Visiting the nuns; out of habit

"Get thee to a nunnery!"

Well, I did it. I spent a whole Friday evening in a convent and not one bolt of lightening struck the building. I know what you are thinking, "that Malinda is really living life on the edge over there in Ireland... wild Friday nights with the nuns." Yes, move over Britney, we are spinning way out of control here.

Manus' mother is great friends with Sister Teresa Landy, a nun in Callan (town in Kilkenny) and she had us out for a fabulous four-course dinner. Not only is Sr. Teresa a nun, she is also quite a gourmand*. (I mean that in the good way).


I don't know if it's because I am not Catholic or maybe they do things differently here in Ireland, but there are a lot of things about nuns that I didn't know...

• Did you know that nuns don't have to wear the habits if they don't want to?


• Did you know that nuns drink? And not just holy water. I'm not naming names, but I have met some nuns here that could drink me under the table.


• Did you know that nuns go to college?


• Did you know they can't have a car 'cause of their vow of poverty?


• Did you know that in Ireland you don't even say grace before a meal? - not even in God's house.

I know it sounds sacrilegious, but a convent is so much like a sorority house. The "AlphaOmega House", if you will. Can you imagine living in a house full of women? I don't care if you are on direct speaking terms with God, he cant help you to like everyone... there has to be some passive aggressive back stabbing going on in there.

Can you imagine if they all, eh, 'cycle' together? You don't want to piss off a PMSing nun. Talk about eternal damnation! Are there cliques in the convent? Are there the cool nuns and the nuns no one wants to hang out with? While we were there I saw a nun eating all by herself. Is that because she doesn't have any friends? If someone asks her how many friends she has, will she answer "Nun." ? (!!!!!)

In the evening sometimes Sr. Teresa will invite some of the gals into her room to watch tv. Do they get cable? Is it a rule that they avert their eyes when there is a sex scene? If they peek, god will surely know. Do they discuss who should be voted off Big Brother or who should win American Idol?

There is so much that I don't know, but from what I do know of what Sr. Teresa does each day, I think if I could be a nun as a day job, it would be great. She went to college to learn cookery and home economics, so that is why she cooks like a 5 star chef. She teaches home-ec to the girls at the school, is a career counsellor, visits the elderly at the old folks home (will even take some of their clothes to mend a tear or darn a sock for them), does charity work and Sr. Teresa is an international tour guide. She goes on about 5-6 trips a year all over the world. My MIL goes on one each summer. Off hand, I wouldn't think a trip with a bunch of nuns would be all that much fun, but these are not your run-of-the-mill, Sound of Music nuns. She has the perfect job. Aside of course from the chastity, poverty and obedience things...

Mary's husband Tom says that nuns, on average, live longer than married women. He thinks its because they don;t have the stress of children. Silly man. You know as well as I its because they don't have the stress of HUSBANDS.

Yesterday the sun was shining. I had forgotten what it looked like. So to celebrate we went to the park for a picnic brunch. As luck would have it it was the first day of Heritage Week and there was a day of activities planned.
With over 1000 events taking place around the country during Heritage Week, individuals and families across Ireland have the opportunity to get outdoors and experience their local heritage.
We heard the Kilkenny pipe band and marching band. There was a medieval jester and military display, basket making, stone carving, paper working and farmer's market. (could you tell I was reading off the brochure?)
Again we find ourselves watching the backs of the musicians. I am sensing a trend. (see Hoban monument post)
Two men fighting for my affections. Not actually a part of the festival.

Oh! You slay me!!!"

*Usage Note: A gourmet is a person with discriminating taste in food and wine, as is a gourmand. Because gourmand can also mean "one who enjoys food in great quantities" or even "a gluttonous eater," care should be taken to make clear its intended sense. An epicure is much the same as a gourmet, but the word may sometimes carry overtones of excessive refinement. This use of epicure is a misrepresentation of Epicurean philosophy, which, while it professed that pleasure was the highest good, was hardly given to excessive concern with food and drink.

London Broil...a second serving

Hopefully Blogspot will cooperate today.

Now, where were we? Ah yes... Saturday's baptismal celebration

Esme gets dunked by the Vicar. (And don't say Vicar like it rhymes with wicker, you 'mericuns. Say it properly (or propa-lee), like the English, with great multitudes of pompousness and self-righteousness, thus rhyming it with "Flicka") Thank you, thank you Henry 8 for such fun words.
What is it about a baby in a photo that makes it impossible to get anyone to look at the camera?

