Christmas Future

Ninth in a series.......

A Series of Short Stories

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

How calm and peaceful it is as I sit here in my daughter's den in Michigan.  From my vantage point, snuggled warmly in an oversized crimson colored chair, I feel a bit like Santa himself looking out the mullioned front window to the sparkling snow-covered lawn and contemplating the enormous task ahead......

It's early Christmas Eve morning.  The sun has recently begun to make its presence known as it faithfully attempts to break through a deep cloud cover.....giving promise to enjoying a white Christmas Day tomorrow.  Two precious children calmly lie asleep above me while three others will make their way here to join us later this morning.  Right now I'm taking advantage of the early hour and peace and quiet that comes with it in order to write.

Everyone has finally arrived!  The evening takes me back to Christmas Eve Past when my own daughters excitedly played with their cousins anxiously awaiting the arrival of the 'Big Jolly Man' himself.  There were so many presents to open and so much Love spread among Grandparents, Parents and many Grandchildren.  So long ago now......

Tonight I am one of the Grandparents!  Yet, I can still recall being a Grandchild without a care in the world.  Time is truly such a fleeting thing.  Squeeze your eyes shut as tight as you can and when you open them again, the little ones have become the children of your children's.  The slinky that you opened as a favorite toy has drifted away and has been replaced by a new I-Pad opened by your oldest Grandchild.  

Christmas Eve dinner has been thoroughly enjoyed and opened presents are scattered across the floor in possessive patterns while clean-up crews of adults work their magic in every room that's been touched by the evening's festivities.  Our youngest daughter begins gathering three pajama-clad munchkins, bags of gifts, leftovers and diaper bags while our son-in-law begins to carry all-of-the-above out to the pre-warmed SUV in the driveway.  Tomorrow morning they will be off to visit the other set of Grandparents at their house where more food, treats and presents will be eaten, devoured and opened.....much to everyone's delight.  I will miss them tomorrow, sweet Lydia and the twins.

This morning, Christmas morning, has been blessed with feather-like snowflakes dancing around outside like tiny ballerinas drifting down from the clouds.  I have made my way downstairs a bit early so I can prepare and place the breakfast quiche into the hot oven to bake.  I am hoping the delicate aroma will entice everyone downstairs soon....as if the prospect of Santa's goodies aren't enticement enough. 

Gavin loves trains and Brenna dislikes having to open fancy wrapped boxes filled with socks.  It seems socks have become the modern day 'lump of coal' for girls her age.  Truthfully, they were for me, as well.  Papa holds open the giant plastic bag where rainbow colored fragments of wrapping paper and yards of curled ribbon come to rest after their short-lived stint of protecting the recipients of holiday gifts from the knowledge of what was inside each box for them...... until just the right time.  

Uniform wedges of golden brown quiche and sweet pineapple bake with fresh juice on the side have become a part of history already.  Delicious!  Snowflakes have stopped their early morning dance.  Although, still quite beautiful by itself, the decorated tree appears a bit naked devoid of the shiny gifts that initially gathered beneath it.  All is quiet, if not much more solemn now that the children have retreated to their rooms to take much needed naps.  I've decided to make time for a rejuvenating mug of hot Green Tea and, actually, find myself right back where this journey began yesterday.

Sitting here with my legs swung over one cushy arm of the very same crimson colored chair, spirals of fruity steam curling upwards from my tea mug, I take a short break from the imaginary world within the latest book I am reading.  I rest the paperback edition on my lap and contemplate the long drive back down to Orlando on Saturday and can almost feel the warmth of the Floridian sun upon my skin already.  Yes, it is a comforting, healthy feeling.....

Even though my husband's job keeps us in Florida, for the time being, I know where my heart lies.  And, if the snow piles up to the window ledges or the north wind blows its bitter cold, frosty sting right into my face....those five little souls that continue to charm me with each breath they take will always draw me into their lives and enrich mine within a sea of contentment.  

I don't have an exact timeline in mind; many circumstances are beyond my control.  But, I do know the direction my path will take me, eventually.  For now, I sink back into my paperback novel, sip my comforting tea and wait........

Everything Matters

Eighth in a series.....

Hooker.....Traditional Wooden Sailing Boat

A series of short stories

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes



Everything Matters....the philosophy of one highly successful CEO, as well as Oprah Winfrey and many other "Super Charged" individuals who have made their way up the ranks of "the unknown" to become "outstanding in their field" and beyond!!

Simply because I know that Everything Matters, is precisely my dilemma as I sit here writing to you today! So many year-end ideas scattered throughout my brain pulling me this way and that.  Even the mere thought that yet another year will be a memory or last year's chapters will soon be cross-referenced by private journals, pictorial histories and, yes, published blogs, proves how unprepared I really am to enter yet another shift-in-time......a new year!

I am amazed when I realize that 2013 will soon slip into 2014 and I have yet to take advantage of everything that matters to me right here, right now.  I am comfortable within this 2013 persona I have created for myself and fear (being the operative word) what I expect from 'me' in 2014........and, my expectations run high. 

Fragments of sentences, individual letters, digital pictures, beautiful faces, emotions.....flying pigs?......All captured above my head within a fluffy cartoon cloud of conversation and personal thoughts.  Brilliant! 

