Author Archive for M. Toole
The Travelers and the Selkie
He stood among a crowd at Drumahair;
His heart hung all upon a silken dress,
And he had known at last some tenderness,
Before earth took him to her stony care…
From The Man Who Dreamed of Faeryland
by W. B. Yeats
Since before Cuchulain and the raids of Finn McCool the grey sands of Drumcliff Bay had been pounded to fine-grain powder by wizard’s winds off the Dartry Mountains and the indignant surf of the North Atlantic. Relentless beggars in rags, these two and more, had banged against the cottage door all winter in hopes of a vile handout from peat-fired peasants resigned to another morning’s hunger. They’re here again today. He’s here again tonight. She’s gone now.
Away on that far beach, near Sligo town, a myriad of polished pebbles spews flattery onto haughty, highborn driftwood, all dressed up in the lace of sultry seaweed for the sailor’s ball. Enchanted seals, specks of black from the beach, wait for a moment of sunshine. The dance goes on all day, all night, then circles back around for more while freebooting revelers gasp, coming up for a breath of air.
The heavy waves cry out for company, all a constant haze and gaze of the endless luster, the white-eyed sky…only ever blue with a child’s imagination. Laughter wasted on the hardened hide of the planet, a painful monotony to some, and a jousting drama to the rest. Is this the end or only the very beginning of act one?
Looking to the horizon there is no separation from the sea. It all comes together like salty crepe paper hung mindlessly in apprehension of the grandest of social occasions…but some were not invited. They are the tinkers, the gypsies that travel in brightly painted wagons, faery spells and dark, curious behaviors. Music to soothe, poteen to swallow, feet to dance ancient troubles away.
That eerie, earthborn mist seldom blessed by a bashful Irish sun, a reluctant cameo call, as satin spring flows green into summer. Slick, violent ledges drop to the beach. Rocky spired spirits jutting out into the brine. Puddled pockmarks carved into rock, home to eternal sea creatures eaten only in desperation by people deprived of lamb, sausage or pork with their praties.
She used to sit here on the beach and stare for hours into the surf, your mother, but now, son she’s away. The father sadly put his arm around the shoulder of his only child; attempting to say just the right thing, feel the right feel. How could a boy of five even begin to understand what had transpired here. But where has my mother gone? Is she in heaven? Yes, in heaven and away*.
Three weeks ago Maureen had disappeared. She was perched above the beach in her familiar posture staring at something out in the water. She often came to this spot in search of peace in the shadows of her skeletal existence. They were always hungry despite her efforts to collect the treasures of the sea, in treacherous boiling pots, survival on the half-shell. One day she just went mad and, wandering down the canting beach in the direction of Carney, was never seen again, a mirage to the fretful tide.
It is common among the tinkers to run off and not face what is real said the townsfolk. The travelers were not to be trusted. They were thieves and liars…and they had no land of their own. They trusted in leprechauns and selkies. Were they blood gypsies from Romania or orphans of Cromwell’s wars? No one knew and after three centuries what did it matter?
I remember your grandmother talking of Irish orphans sent to the New World, to the Caribbean, to work for the planters. Blue eyes, African skin, and a lilt in the speech…indentured slaves to a heartless empire run by men with vest-splitting bellies and rum-soaked cigars.
Maybe she’s with them in Jamaica asked the child, his eyes drawn to the sea. What do you see out there, my beautiful lad? A lovely seal, father.
Why do they hate us, Da? Are we bad people as they say?
No, son, no worse than any. They hate us because we are free, we are different…because they see us in league with the faeries. They fear our music, our connection to what is beyond their tiny imaginations. They are chained to the land and we are wanderers.
You were too young to remember, but two years ago gypsy caravan stopped at a fine hotel in Ballysadare inquiring as to the lease of a hall for a large wedding uniting two families from Lough Gill. The proprietor would have none of it and ran us off with the aid of several local bullies. They told us never to come back. Where should we go? This is our land, the land of our ancestors. Shall we cross the Irish Sea to Britain? Shall we embrace the devil? Cursed to travel the roads repairing pots and pans, sharpening knives, acting as midwives, spinning reels on the fiddle. But where is our lullaby?