Family Photo

(l-r) Godmother/Aunt Orla, brother Robert holding baby Esme, Granddad/Godfather Neville, Super Simon the Rockin' Pops and the Mum Clo*

*Please note: as I have been threatened with the punishment of death by mutilation if I post any pictures of Manus' cousin Clodagh, the mother of Esme, the role of Clodagh will be played by Penelope-Anne Abernathy, local Clodagh look-alike and impersonator, for the purposes of this blog.

Jake and Jesus sitting in the church.

Now Jake is Orla's son making him Esme's cousin, but given the age difference and the roles that will undoubtedly be played, Jake wishes to be referred to as "Uncle Jake". This is not to be confused with the West Virginian phenomenon whereas your cousin is called "Daddy". Jesus is Clodagh's brother Neville. Now this makes him Esme's uncle, but we call him "Our Father".

Pics from the Party

Katie played with her new friend Poppy.

William and his daddy played with the ceramic toadstool. Later this would be the spot of the infamous dead mouse show-and-tell. Thank god there was an adult there, Malinda, or one of the young innocent children might have picked up the rabid rodent. Oh wait... they did.
Penelope-Anne Abernathy, when playing 'Clodagh' insists on character accuracy, right down to the twisted knee and hospital-issue crutches.

The day was great, not a drop of rain. Lots of food, booze, stories and laughter. The children, when not investigating nature's cycle of life or Wii's endless offerings of virtual fun, were getting their asses kicked by me in the jumbo-sized Connect Four game. good times... good times.

Sunday was pretty much more the same... Steam, Jim Beam and Ice Cream. Or that was the party I attended in Alabama. In Essex it was more like heat, cold meat and bare feet.

But Sunday will have to wait until Thursday as the Princess is calling for her tea.

Livin' Large with Laura: Ireland is an Onion

Is that a metaphor? I think so because a simile uses "like" or "as" and I always thought that was very juvenile and basic and I am a sophisticated metaphor type. I use it as an ode to Laura, an English teacher and my Travel-Back-through-Irish-history companion.

We took a few tours around town while Laura was here and learned a good bit of Irish history along the way. Some is remembered, some is not. What blows your mind is how old Ireland is and how many layers of history are built one on top of the other. And history is all around you. Driving around the country, look in any field and you stand a good chance of seeing a ruin (remember, pronounce it rooooooooon in your head) of someone's mansion or farmhouse.

Even Manus' parent's house, as I've told you before was the farm manager's house and stables for Desart Court, the manor house that was built in 1773 and burned down by the IRA in 1923. Man! That is old! ... Oh, really?

On the drive out of Kilkenny County, on your way to Dublin is a house that I would someday like to call my own. But, officially it is called "Shankill Castle" It was built in 1708 though I think a lot of what you see now was added in the mid 1800s. I just found out that you can tour the castle and its gardens so I intend to do just that. Someone actually lives there now, an artist named Elizabeth Cope and if she ever reads this I would like to a) ask her if I can have it and b) would she PLEASE take down the big YELLOW "Cope Art" signs that are on the outside walls? But, man! That house is old!..... oh, really?


Right in the heart of downtown kilkenny (using the term 'downtown' quite loosely) is the Rothe House. This house has been restored "to it's original splendor" (I love it when they say that) and we were able to take a tour through the house. It was built by a wealthy merchant (Mr. Rothe) and he and his wife were extremely prolific. In the bedroom. They had 12 kids and so he just kept building houses one behind the other. 3 in total and their very own water well in the second courtyard. Interesting tour and cool to see how people lived back then. It was built in 1594. Man! That is old!

Oh, really....

Kilkenny has it's own bit of witchcraft lore as well. Once upon a time a woman named Dame Alice Kyteler was tried and found guilty of witchcraft after 4 of her rich husbands mysteriously died. Obviously they didn't know how to treat a lady and their's should be a lesson for many a man today. right, MTW? Long story short, she escaped punishment but her housemaid Petronella paid the price, burned at the stake in front of the city hall (which still stands) and her home (which still stands) is now Kyteler's Inn, a pub and restaurant right in the center of town. You can't see the date on the sign but it is 1324.... Man! That is old!.... (you are starting to catch on now!)

Ireland, including Kilkenny and its surrounds has a very long and very rich religious history. Fortunately for us, many of the churches and monastic settlements still stand. Some still hold religious services. I went to more masses and spent more time in God's houses in these last few weeks than I have in the whole of my life prior to Laura's visit. 3 hours in just one day in Dublin. I now know that I can hold my breath for exactly 46 seconds. A priest will say the words "Heavenly Father" an average of 4 times in 10 minutes and Laura gives dirty looks when I use the conversion function on my cell phone to find out how many feet are in 2.71 yards during the Nicene Creed. Below are a few of the churches we visited:


Forgive the photo formatting, as always... Left to Right: The Black Abbey, Kilkenny est. 1225, Christchurch, Dublin est. 1171, St. Canice's Cathedral, Kilkenny est. 1202 (note the round tower to the right of the church. We went up to the top for a look around - yes, even Lar) and the last one is St. Patrick's Church in Dublin, est 1191.