But, but, but, I have yet to write about this, that and the other thing and this year's time is sifting seamlessly through the hour glass (okay, year glass) and, don't you know how Everything Matters so much to me?  I haven't described the sheer natural beauty of Lough Corrib with its polka-dot design of tiny islands that resemble Hershey's Kisses in the soft light of an Irish dusk.  Not a mention yet of the Spanish stone arches, traditional wooden sailing boats called Hookers, Village of Claddagh (yes, associated with the famous ring) or the fascinating people we met who call the once walled-city of Galway their home today.  Have I described for you the significance of discovering a ruined structure, an abandoned Church of Ireland, during our visit to Cong?  Oh, now that's a story!  I cannot forget the tears running down our faces as the gentle breezes off Lough Mask felt like Spirits caressing our bodies while begging us to listen to their sorrowful stories....  Wow!  Seriously, chills just ran down my back remembering this experience!!

Even though the myriad of presents are getting wrapped, cookies are being baked and decorated with Love, clothes washed and folded to fit neatly into suitcases and the trusty KIA is gassed-up and waiting patiently for this barrage of domestic and Holiday items to consume it.....life remains a bit fragmented and unsettling to me.  Why?  We go through the motions without fully understanding why or what the outcome might be.

Actually, sitting here writing all of this down is proving to be a cathartic release, much like crying my way through the end of this year; I am grateful for this because the emotions are running higher than the International Space Station orbiting above us!  Thinking about it now, I come up with three contributing factors to my emotionally charged state of being.  Number one, it is Christmastime; that time of year when being together with Family, decorating the tree, creating delicious food and the wholesome act of simply 'giving,' all play a huge part in our lives.  We're concerned whether there's enough time to fit everything we want to do within the space we've allotted to it in order to achieve our objectives.  Secondly, my goals, as I alluded to above, have become much more specific and real.  I expect a lot from myself in 2014!  Pressure....  Lastly, over and above my personal expectations, I know that Everything Matters.   More Pressure.

Ironically, I believe it is precisely because Everything Matters that I will get through these final days of this year and bump along into 2014.  The dreamer, perfectionist and mental creator.....the three people I live with on a daily basis.....plan on sticking around for quite some time.  I promise to pay attention to all the details that comprise my life including family, friends and the exquisite passion that has served as guide to my soul for all these years......writing! 

Well, now that I have come full-circle in just a matter of a few, short paragraphs, I think I will be okay.  If we take our fear and turn it into positive emotion that is always working for us, we can achieve it all.  The trip up to Michigan to be with Family for Christmas will become a blessed memory, cherished forever.  It will be next year, but those stories about Galway will be written.  My novel is definitely progressing. And, everything will be accomplished with Love, attention to detail and the knowledge that to have it all, you must remember that Everything (Everyone) Matters along the way....

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to All.....!

An Island Christmas?

 Seventh in a series......

Christmas Lights and Celebration

A Series of Short Stories

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


If a formal Bucket List existed for me, spending the Christmas Holidays in Ireland once in my lifetime would rank astronomically high on that list! Certainly one of the greatest challenges of my life has always been wishing to be someplace other than where I am at the moment.

It definitely isn't that being wherever I am makes me unhappy......it's just that I've been, more or less, a 'packed suitcase and ready-to-go' type of person forever! I remember packing for four when the girls were young and calculating how many trips we had taken within a twelve month period. Whether it was a warm, week-long stay on Sanibel Island, Florida, during the winter or a balcony enhanced room at The Iroquois Hotel on Mackinac Island in the summer, I made certain we were packed and ready-to-go and never allowed any dust to settle on anyone's suitcase.

Many of our trips consisted of weekend visits to be with our two sets of parents who lived in Three Rivers, Michigan, and was an hour and a half drive away from our front door. Of course, this was always a 'slippery slope' for us considering we were sharing their two granddaughters, as well as time, between the two sets of grandparents. But, we always seemed to manage and adjust, as everyone must, eventually! Even the Thanksgiving and Christmas Holidays were strategically planned-out with maximum give-and-take provided by all parties involved. We always envied most of our siblings for marrying "out-of-towners" and making Grandparental Time-Sharing a bit less hectic.

Our unintentional fondness towards "island hopping" began with a honeymoon in Aruba so many years ago. Aruba was a Dutch owned island at the time, yet to be discovered by tourists back when we landed on its sandy shores. Its surreal beauty and tendency to be wild and natural, for the most part, adhered us to the island lifestyle. We celebrated our sun-drenched freedom with long walks along the beach, dodging the surf. Once, a local, asked me if I would like to ride his saddled horse along the beach at sunset.....no strings attached! Really? What an unforgettable experience as the sun began to majestically slide into the Caribbean Sea and the horse and I pranced along in sweet rhythm. Then, my husband decided to play golf with another couple we had met who were newly-weds, as well. I can still recall the warning given to all of us at the clubhouse before navigating the sandy, totally devoid of grass, nine hole course: "Never enter the rough (scrub brush) to retrieve your ball because you might meet a rattle snake face-to-face. Play another ball!"

                                                          A Friendly Game of Petanque

We've been spirited away by the island gods for so long now that it fails to amaze me when we slide into our natural tendency to choose yet another island adventure. So many islands; so little time! (As an avid reader, I often use this phraseology with regard to books). Several years ago we had the French island of St. Martin on our radar and knew it would be a perfect scenario for us to be able to enjoy the French lifestyle and language closer to home. And, we did! Mere steps from our hotel door, we entered our small, French village for the week and watched the local men playing pétanque, the Provençal lawn bowling game, right in the town square. Tourists mingled with the locals as, together, we ate the fresh catch from the sea, shopped at the marketplace and observed the French children at play.

Several other islands I have 'scoped-out' for future observation include the British Isle of Guernsey located in the English Channel just off the northern coast of France, Majorca, an island located in the Mediterranean Sea and near the coast of Spain, as well as Les Îles-de-la-Madeleine in the Gulf of Saint Lawrence and the Canadian Province of Quebec.