What happened then, Da?
We went back into the forest and held the wedding under the blackthorn trees. It was quite the celebration. It was then that I danced with your mother for the first time. We were safe from harm in the woods. The gommach (fools) would never follow us there. We were under the protection of the pookas and the townspeople were afraid. That night the slooa shee (host faeries) burned the hotel to the ground. Despite the fact that there was not a tinker within sight of Ballysadare we were unjustly blamed. Now even a fool knows there’s a time for dancing and a time for hotel burning.
There is no peace, no right in the life of a Traveler…just months spent going in circles in search of another meal, a place to sleep for the night…and no escape from the sadness at seeing another poor child come into the cold, wet world of their grand and glorious Gaeltacht!
The boy looked like his mother and had the same penchant for salty meditation. He looked to the sea as his father spoke. Look, Da, the seal!
Ever since I was a boy we have been methodically cut off from the rest of Irish society. Farmers with pig shit on their boots, pub owners smelling of stale beer, ladies in second-hand finery look down their noses at the Travelers. The righteous ones run and the unforgiven seek to taste our fruits and drink our poteen, then they go back to their fields, their sod huts, their priests, their churches…
The boy was spellbound, mesmerized by the seal that had now come closer. But why can’t the faeries save us?
They are only powerful below the ground and cannot affect change in those who do not recognize them. They prefer to play with us, to sing with us…to dance the jigs of the deeneeshee (the spirits). They see our fate as temporary and harshly amusing. The magic is only for those who will reach out and grab it, then hold it like there is no tomorrow, no yesterday.
Then the father hung his head. I could not give your mother peace and now she is away.
The boy continued to search to waves resting his eyes on a solitary seal that had landed on a massive rock cropping on the north side of the bay. It looked back at the father and son, lingered for a moment then dove into the surf. The boy continued to stare. Soon the seal emerged again and came even closer, through thickets of kelp and mounds of ancient stone. Then there came a whisper:
It is your wife and mother. I hold peace and now you must join me in my paradise. Do not hesitate. You have only an instant to decide. Come to me. I cannot linger and I cannot bring myself to come back to your sad world. The sea is the matriarch where the deeds of evil men are washed away. No tinkers, no kings. Take on the pelt. As I could walk upon the shore as human, you must come into the sea. Come into the water.
Taking his father’s hand the boy stood up and walked toward the water. Come Da, the tide is rising and my mother awaits us. We are now the children of Fata-Morgana***. Accustomed to the ways of the selkie** and true believers in the faeries, both father and son held on to each other and then waded into the water until they could be seen no more.
– Kevin Haley
A great man in his pride, confronting murderous men
Casts derision upon super session of breath;
He knows death to the bone—Man has created death.
– Yeats
* According to Celtic legend, sudden or unexplained death was seen as only a temporary departure, often brought on by madness. In some cases, the soul would take on another form until it had decided it was prepared to enter the afterlife.
**Selkies are seals that can shed their pelts and walk ashore as humans. They are known seduce desired lovers into the sea.
***goddess of the sea
My Grandma’s Irish Stew
Actually this recipe comes from my great grandmother, Mary O’Brien, who moved to New York from County Tipperary in 1858.
*Fry equal portions of lamb and beef in flour and oil (About one pound of each)
*Add eight medium size potatoes and a dozen carrots.
*Add three stalks of celery, 1/2 an onion and two small cloves of garlic.
*Put ingredients in caste iron cook pot, cover and simmer for twenty minutes.
*Salt and pepper to taste
*Add two fifths of Paddy’s Irish whiskey
*Simmer for 45 minutes. Serve with soda bread and pilsner of Guinness.
If any portion of the above ingredients seems too extreme feel free to cut back on the suggested amounts. For instance: Maybe there are too many carrots for some tastes.