Now, I know what you are thinking... Man! Are those churches old! Yes, they are, but we are not yet even close to the center layer of this historical onion.



We went to Jerpoint Abbey, outside of Thomastown in Co. Kilkenny. We got a private tour with Claudia (private cause we were the only ones there, not cause we are special).
This abbey was established in 1158 and was in use by the Cistercian Monks for almost 400 years.

I don't know if you can see the map of the abbey at all, but the picture on the left is where the big red X is on the map. And on the map, there is a room on the right side called the "calefactory" and these monks were such fundamentalists that that room, the calefactory was the only room in the abbey where they were allowed to light a fire for warmth in the winter. They were only allowed to enter that room to warm themselves for 10 minutes at a time, and only 6 times per day. They'd better have the best seat in heaven for all their penitence.

Glendalough is another monastic settlement that will make Jerpoint look downright modern. It was founded in the 6th century by St. Kevin. Some of the structures still remain, though I don't know how much is truly 'original' as the monastery was used for almost 700 years, until 1214 when the Normans invaded and destroyed the site. (bloody french!) I didn't take any pictures of Glendalough the day we visited as I'd been there before and very little had changed in the last few years (shocking, I know), but I did snap this photo of the cemetery that is intertwined with the ruins. The oldest headstone that I could still read was from 1763. But not to shabby a place for your eternal rest, is it?
Now, you are saying to yourself, "Self! That Glendalough sure is OLD! There can't be anything older than THAT in Ireland!" Okay, you're right. Unless you count something from 4000 B.C. older... And I do.




Think - stonehenge....it's a contemporary to these dolmen portal tombs that dot the Irish landscape. They are over 60oo years old and they are just sitting there in some farmer's fields. They are huge and imposing and just amazing.

And Man! Are they OLD!

Blogger Slammed After Promises Fall Short. story at Eleven.

Okay, I know that I promised a big return to blogging today.

But. Its. Not. Going. To. Happen.

I will offer a couple of pretty good excuses though.

Manus' aunt Mary Babe Walsh died on Saturday morning. It was an expected death, she died peacefully in the local hospice and her illness was very brief in contrast to her long and healthy life (87 years old). I had met Mary on a few occasions and perhaps my family will note that they too met her at the shindig that was held in Bollard's during their visit in the summer of '06. Mary was a beautiful soul and for a such a small and frail looking woman had a warm and hearty hug for myself and Katie whenever we saw her.

It would be wrong to allow the impression that I cannot blog due to mourning or my sitting shiva or anything. However, we had a funeral mass and burial today and I sacrificed my blogging time to be in attendance there.

Furthermore, I believe it would be in bad taste to announce a death in the family, hit the return key a few times, start a new paragraph and then launch into the fart jokes and stanzas of the now internationally renowned "Button Mushroom" song that have dominated the last two weeks of my life. I do promise after an appropriate time has passed however, tales will be recounted and the shock and horror will cause you to run from the computer monitor, hands to your head in disgust, shouting "My Eyes! My Eyes!"

I am also so overwhelmed by they list of chores that need to be done now that I am back from vacation, among them getting some diapers as Katie currently has on the last clean one. If this one gets wet, I'll be forced to go MacGyver on a maxi pad and some paper clips.

Laundry, grocery shopping, vacuum, sweep the kitchen, make dinner, put away clothes, tidy all the crap that has accumulated on every horizontal surface over the last two weeks... it is very overwhelming. I think Ill take a quick nap just so I am fresh to get it all done.

Here's to Mary Babe and George Carlin. May they rest in peace.

mein fehler. mon erreur. mea culpa.

Oops. I am just so red in the face. I've been so excited all weekend because today is June's Skank Holiday Monday. I've had my feet up, just sitting around eating bon-bons. So imagine my embarrassment when while listening to the radio, I heard today is June Bank Holiday Monday. Oops is right! I thought, well, I'm not a bank! What am I doing just lounging around? So pardon me for the lateness of today's entry as I was caught a little bit off guard.

Just a little recap of the weekend's events for those of you who are interested in something like that. I've realized that reading other people's blogs is really good for the voyeur in me. It's a socially acceptable way of peeking into the private lives of others. Sadly, my private life is somewhat dull and this weekend was completely G rated. Wait.. come to think of it... Friday night might have been just a bit PG-13. But honey, NOTHING like my friend Cedar and the stories that she has to tell. In the retelling of her outrageous, provocative, never-to-disappoint lifestyle I have found myself blushing, shivering, quivering, and even regurgitating a bit of my lunch whilst reading her blog.