Believe it or not......all of this leads me back to Ireland and the desire to see this 'magical jewel' sparkle at its best during the Christmas Season like a dark green, velvet cloak sprinkled with crystal snowflakes and dazzling colored lights! This Season is a very special time of the year anywhere you might be, especially when you are with those you love and hold dear.

 

 

That's exactly where you will find us this year....contentedly snuggled in front of a crackling fire with five of the most darling children helping to keep us warm, secure and happy. If Papa and I are brave, we will help them make snowmen outside and then return indoors for steaming mugs of hot cocoa and mountains of books to be read to them throughout our visit. With a modern twist to the traditional Christmas carol sung around the artfully decorated tree, it's over the river and through the woods to our daughters' houses we go......and, Papa and I are looking forward to each and every moment of it. When the need to be someplace else during this special time of the year hits us again, and it will, I have this feeling that we'll be taking quite a few people along with us for the ride. For now, my precious island is called Happiness and it exists in our hearts.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone!!

My Collections II

Sixth in a series......


Green Fields, Blue Skies and Memories

 A Series of Short Stories

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


Green.  A beautiful color.  Forty different shades of it definitely describes the Ireland we have come to know and love.  Thank you, Mr. Cash!  I believe you may have 'nailed' that one...

As an occasional visitor to this colorful island, my attention is drawn to the variations of the color green (my favorite color, in fact) when I scan the rich, glossy darkness of green valleys, or the olive tones of unending fields bathed in golden sunlight and the moss that clings to, well, just about everything, or witness the calming blue/green hues of an 'ancient forest' bisected by a gravelly path secretly begging to be conquered.  Then there is the deep purple/green of the expansive shoreline of Ireland's many inland lakes, outlined by volcanic rock washed smooth by foamy waves day after day and resembling a child's coloring-book picture outlined in black to accentuate its perimeter.   Oh, the joy of the color green!

One moment, please! 

 

My own two eyes, as well as the camera lens, can attest to many other shades of reflected light (color) that is predominant within the outstanding landscape provided by Ireland.  We have sturdy shades of gray and ochre that form the solidity of her many mountains.  There are rock walls and ancient structures built by man from this incredible source of material.  Fifty shades of gray, at least, and a much better 'read' into and for the mind than the modern paperback trilogy best seller of today by that title...  Who is not enamored by the sight of a quaint stone cottage replete with a thatched roof or the construction feats demonstrated by the existence of long ago castles and more modern abbeys and hunting lodges that sweep the Irish countryside?

Blue.  The spaces between the white clouds above, as well as the green fields below.  Not only does this amazing color totally surround the land in terms of the Atlantic Ocean and the Irish Sea, but its inland lakes offer varying shades of it anywhere from cold, steely grays to cheerful summertime aquamarine with one changing into another within a matter of moments depending on the sun, cloud cover or rain.

We began walking the Newvillage Recreation Area moderate trail one morning which turned out to be a three and a half mile, cardio-intense gravel walk in the shape of a horseshoe that gently meandered through the undulating woods on the outskirts of Oughterard.  Deviating off of The Western Way as we followed along the shores of Lough Corrib, we entered this fairy tale world of canopied vegetation dripping with sparkling raindrops and sporadic rays of sunlight newly emerging minutes into our walk.  When we stopped for a few moments to take it all in, we discovered the soothing sounds of a gurgling stream and crisp late September leaves scrunching under the weight of invisible predators.  The crunch, crunch of the gravel beneath our hiking shoes accompanied us once again like the rhythm of a Sousa march as we navigated the horseshoe bend and found we were elevated high above Lough Corrib that now dazzled us with its trail of royal blue water punctuated by minute white caps in the distance.   We were alive within the harmonious state of sounds and color and there was no other place at that exact moment we would rather be...

I remember looking out over land and sea on the summit of Diamond Hill several days before as I cataloged the shimmering blue dots of Lough Auna, Nahillion and Kylemore and my eyes scanned the wider 'blues' of Killary and Ballynakill Harbors that led out to the darkening depths of the Atlantic Ocean.  One can easily observe the harmony between land and water at this height and understand a little bit better how masterfully this intriguing island was formed so many years before. 

As my husband graciously chauffeured us around the colorful natural beauty of Connemara, I grew to appreciate every aspect of the area and proceeded to catch as much as I physically could with my trusty Canon camera in hand.  It's quite a treat for me to look back at all of my pictures to find that many of my 'collections' are strictly cataloged by their color!!  I even find myself prefacing each with a color description such as 'gray' fences or 'brightly colored' boats or crumbling 'gray' houses and mucky 'brown' bog lands.  For some reason the integrity of color is heightened and intensified for me in Ireland.  It isn't just the meandering expanse of the River Shannon, but rather the intense blue water of the River Shannon outlined by the bright green grasses along its shoreline.  Ireland seems to enhance my senses and allows me to see deeper into the natural beauty of her landscapes, man-made engineering wonders, as well as her delightful and extremely hospitable people.  I definitely feel 'right at home' when in Ireland.

Even though I sit here now holding tightly to the souvenir rock I brought home and captured from beneath the chilled waters of Lough Corrib, its vibes tell me to wait for another day to post the pictures and personal story of our time along its magnificent shores.  My heart wishes to share the color gray with you, yet again, in the form of once very personal places lived and loved in by Irish families some years ago and now left to decay in the harsh weather from season to season like forgotten testaments to what once was....  Within each structure my heart feels the birth of a child and the death of an aging grandparent.  I can celebrate birthdays in them and know marriages were consummated there, as well.  From the whitewashed, smoke-laden stone walls, I smell the pungent and acidic odor of thousands of peat fires that kept many people from freezing to death in the night.  I smell the tension of sad, overworked women and mothers who wait desperately for their husbands to return home with food to feed the young bairns.  I listen to the echoes of family decisions bouncing off the walls as to whether or not they should stay and wait it out or pack-up their meager belongings and abandon their birthright for a ticket to America! 