– Kevin Haley
Around and About…
Women wins lottery, gives cash to cats
(Norwood) Murial Armbruster used to live on cans of tuna and tins of condensed milk which she shared with all the stray cats in the neighborhood. Now, days after winning 4.3 million in the Colorado Legal Lottery, she’s loaded and most of the local cats are dining on lobster..
That’s because she spends all of her winnings on the kitties.
“I set up little trust funds for the cats so that they would never have to go without again,” she sighed. “I could have given it to my relatives but they’re all just a bunch of drunks and would waste the money on alcohol and fast cars.”
Armbruster said it made her feel good that the cats still roam the neighborhood, begging food and a place to sleep, just as if nothing had happened.
“The dumb bastards don’t even know they’re rich, she cackled.
The wealthy winner has moved her double-wide to the sunny side of Grand Avenue and has even purchased a small plot of land (loaded with rodents) on Norwood Hill for her charges.
“OK, so I didn’t get so much as a card of thanks from any of them but in their own way they have shown that they are grateful.”
Excelsior Resumes Flights
(Sapinero) Excelsior Airlines, “The Airlines Without Chairs” has resumed a roster of popular domestic flights as of this weekend promising to continue to provide fine upstairs service at bargain basement prices.
Included on the daily flight schedule through St Patrick’s Day are: Nucla to Naturita (10 am and 10 pm), Ophir to Gladstone (12:30), Colona to Paradox (3 pm and 5 pm) and Pea Green to Peach Valley (8 am and 8 pm).
The much publicized Sunday morning champagne flight from Bostwick Park to Cimarron has been temporarily suspended when it became apparent that the last champagne sojourn had been piloted by two six-year-olds who did not possess proper credentials. According to insiders the two managed to see over the control panel by sitting on copies of the San Juan Horseshoe.
“The kids did a great job,” said Answan McDermitt, president of Excelsior. “The real reason we stopped making the trek was that we couldn’t find a source for fresh oysters and the right horseradish.”
DISNEY EYES COMMUNIST THEME PARK IN CUBA
(Havana UPS) Unconfirmed sources within the Disney corporate network have announced plans to pursue the rights to the construction of a Communist Theme Park here in Old Havana. Alluding to the fact that Cuba is the sole heir to the Marxist ideology, Disney wants to document that period in history with frightening roller coaster rides, sub-tropical sweetmeats and tumultuous economic amusements aimed at recording the ongoing social experiment.
Despite the large campaign contributions from Cuban dissidents in Miami, world opinion will dictate changes on the island. Politicians in the Estados will soon be forced terminate the bully approach and make peace with Cuba,” said Mickey Duck, vice president of pasteurized cruise lines for Disney. “and when they do our systems will already be in place, insuring visitors from the north that they can set foot on Cuban soil without really having to deal with any Cubans. Our hermetically sealed vacations are the stuff of which legends are made,” he said. “Dirt is out and the sterility is in.”
At present, however, negotiations are at a standstill. The Cuban government wants portraits of fatigued Fidel Castro and the late Che Guevara displayed all about the park while the Disney people are holding firm on trademarks, Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck. and Goofy (coincidentally the logo of the U.S. Department of Cuban Affairs since Castro came to power). In this clash of ideologies insiders confirm that money will win out over revolution.
The Nortes are so sure of the outcome that they have already sunk millions of dollars in the planning stages. The structure of the proposed park is expected to follow the Disney blueprint with segmented attractions following distinct themes. Most of the rides in the exhilarating, yet squeaky clean, Caribe Village will be built with parts from Fifties era autos that currently line Havana’s streets and back alleys. Attractions like the Joe Stalin Mustache Ride and the Batista Whirl are sure to be favorites.
A dazzling, antiseptic Third World Night life park, offering safe, diluted 3.2 rum drinks and politically incorrect hand-rolled Monte Cristo cigars at inflated prices, will rock until at least dark. Although clean jean Disney stockholders, uncomfortable out of their Puritan comfort zone have began squirming at the thought of vices within the confines of the park, they are expected to bow to lucrative fiscal projections (profits). This sector will be built next to the loud, brightly colored Habanaland, which celebrates the golden age of Cuban music and dance despite the almost forty-year economic embargo.
