|
|
Caoimhe?
I thought it time to update everyone on life in Ireland. We’ve been keeping busy with work, school, soccer, and a bit of sightseeing. Dot is getting larger all the time, and the baby, who was supposed to settle down a few weeks ago as womb space became tight, is still kicking up a storm. She even wakes me up sometimes, when my arm is across Dot’s belly.
The River Liffey, Dublin We are still working on baby names, but are in a bit of a dilemma. Given that the baby is to be born in Dublin, an Irish name seems appropriate. There are several common Irish names we like. At this point, everything seems straightforward. However, whilst the Irish have no problem with these names, to an American the correlation between spelling and pronunciation is weak at best. The use of consonants and vowels seem especially tricky, and “h” acts in a way unbeknownst to the non-Gaelic world. Dot is worried that family members will think us a bit weird if we saddle her with one of these puppies. I say that family members already think us a lot weird, there is nothing that can be done now or in the future on that point, so all we need to do is soften them up a bit about the name. So here, in randomized order, are names that are on at least one of our shortlists, with their pronunciation in parenthesis, and all (but one) among the 100 most common names for girls in Ireland: Maebhdh (Maeve, #77)Siobhan (Shivawn, #100) Niamh (Neeve, #11) Saoirse (Sorsha, #36) Caoimhe (Keeva, #12) Aoife (Eefa, #3) Ailbe (Allbay, not actually in the top 100) Whilst this is by no means a democratic process, we welcome votes and will even tolerate comments. More baby names can be seen at www.babynamesofireland.com, which also has their pronunciations. We do ask the peanut gallery (you know who you are) to remember that she will likely be given one of these names, and disrespectful comments will be shown to her just before Christmas... Lindy is still enjoying school and soccer. She committed her first penalty, a clear trip just before a boy on the other team was going to shoot. He went down like he was shot, and Dot and I were filled with pride. Of course, he popped back up after the call, showing that he has been watching the top-flight players a bit too closely. Lindy is making more friends at school and can even understand what they say most of the time. I recently met a few more school parents when I attended a fundraiser. I’m not one to normally attend fundraisers, but this one revolved around trivia and beer, a hard-to-resist combination. At pub quizzes, you buy a table for four, proceeds to the charity, and then you work through many rounds of questions – ten rounds of six questions is common – all the while drinking tea, mineral water, or some other favorite beverage. Whilst I was terribly useless when it came to anything involving Ireland or the UK, I was the only person who knew that the bachelor U.S. president was James Buchanan. Our table came in second by one point; all men, our table did not know which anniversary was the “wooden” one, but who could really blame us? Mightn’t you know, Lindy knew the answer.
Lindy playing soccer For Dot’s birthday weekend we rented a car and drove across the country to county Galway. On the way we stopped at an ancient Christian site called Clonmacnois. Saint Ciaran founded Clonmacnois in the sixth century at the crossroads of the River Shannon and a major path of the day. In addition to the religious components, a large artisan community developed, and the area was important until the thirteenth century, when it was sacked one time too many. Saint Ciaran, who died quite promptly from the plague after building the first wooden alter, was well known for his Dun Cow. The Dun Cow, we were told, produced enough milk to feed the whole monastery while Ciaran was a student. Also, after the legendary cow passed on, they made a rug of her. This cow, in addition to her amazing milk-producing capabilities, was so special that anyone who died while sleeping on her skin was guaranteed not to go to hell. We know all of this because the oldest book in the Irish language is, “The Legend of the Dun Cow.” After consulting with a few parents at the pub quiz, I discovered this is not widely known information, and I am sure they are all glad I shared it with them. From Clonmacnois we drove on to the university city of Galway, where we walked around a bit and ate a very late lunch. We chose a restaurant based on a recommendation from a guidebook. Our waitress/hostess took care of us while speaking to a friend on her cell phone. The food, however, was reasonably good. Nonetheless, and no disrespect to Galway, we were pleased to move on to Clifden. The drive from Galway to Clifden was lovely, wind-blown and spartan. I imagine the highlands of Scotland to be like this. Clifden is a pretty village at the base of the Twelve Bens, a range of pretty mountains, or, at least, large hills, that had the good grace to locate themselves right next to the ocean. After a night in a very nice B & B, and a good pub dinner (smoked salmon Caesar salad for Dot, spinach tortellini in a cream sauce for Lindy, and a goat cheese salad for me), we were ready to get a nice, early start exploring the area in the morning. That plan was slightly delayed by a tremendous breakfast that lasted an hour and a half, but we weren’t complaining. Our plan was to climb to the top of a mountain, primarily so that Dot could say she climbed to the top of a mountain while eight months pregnant, thus trumping my mom, who only made it to Lake Katherine while pregnant with me. To be fair, Lake Katherine, at a bit over 12,000 feet, is a bit more than 11,000 feet higher than the mountain we proposed climbing. Still, one is a lake, the other a mountain, and Dot was going to bag that peak. All we had to do was drive from Clifden across the heath and through a few dozen sheep on the road to Roundstone, where our hike would begin. The best-laid plans sometimes go astray. In our case, the culprit was a white sand beach, which turned out to be connected to another white sand beach on the opposite side of a spit. So, instead of a grueling day peak bagging, we went beachcombing instead. Two perfect beaches, a rocky spit beyond, five other people, two dogs, and us. Between breakfast and beachcombing, most of the day was behind, and an abbreviated itinerary was in order. After beachcombing, we drove north to Connemara National Park for a shortened high country walk. We only had forty minutes, so we weren’t able to see as much as we would have liked, but what we did see was quite nice, and I would enjoy going back. From there we went to Kylemore Abbey, one of the most photographed locations in Ireland. Kylemore Abbey is set on the shore of a lake surrounded by mountains, and looks very peaceful from all of the photographs. However, the photographs don’t show the huge, asphalt parking lot or the admission turnstiles. I am quite pleased we only had time for a few pictures before we had to move on. We continued north through mountains and along the coast to Westport, just as daylight faded. Dot’s birthday dinner was a fine affair at an Italian restaurant, with good seafood and pasta, and was a fitting end to a lovely weekend. Of course, it was half eight (also known as eight-thirty) when we finished and we were on the wrong side of the country, but ‘tis a small country, and we were home in a mere moment.
Croagh Patrick, a sacred mountain near Westport
A pebbled beach near Westport |