These emotions exhaust me down to my very core because I feel so much life surrounding these structures as if they were still occupied today!  So many questions, too.  Did they find time to appreciate the sweet beauty of the world that surrounded them?  Were they working so long and hard just to stay alive?  In fighting for what they needed, did they lose sight of all they had?  I often wonder....

As modern day visitors of this incredible place called Ireland, manned with rental car, camera and sustenance to be found at the nearest restaurant or pub, we can luxuriate within unrestrained time and walk the paths, climb the mountains, fish the lakes and capture a more simple way of living with each picture and breath we take.  We, as tourists, have been elevated to new heights as we ride along on the 'memory train' that was built and navigated by so many lost souls.  May we always remember and appreciate all of their hard work....

 

 

 

Two, Three, Four For One Thanksgiving

From Our Home To Yours

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes



Within writing communities all over the world this month there's something very cool happening!  It's called NaNoWriMo for short which stands for National Novel Writing Month.  It's a fun, cutting-edge, seat-of-your-pants style of creative writing where the participants begin writing on November 1 with a goal of reaching a 50,000-word completed novel by the very last second of the month.  How exciting and challenging, exhilarating and, quite frankly, overwhelming!

I did not participate this go-around, sadly enough.  My goal is to keep working diligently on my writing throughout the coming year, keep improving, create an outline for my NaNoWriMo book and then join the thousands of others who gratefully use this amazing sounding board to hopefully jump-start a creative writing career.  Nobody truly knows what they are capable of doing until they jump in with both feet and run like the wind all the way to the other side.....without stopping.  To accomplish this, it's important to remove or, at least, camouflage, all obstacles that might hinder your forward progress.  Having found out about this fantastic program only a few days before it began this year, I wasn't able to do this.  Now, I am keeping my eye on the prize...

When I was a freshman at Michigan State University, my advisers recommended I take English reading and writing courses within a Secondary Education Program in order to come as near as I could to anything remotely resembling a Creative Writing Program.  They just did not offer such an animal back in the late '60's.  What I did learn was that I truly did not intend to teach, my vocabulary and proper use of the English language was bolstered, the theater was my friend and France and the French language would become such a brilliant part of my life, forever!  I was a Secondary Education English major with minors in Theater and French.

Since then, a Creative Writing Program has been established within the MSU curriculum and it would be nice to believe that all of us who wanted to actively learn about and pursue a career in creative writing back in 1968, and our numbers were many, had everything to do with it.

Kudos to the thousands of individuals who are, by this late date, diligently working on their 'finished product' NaMoWriMo 2013 and the best of luck to all of you in terms of possible publication of your 'newborn' novels.  I have enjoyed meeting some of you on Twitter and Facebook.  Witnessing the joy and pride that is associated with your difficult goal, capsulized within a thirty-day period, has encouraged me to keep charging ahead with my writing and, I thank you all for this.  Already I can almost hear a collective sigh of "Thanksgiving" early Sunday morning on December 1!!

Thanksgiving Day, a time for great food, getting together with family and friends, possibly some travel time, and being absolutely appreciative for all of the above!  My husband and I have been trying to achieve 'mature adult' attitudes when it comes to not living close enough to our family who reside up in Michigan.  Not only do we have two beautiful, married daughters who have brought their loving husbands into the mix but, five amazing grandchildren who are brilliant products of these two unions.  When we all do have the opportunity of getting together, the eleven of us can definitely fill a house with words, laughter and good times!  It's as though a novel comes alive right before my eyes and each carefully written word fluidly bends and sways as each participant glides from chapter to chapter.  That's how I see it through my rose-colored glasses....  I do find many Family Scenes in my heart and bring them out whenever I am feeling lonely and missing all of the kids.....and, that is quite often.

 Today is very special!  No, the kids are up North.....not here with us.  The struggling NaNoWriMo participants remain hard at work.  Do hope they take a turkey break!  And, I am exchanging my keyboard (just for a few hours...and a much needed break) to grasp wooden spoons, measuring cups and pull-out seasonal recipes to peruse for the thousandth time.  Graciously, we'll be sharing this bountiful meal and giving thanks along with my brother-in-law who has driven down from Georgia for the occasion.  Ah, Family.....thank you, Chris.

This Thanksgiving also marks the beginning of Hanukkah, with Love going out to my son-in-law, Eric, and his beautiful family in New Jersey.

Finally, and never least, today we celebrate the birth of a very special person in my life.  Hint: He is my biggest fan and supporter (all writers require certain ego-boosting essentials).  I believe he knows this support is mutual.  Anyway, what better way to celebrate one's Birthday than sitting around the table with family enjoying a lovingly prepared meal and giving thanks for a good life?  Now, the really cool part is knowing that thousands of fortunate people are doing it at approximately the same time!

Happy Birthday, Dear Heart.  My husband, friend, great Father and Grandfather, my Biggest Fan and Love of My Life......Wow!  I love how amazing you look as you wear all of these hats!!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING  to all of you........!  Always remember to give and accept Love with all of your being.  

Too Soon?

 

A Poem..... 



John, Bobby and Teddy Kennedy

 

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


It has always been my belief that the so-called "Kennedy Legend" was never complete unless it included two major themes.  The first being the poignant connection it had with the mind-set of the youth in the 1960's.  Secondly, the extreme fascination we all shared regarding the Kennedy heritage based in Ireland.