Sugar Cane Denial Land, chronicles CIA efforts to sabotage desperate Cuban attempts to harvest its major crop in the Sixties. (It was legitimate. The god-less commies were sending sugar to Russia). A proposed haunted house complete with snarling Communist bogeymen is sure to be a hit. The Latin American version of Frontierland will substitute Bay of Pig exiles for warpaint Indians and Russian missiles for coonskin caps according to Disney spokespersons.
Finally, in what is perhaps the most demanding challenge to date, Disney will wade into the surf with Cuban Flotillaland (rhymes with tortillaland) with 24-hour ferries from the island nation to the Florida Keys. This theme will be carried over like a video game only involving real Cuban gunboats, desperate economic refugees and the vigilant U.S. Coastguard.
Virgin charter flights are already being arranged from Canada, Nassau and Mexico.
– Richard “Santiago” Ricardo
DISNEY LOS OJOS COMUNISTA PARQUE TEMÁTICO EN CUBA
(La Habana UPS) fuentes no confirmadas dentro de la red corporativa de Disney han anunciado planes para perseguir a los derechos a la construcción de un parque temático Comunista en La Habana Vieja. En alusión al hecho de que Cuba es el único heredero de la ideología marxista, Disney quiere documentar ese período de la historia con aterradoras paseos en montaña rusa, dulces sub-tropicales y diversiones tumultuosas económicas destinadas a la grabación del experimento social en curso.
A pesar de las grandes contribuciones de campaña de los disidentes cubanos en Miami, la opinión mundial se dictan los cambios en la isla. Los políticos en los ESTADOS pronto se verá obligado por terminado el enfoque matón y hacer la paz con Cuba “, dijo Mickey Pato, vicepresidente de líneas de cruceros de Disney pasteurizados.” Y cuando lo hacen nuestros sistemas ya estará en su lugar, asegurándose de visitantes del norte que puedan poner un pie en suelo cubano sin realmente tener que hacer frente a ningún cubano. Nuestros destinos están sellados herméticamente el material del que están hechas las leyendas “, dijo.” Dirt está fuera y la esterilidad está adentro ”
En la actualidad, sin embargo, las negociaciones están en un punto muerto. El gobierno cubano quiere retratos de fatiga Fidel Castro y el Che Guevara tarde aparece todo sobre el parque, mientras que la gente de Disney se mantiene firme en materia de marcas, Mickey Mouse, el Pato Donald. y Goofy (casualmente el logotipo de los EE.UU. Departamento de Asuntos Cubanos desde que Castro llegó al poder). En este choque de ideologías insiders confirmar que el dinero va a ganar a lo largo de la revolución.
Los Nortes están tan seguros de los resultados que ya se han hundido a millones de dólares en las etapas de planificación. La estructura del parque propuesto se espera que siga el modelo de atracciones Disney segmentados siguientes temas distintos. La mayoría de los paseos en el estimulante, sin embargo, absolutamente limpio, Pueblo Caribe será construido con piezas de autos Fifties época que actualmente callejones línea calles de La Habana y espalda. Lugares de interés como el Paseo del bigote de Joe Stalin y el Whirl Batista están seguros de ser favoritos.
Una deslumbrante, antiséptico Noche Tercer Mundo parque de animales, ofreciendo seguros y diluidas 3,2 bebidas de ron y políticamente incorrectos cigarros enrollados a mano Monte Cristo a precios inflados, harán temblar hasta al menos oscuro. Aunque estaba limpia jean accionistas de Disney, fuera incómodo de su zona de confort puritano han comenzado retorciéndose en el pensamiento de los vicios dentro de los límites del parque, que se espera que inclinarse ante lucrativos proyecciones fiscales (beneficios). Este sector se construirá junto a la Habanaland fuerte, de colores brillantes, que celebra la edad de oro de la música cubana y el baile a pesar del embargo de casi cuarenta años de economía.
