thursday

While grabbing a clump of purple sage, a bee stung my left index finger. The bees and their activities are dying back but some are still flying around to get what they can from the plants. They stop and rest often. Which is why the bee was in among the sage leaves. It stung me when I grabbed it. My finger is now swollen and tight and it feels like it might explode.

8 November Friday

I thought it would be my hip or my thigh that would hurt but it is my shoulder that has retained the memory of my fall. Today, I can barely lift my right arm. It must have taken the whole weight of my body falling as my arm reached out to catch myself.

9 November Saturday

The geese are all over the castle car park at the market. Some days, like today, they refuse to go back into the water. By the time they have returned to the river the tarmac is a slippery mess.

11 November Tuesday

The light is terrible. It is the same white light all day. There is no sun and there are no shadows and there is no variation from morning until the end of the afternoon. Day after day. Every day is the same. A heavy white cloud cover sits over everything. It is bitterly cold. We cannot see any further than the fence through the fog. There is neither background nor any view behind even the most familiar things. Night falls early and the darkness is complete. There are no clouds, no stars and no moon. The dense fog sits heavily on the land and on our spirits. The cold and the fog are the only topics of conversation.

12 November Tuesday

I continue to sand the table. Over many years, the light from the skylight has made the varnish break down into a gummy surface. Newspapers stick on the table and they tear as they are lifted.  Kieran tells me that this is what happens when the surface has been exposed to too much sun over a long time. The top surface has mostly come off but now I am trying to make it all into an even tone. Some of the old varnish is hard to remove. I keep thinking I will get an electric sander on the job, but I only think about it. I do not get around to getting one. I just keep working away at small mottled areas. I am now using the Japanese sanding device which is made of a lot of bristles tightly bound together with strong cotton rope. The working method is to hold the bundle in both hands, one hand on top of the other and to push and pull along with the grain of the wood. It is satisfying work, but it is slow. Maybe in the spring I will finish the surface off with an electric sander, but for now I continue to push and pull.

13 November Wednesday

Fergal sent Vinnie to collect the book shipment. The door to my workroom was open while he loaded 27 boxes from the room to his van. When he was finished, I closed the door and went into the house for lunch. Later I took a walk with Breda in the bitterly cold white fog. We wore reflective vests over our jackets. The few cars or tractors passing us all had their head lamps on and they drove slowly. It was 6.30 before I went back up to my room to look for something. The small cat, who I am now calling Ruth, was in there. She started screeching the minute I walked in. Had I not left something behind she would have been in there all night, warm but even hungrier than usual. She knocked a box of nails and a lot of papers onto the floor. As soon as I go outdoors she follows me from building to building and waits patiently outdoors.  Maybe she thinks she is a dog, but dogs do not scream.