And now, 50 years after the assassination of this interesting and complicated man by the name of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, we are still talking and writing about him as though this horrific deed transpired yesterday...... 

Of course, being the 35th President of the United States and having been taken away from all of us so brutally has much to do with this feeling of major loss and our nation's history both woven together to create and retain emotions so strong that time cannot dilute them.  Having just turned thirteen, weeks before this event, the approaching anniversary of his death reminds me of what I was feeling that day, as it does for so many of us across this country, in Ireland and around the world. 

Having lived through the Amazing '60's, and they truly were for so many reasons, I felt compelled to add one more poem....idea....memory and reflection of that decade to pass here, from me to you.  And, I can't help but think of how different our nation's history might have been written had the bullets of Oswald's rifle not succeeded in their fatal mission on that beautiful day in Dallas, Texas.  Would there have been the absurd war in Vietnam?  Would our thoughts about life and change been less radical, more productive?  Would we have had the opportunity to experience a kinder, gentler nation?  So many questions left unfulfilled.


Too Soon?

We grew up too fast,
Because we had to with
The world nipping at our heals,
And circumstances aging our souls....

Jimmy, Janis and Otis, too soon?
Drugs, booze, happenstance....
Vietnam, unknown and brutal,
Turned out to be reality!

Enfold us within your multi-colored robe
But, call it like it is.
Free Love, Drugs, Rock and Roll, War;
Our birthrights of this decade?

We didn't always listen well,
Nobody taught us how.
We picked-up on the examples given
And knew there was a better way....

Let's beat the system before it beats us....
Right into the ground!

Jack, Bobby and Martin, too soon?
Perhaps they did have some of
The answers we sought....

Unfortunately, hate erased their longevity,
But never their Spirit.


Jacqueline E. Hughes ~ November 22, 2013











         


   

   

My Collections

Fifth in a series.......

 

 

Natural Beauty

A Series of Short Stories

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


I always bring back a stone or good sized rock from all of my travels.....as long as it doesn't weigh down the suitcase too much!  In a way, I feel as though just a tiny piece of the place comes home to live with us.  We can touch it, hold it in the palm of our hands or, just look at it and we are instantly swept back in time; living within our memories.

Down the Lane

I remember doing this as a kid on all of our family vacations with a stone from the Blue Ridge Mountains, Lake of the Ozark's, Upper Peninsula of Michigan and the foothills of Pikes Peak in Colorado.  I say foothills because once out there, my Dad refused to ruin the brakes on our car by climbing and descending this rocky behemoth with an elevation of over 14,000 feet!  Eventually, each 'unmarked' rock was put in a small box to mingle together throughout time and space.

This is the same way I feel about the images, usually in the hundreds (thank you digital cameras), brought home and uploaded to the computer.  Should I dare to wonder why the PC is so slow?  Note to Self: Finally use that 'external hard drive' to store your pics, OK?

One year, on a trip to Normandy in the north of France, I smuggled home a few scoops of soil.  I'm outed now!!  Having purchased flower seeds from a small nursery and garden shop along the Right Bank of the Seine in Paris, I nurtured those seeds in the Normandy soil within a pretty cobalt blue pot and witnessed the beauty of the seedlings as they matured into a profusion of color and fragrance on our lanai.

During that same visit to France, we went over knowing that our youngest daughter was engaged to be married.  Seeking what we believed to be a perfect engagement gift, led us on a series of interesting adventures among the locals of a small village near Mont-St.-Michel.  We came home with the prize: antique, monogrammed French linen sheets.  Sheets that only improve with time.  However, the unique stories we returned home with while looking for the sheets were nothing short of priceless.

People, places, fantastic memories and a few natural things.....these are the souvenirs of Joy and Happiness that constantly feed us until our next adventure begins.  This is what life is all about whether the experience is a shopping trip to the local Publix store for groceries or a pre-planned excursion to parts unknown.  Life itself is the adventure.....!

Once again I sit at my desk going through the pictures from Galway and Connemara thinking about the story behind each one.  The stories come seeping out around the edges of a picture like the bubbling juices of an apple pie recently extracted from a hot oven.  Yummy, delicious stories made from many letters and emotions mixed and infused to create a whole, at least, in my mind.

It is so enjoyable sharing these sweet thoughts with you, in story and picture form.  I am uncertain as to whether my goal is to entice you to visit where we've been or, create the essence of you having already been there via my stories.  Whichever works for you, my readers.  My stories and pictures are combined with you in mind.  Also, I really enjoy the travel, writing and photography!!

Today I am introducing 'My Collections' segment.  Before leaving for places yet to be discovered by my camera's lens, I create a list of ideas to focus on.  It may be a collection of 'lace curtain' windows, colorful Dublin Georgian doors, or children in Paris walking home from school.  Opening my imagination to any and all suggestions, it's amazing what collections are added to the list once we arrive at our destination.  This is a major part of the excitement of travel for me.  The photos that come home with us are the basis for all of the stories I write and they serve to remind me of things leading up to, as well as what transpired after each was taken.

In addition to my photo collection, potential rock-garden from around the world and agricultural transgression (singular, I might add!), the books by French and Irish authors brought back to fill our minds and spirits with great stories have become an essential part of my life.  Eason's Bookstore and WH Smith Books, my Irish counterparts to Barnes and Noble, are a must stop each trip.  My husband and I never wonder why our check-in luggage sports a bright red tag for 'excessive weight' on returning flights!

I made my virgin visit to the Eason's, located at Lower O'Connell Street, Dublin City, back in 1990, bringing home books by Michael Farrell, Brinsley MacNamara, J. G. Farrell and a 1988 paperback edition of a book entitled The Lilac Bus by Maeve Binchy.  This was still quite early in her career and she had yet to be picked-up by her U.S. publisher, Anchor Books.  Consequently, I had no earthly clue as to the future importance of this little gem of a book or the brilliant impact this author would soon have on the literary world.