Caña de Azúcar Negación Land, crónicas esfuerzos de la CIA para sabotear los intentos desesperados cubanos para cosechar su cultivo importante en los años sesenta. (Era legítimo. Las comunistas sin Dios estaban enviando azúcar a Rusia). Una casa embrujada propuesta completa con gruñidos cocos comunistas es seguro que será un éxito. La versión latinoamericana de Frontierland sustituirá a la Bahía de los exiliados de cerdo para los indios pinturas de guerra y misiles rusos tapas mapache de acuerdo con voceros de Disney.
Por último, en lo que es quizás el reto más exigente hasta la fecha, Disney meterse en las olas con el cubano Flotillaland (rima con tortillaland) con 24 horas de ferries de la isla hasta los Cayos de Florida. Este tema se acumularán como un videojuego para incluir únicamente los verdaderos cañoneros cubanos, desesperados refugiados económicos y el vigilante Guardacostas EE.UU..
Virgin vuelos chárter ya están siendo organizados de Canadá, Nassau y México.
– Richard “Santiago” Ricardo
VIKINGS EXPECTED TO HIT THE BEACHES THIS WEEKEND
with Danny the Druid
If you’re going to the beaches on the Irish Sea and the North Atlantic this weekend be forewarned that hordes of Lothlanders are expected to be in attendance. These Norse revelers will be particularly bothersome at the resorts of Lindisfarne and Inis Murray despite the efforts of local monks who attempted to persuade these heathens to hit spots like Fort Lauderdale and Daytona Beach instead. Last year, in 795, partying drunkards burnt down Culumcille’s Iona and even the remote casinos at Skellig Michael were ransacked by the mobs. Residents of these normally peaceful burgs were roughed up, sometimes becoming prisoners in their own dwellings.
Despite the presence of emergency police units the madness continued. Earlier this season Danes from the northern lands trashed the pristine sands of such peaceful redoubts as Inisfallen, Bangor, Moville and Clonfert. Motorcycle gangs, rumbling with the blessings of Thor and Odin wrecked the boardwalk at Bridgid’s Kildare while driving their hellish mounts through the gardens of Clonmacnois and Patrick’s Armagh.
The Vikings, and sadly some of our own, known as the Irish-Danes, stride into the fray stark naked, red hair flowing, armed with sword and shield like the ancient Gaelic warriors of Caesar’s time. Many are victims of mushroom-induced heroism. Having no respect for authority they litter at will, spit on the street, double park their long ships and even fail to tip their hats in the presence of a lady.
Young women, and yes even young men, should be aware of the flourishing slave trade that may rear its ugly head by Saturday night. Last year blonde, gluttonous Swedes are said to have carried an estimated 3000 Irish children into servitude in the Great North. Looting, a popular form of entertainment in the early 9th Century is impossible to curtail as authorities can only sit back and watch as everything from ancient bronze chalices to the Book of Kells itself is carried off to the great halls of someone else’s Valhalla. One Kildare officer reported that the priceless Book of Durrow was used to start a bonfire at the main intersection of downtown Glendalough. These days Christians don’t burn books. Only barbarians do that.
It is hoped that by Monday things will return to normal as these demons from Scandinavia return home to their families and jobs, but what of next summer? What of next weekend?
That young punk William the Conqueror seems busy enough subjugating Saxon Britain but several of his junior officers have announced a rock festival, scheduled for the old Viking capital at Dublin for mid-October. Elizabethan carpetbaggers, at the urging of colonial interests plan a lumberjack festival in our virgin forests some time this fall. It has to stop if we intend to survive.
Although anarchy reigns on the coast there is some safety inland since the Norsemen do not seem interested in sacking that region. Unfortunately that safety will probably be short-lived, as developers, headed by the devil incarnate, Oliver Cromwell, plan a massive Victorian community east of the River Shannon. If we succeed in surviving this onslaught the Viking migrations will seem peaceful by comparison.