How do I get so off target sometimes? Our weekend:

Friday night...can't remember. I think that was the night that I did a really bad impression of chicken divan and we had to rinse the taste out of our mouths with a second bottle of wine. Fast forward to Saturday, we went out to Desart to meet Brian and Bronwyn and paint the wall surrounding the in-law's yard. It really wasn't as much fun as you are probably thinking. But, with three of us working and Katie (and Bronwyn) getting covered in mud, we were done quickly. At one point I looked to my left and 14 bullocks (male castrated cows) were standing in the field staring at me. Then I looked to my right and there was another bovine eunuch convention in that field. They say that cattle are dumb animals but holy cow (ahem...) They really are. And if one moves toward you, they all follow and they stand there staring with drool and snot mixing and running off their chins and the bottom half of them is caked with mud and dung and then you hear a sudden gush and you see that one of them is peeing with amazing force and there's invariably another one lapping it up midstream. When they compare a downpour of rain with 'a cow pissing on a flat rock', they know of what they speak!. But you get this crowd of cattle heads just staring at you and I swear you can see the little cartoon bubble over their heads saying "duhhh" but I always think of them as my little congregation and that I should preach to them. Im not trying to be sacrilegeous or anything, but ask Manus, I invariably lift my arms up and say, "Listen now my flock, for I bear bad tidings of your future!"

I think I have blogging ADHD..

Saturday. Anyway, left the farm, got cleaned up and met Manus' cousin Mary, husband Tom, son Oisin and sister-in-law Olive for lunch. Time out for mom-brag moment. We were in the middle of a crowded bar/restaurant and Oisin, being a completely typical 1.5 year old boy was running around trying to put banana peels into stranger's open purses and Tom and Mary had to take turns running after him and my darling Katie was as calm and content as, well, something really calm and content sitting on my lap eating puffs. Girls rule! But the fun conversation we had over lunch was our names. See, Mary Walsh married Tom Marry. So even beyond the wedding announcement tongue twister of Mary married Marry (if only it'd been on a monday in may) she is now Mary Marry. I think fondly of Paula Paula and Steve Stevens. But Olive says, well, imagine growing up with Marry for a last name and all the really uncreative jokes that come with it and I was able to say, oh yeah, like having the last name "Frum" for instance.?.. Then Olive says one day she and her friends were laughing about G. Paltrow naming her daughter 'Apple' and mid-laughter the friends turned to her and said, "uh, what are you laughing about?"

Man, this post is getting long, and I really only started it to put off studying for my driver's test that I have tomorrow (we're destined for a good story there).

Saturday night Orla and Neville babysat Katie (thanks guys!!) while we went to two comedy shows put on as a part of the internationally renowned annual "Cat Laughs" Comedy festival. The first show was a stand-up named Josie Long, she is English and she didn't sell tickets for her show, you had to go online and answer some questions and she picked out the people she wanted in her audience. I think of Groucho Marx in a situation like this as he quipped, "I refuse to join a club that would have me as a member." Because as I was filling out the questionnaire a few weeks ago, I was thinking "Man, this would be so cool if she picked me, but I'm sure she wont out of all the entries...oh well..." But then, the other day when I got the congratulatory email I thought, "Man, this show is probably really going to suck. She probably isn't funny. I guess I was the only one who filled out the form so she had to pick me." But we went anyway, it was a full house, and she was really funny and used our answers in her routine so we were included. On the questionnaire she'd asked what was the best anagram our name would make (I think this was the reason she picked me) so before the show, she passed out name tags; one had the submitter's name on it (Malinda Walsh) and the other, the anagram for our guest to wear (Mild Anal Wash). Manus was less than impressed.

The second show of the night was an Improv show (Like the tv show "Who's Line is it Anyway?") and I laughed until I cried. Man those guys were good! It brought me back to the Gainesville days, going on Thursday nights to the Purple Porpoise to watch Joe Tex and ACII perform. They were really great too. I think some of those guys are still doing it too, in different cities around the states, so if you ever get a chance to see a comedy improv show, DO IT!

Sunday: Up early, walk around town looking for breakfast. Ordered pancakes, got crepes. "things are different here". Went to mass with Manus (again received a "that is the best baby!" comment on our way out!!). Home, family nap, watched sports on TV, got KFC to appease Manus' fried chicken craving. No mac n' cheese - can you believe it? What is the point of going there then? ("T.A.D.H.")

Okay, that's it. Better get back to learning what side of the road to drive on. Wish me luck for tomorrow.