Today I bring home talented U.K. authors the likes of Cathy Kelly, Edna O'Brien and the talented Kate Mosse who, with her well written trilogy that revolves around Carcassonne, a fortified French town in the province of Languedoc-Roussillon, has one foot in the U.K. publishing market and the other in the U.S.  She lives between England and France.  And, yes, I may covet her life to a certain degree.....

Anyway, the point is that as I've been writing this piece, my initial 'Collection' has been following me down the page.  Have you noticed?  Ever since checking into our sweet little cottage in Oughterard that was surrounded by the most charming dry-stacked stone wall, I've been captivated by them.  Of course, they are everywhere you look in Ireland.  They were stacked with hard work, pain and absolute attention to detail and some remain totally naked of vegetation while others are tenderly wrapped like exquisite Christmas packages in tendrils of ivy and soft, soft moss.  Everywhere we turned these beautiful dividers of working fields, homes and barns, and emerald green pastures provided a local art form passed down from one generation to another.  I felt so privileged to have had an opportunity to preserve them in my own way.

What feeds your desire to travel to a certain place and then, perhaps, return there again and again and again......?

Connemara Bound

Fourth  in a series......


Our Little Fiat and My Happy Chauffeur

A Series of Short Stories

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


Seaside dreaming today with warm breezes and beautiful people and heading back to Orlando just isn't on the itinerary.

Driving on the left side of the road while correctly observing any and all laws of the road in Ireland is a highly appealing endeavor for my husband.  Notice I did not say challenge....no, because he absolutely feels right at home traversing Irish roads whether they be within a city or country setting.

Personally, just sitting on the left side of the front seat and not having the steering wheel right in front of me makes me nervous.  Watching him shift gears with his left hand while on the right side of the vehicle is very strange.  Having all of this come together seamlessly is absolutely amazing!  My saving grace is that I willfully become the navigator for the duration with the power to direct us, most of the time, in the proper direction and down the right roads.


You see, it's really about having the power and, with us splitting up the 'obligations of the road' like this, it affords us both the semblance of sharing that power as one unit.  All I really know is that it seems to work for us and we safely navigate the Irish roads feeling very much like the locals heading out on an adventure or intentionally seeking a favorite pub for a pint with friends.

After recently settling into our comfortable cottage and conquering mountain heights, we decided to seek out the extreme  beauty of the Connemara coastline and capture the distant sights, as seen from the summit of Diamond Hill, and preserve them in pictures.  From up high the coastline resembled long, narrow fingers of land and rock reaching out into the chilly blue waters of the Atlantic as if pointing the way to America.  All aboard.....next stop America, the land of opportunity!  I could literally imagine its extreme magnetic pull on the starving Irish population in search of a better life.

Rushing down the N59 towards Clifden felt comfortable to us by now and much like traveling the familiar roads that lead to and from Grandma's house when you are young.  Clifden is a stunning city nestled ideally between the mouth of Clifden Bay and the cloud shadowed and rounded peaks of Na Beanna Beola or The Twelve Pins.  Even though Clifden was on our radar, we made the decision to approach it via the narrow, scenic roads that hugged various bays that ultimately made their way out into the Atlantic Ocean.  Clinging to these roads like small, semi-precious gemstones adorning a landscape so filled with color and texture that even the most perfect female neckline would not do them justice, were small villages named Derryrush, Carna, Bunnahown and Cashel.  To this day, as we pour over our pictures, the vegetative saltiness of the sea is awakened in us by these images and our sensory perceptions return us to their rocky shorelines.

We were feeling a bit like voyeurs witnessing places never seen by tourists because the tourists can get blindsided by travel books and flashy neon signs.  Instead, we looked within the valleys and rocky crevices for the places and their people nestled among local parameters often not diluted by the outside world.  So, as we approached the town of Roundstone, we expected to see marquee attractions with tourists rushing back and forth in a mad dash to purchase that perfect keepsake to bring back home.  Oh, we might have several years ago, when Ireland was feeling an upsurge in tourism and Euros spent.  Today, this Mecca for traditional music, crafts and fashion has been tamed by the economic oppression of our times with one art gallery, a small gift shop, several restaurants and many empty storefronts lining its main street.

Walking down to the artist's village just south of town was sadly disappointing, as well.  A once thriving commune set gently beside the sea had at one time boasted many studios but had dwindled down to two, a pottery maker and a music shop, and had the ravaged appearance of a defeated community replete with untamed vegetation and chipping paint.  We decided to walk back into town for a light lunch and then continue on to Dog's Bay.
 
Dog's Bay was amazing as we walked the picturesque beach leaving our footprints in the sand to be washed out to sea by the incoming waves.  The artistic impressions made by the water at high tide resembled the paths of worms or random tree branches embedded in the wet sand.  Each was unique and very beautiful.  We walked the beach line hand-in-hand while skirting wayward rock formations dripping in neon green vegetation and looking like turtles sporting bright toupees.  The sea water was chilling as it snuck up on us and despite this, several young families bravely romped waist deep in the late September surf as they screamed in playful shock and sun-streaked delight.

Having walked to the terraced stone wall that flanked the southwestern end of the beach and separated it from the open sea, we retraced our steps and then headed up the grassy slopes that literally divided Dog's Bay down the center creating a mirrored beach on the east side.  Within this fertile grazing area lived scattered cows and sheep and we gingerly followed along the fence line separating the beaches before making our way back to the parking lot.  Looking back over our shoulder one final time, our eyes were bedazzled by the myriad of diamonds sparkling brightly as the afternoon sun kissed the azure sea.

Soon we slipped back on the R341 rounding a host of small lakes to our right and Ballyconneely Bay on our left.  Not noted for remaining on the beaten track for very long, we made a left turn onto a small road that we knew would dead end at the sea but might offer us another adventure.  We were not disappointed as we passed the ruins of a rather large country estate and wondered about its history and its missing roof!  As we rounded a large mound that had been beaten senselessly by rain, wind and time, we followed a sweeping curve lined with old stone houses, as well as modern two-story condominiums, all framed by large hydrangea bushes still wearing their magnificent pink blooms.

Parking our car by the wharf, we walked to the end of the pier facing out to the open sea.  Looking over to our left, we were now across the water from the beaten mound and the forgotten estate.  Another couple, quite well dressed and who looked to be in their mid-70's, had followed behind us.  Somehow I felt that even if they weren't locals, they surly knew a bit about the history of this area, and they certainly did!!

Still living in Dublin but having vacationed here for over ten years, they purchased one of the modern condo units and drive between Dublin and this small village every weekend.  The four of us braced ourselves against the strong sea breezes and turned-up the volume of our voices for the next twenty minutes or more.

What an interesting life they had led with five children, now grown adults, scattered from Ireland to Great Britain and down to New Zealand.  The gentleman gave us the estate's history saying that the owners, told to pay soaring taxes on the estate by the Irish government, allowed the roof to be removed and the weather to claim it rather than pay more taxes on a property they could barely maintain in the first place.  Unfortunately, this has been the case throughout Ireland for many decades thus robbing the country of its rich and valuable history.  And, by the way, our weathered mound turned out to be a sixty million year old dormant volcano!
  
With the sun dipping low in the sky, we finally reached the outskirts of Clifden and followed the narrow road out to the yacht club and bay, one of the narrow, stony fingers pointing out to the sea.  Turning around and heading east, back towards the city, the setting sun majestically pulled its golden cloak over the land and by the time we reached a hilltop, the richness and beauty of Clifden lay before us in all its glory.  The spires of two churches pierced the evening sky and towered like mighty sentinels standing between the mountains and the bay as they silently protected the inhabitants below.                                                                        

                                                                         Clifden

Slipping into Malone's Pub located on Market Street in downtown Clifden, we enjoyed a delicious steak dinner while being entertained by local musicians playing traditional Irish music.  It was Art Festival Week in Clifden.  What beautiful timing for us!

Our late evening drive home on the N59 wrapped all of the scenic charm of this drive within a blanket of darkness.  Eliminating this pleasurable distraction afforded us the luxury of talking about our amazing adventures that day.  Arriving back in Oughterard later, we already had an idea as to where we might be heading out to tomorrow........but, no earthly idea about what new and exciting adventures might be waiting for us. 

Until then........!
 

                     
                                                                  Beach At Dog's Bay

Land Between The Sea At Dog's Bay 

Our Irish Cottage

IRELAND...A RICH, ARTISTIC PERFORMANCE - PART II

Beautiful Yellow Cottage In Adare, Ireland

Many of us pine away for a simpler life with an intense longing for a time from the past that could make us feel safe and calm once again.  Dlaura Cottage, located just north of Galway City, did just that!  With sheep and cows as our neighbors and a cozy, peat fire to keep us warm....this petite, thatched cottage provided us with a glimpse into the past, before The Great Famine, when walking the grassy path into town and back was a day's adventure.

Between now and St. Patrick's Day, March 17, my initial three stories of 'MOVING ON.....2013' will be spotlighted.  Most Bloggers realize that as time goes by, our archived stories need to be dusted-off a little bit and reintroduced as our 'Humble Beginnings.'

I see Ireland as a rich, artistic performance, alive with nuance, as in, forty shades of green!  Please enjoy Part II of this 'retro' series entitled, Our Irish Cottage, dated October 31, 2013.












Third in a series........

  

Gateway to Connemara

A Series of Short Stories


By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


We recently arrived at Shannon Airport to collect our rental car and make our way to Galway City for the night and going back to Orlando was the furthest thing from our minds.....

A View From The Lane 

How does one approach something that has only been a dream up until now?  My husband has the tendency to calmly seize the moment allowing it to wash over him like light summer rain requiring no umbrella as he absorbs each little detail completely and then neatly tucks it away for future reference.  I, on the other hand, as our children will attest to, approach life's offerings with a more unsubtle attitude.....much like a thunderstorm with my head up among the massive, gray cumulonimbus clouds personally heaving giant lightening rods down upon the trembling earth below while laughing uncontrollably from the shear excitement of it all.  Consequently, the Pragmatist and the Dreamer sharing a meaningful life for over forty years together despite the mixed bag of atmospheric conditions.

The desire to one day stay in a true Irish cottage had been one of ours for so long now I can't really stamp a date on it.  I do know that the small thatched cottage located in Adare, County Limerick, we visited on our initial visit to Ireland in August of 1990, has always held a place in our hearts.  Our daughters, aged 14 and 11 at the time, accompanied us on that trip and I can still envision them as they seemed to meld among the tall, shiny flower pots dripping with a profusion of blooms of every color imaginable that generously decorated the stone paths of the petite structure.  Yes, my Canon AE-1 was a huge factor in helping to create and collect these amazing family memories.  And, even though I would be lost without my lightweight, highly intelligent Canon EOS today....my AE-1 was a very worthy predecessor and now looks down on me from an upper shelf in my home office as I work.

Two years ago we had originally planned this current trip with Galway City and parts north in mind and had actually booked a week long stay in our traditional cottage back then.  We fell in love with its location in Oughterard, known as the Gateway to Connemara, as well as its close proximity to Galway City, Lough Corrib and 'The Wild Western Way' which we planned to walk a small portion of this visit.  Unfortunately, due to circumstances way beyond our control, we had to cancel that stay at Cottage No. 255, Dlaura Cottage, for a week in September, 2011, but somehow could never quite forget about it.  Having booked it through Matthew Boyd and his competent team at Shamrock Cottages, the same group we'd booked our house through in Adrigole, County Cork, back in 2006, I highly recommend them if you desire self-catering accommodations in Ireland.  I promise you, I do not profit in any way from this recommendation except for leading you in the right direction.

Finally, we were to meet Mrs. Christina O'Malley of P Joe's, Clifden Road, Clareville, Oughterard, County Galway.....proud owner and caretaker of Dlaura Cottage!!  That's right there with the illogical sounding yet appropriate directions to Craggy Island B&B we would receive later in the week.




Dutch Door Entryway

Christina O'Malley resembled the proverbial aging elementary teacher with her permed and graying coif, appealing country manner and style, all topped with a generous broad smile which was the cherry on top of the ice cream sundae.  She made us feel welcomed and instantly right at home.  Having met her at P Joe's, the name of her home located directly on the N59, she asked us to follow her in our separate vehicle as we mini-caravanned our way down a grassy lane for over a mile and then made a drastic right-hand turn down an even narrower lane actually passing one home under construction and another farmhouse high up on a hill.  Eventually, we approached an opened gate and, chugging up a small hill, we were introduced to our Home-Away-From-Home for a week, Dlaura Cottage.


The Internet pictures could never capture the true essence of this amazing spot we would be calling home.  My jaw dropped as she turned the key in the lock of the Dutch door, painted bright green against the stark white of the cottage's exterior, with dense, water-marked glass panes decorating the erratic mullioned rectangles of its top half.  Walking inside, our sense of smell was sharpened by the lingering aroma of previously burned peat in the air and she drew our attention to the small, black stove centrally located in the tiny living area....our main source of heat.  Later, she showed us how to light and maintain a fire which we ultimately allowed to burn itself out because of the intensity of the heat.

Mrs. O'Malley was so proud to hand us a cut-glass plate of homemade scones and raspberry jam as a housewarming gift and we savored them with freshly pressed coffee each morning for breakfast.

The Grand Tour lasted only a short while, but we had so many questions for Mrs. O'Malley that she remained talking with us for quite some time and we learned the homestead, including stone house, barn, wall and several out-buildings, had been built around 1830.  The families who called the cottage home throughout the years were mainly very poor farmers barely making ends meet.  She told us she had acquired the cottage via her husband's grandparents who raised their four sons there and she, eventually, married Patrick, a son by their youngest boy, Joseph.
     

A 'Dry Stacked' Stone Barn Wall Still Standing

She explained that she has many returning customers to Dlaura Cottage and we definitely could see why.  She walked us outside to show us the modern meter hanging on the side of the cottage which we were to use to calculate our energy consumption for the week and leave payment on the table before departing the following Saturday.  Wishing us a wonderful week and offering her services anytime needed.....she was heading down the lane and still waving good-bye from the open window of her silver Nissan.

What followed next was akin to a major animal feeding frenzy.....there is no better way to explain it!   Unsheathing my camera from its case, the first of many, many pictures of this magical spot was taken.  The lighting was good and the scenery spectacular that afternoon with several cows grazing on the grassy slope behind us, large fluffy, white sheep roaming the pastures in front, all the while I was intoxicated by the heavy, earthy aroma of our peat fire chugging grayish smoke from the white chimney above.  Nothing was safe from my camera lens and several of the cows just stared at me, juicy grasses drooling from their mouths, in complete wonderment as if I were a Banshee wailing, not for an impending death, but rather for the beauty and purity of life.





A Bovine Friend Looking On

Finally, I came up for air and went inside to find my husband and unpack.  Did I really just loose all constraints of time for over forty-five amazing minutes?  Yes!  The sheer joy of my experience still enveloped me as I looked into the tiny kitchen to see a strange look on my husband's face only to find out that he had just removed from the kitchen one very large, hairy spider, as well as several smaller versions confidently scurrying around the other rooms.  We had always concluded that Saint Patrick, having rid the Island of its snake population, did absolutely no favors for the arachnophobia inclined people he left behind.

During our visit to Adrigole, County Cork, in 2006, I did gain 'Banshee Status' after walking into a rather large spider web while entering the garden early one morning armed with a full mug of steaming coffee in one hand.  My husband, in total shock behind me, witnessed a scene that probably scarred him for the rest of his life.....  Because, five seconds later, I was holding an absolutely empty mug and always hoped that I had fried the spider with its hot contents as I danced wildly about the garden.  Someone once wrote that after walking through a spider's web, they felt like they had just completed a weeks' worth of cardio.  I can attest to that!!

 

 

Our Cute Kitchen

                                                           

Having concluded that he was on spider control for the week, I began capturing interior shots prior to unpacking, eventually exhausting what little natural light that was left.  We gingerly unpacked and made ourselves right at home because that's exactly how this small cottage made us feel.

Soon, with hunger pangs guiding us along, we set out on a new adventure by locking-up and heading down our narrow lane at dusk, closing the gate behind us.  Leaving our cottage behind for several hours, we were off to discover the shops and people of Oughterard.  And, even though we were unaware of it at the time, we were setting out to make The Boat Inn, the popular eatery and hang-out for the locals, our harbor after daily adventures and main source of nightly entertainment.....




Great Grandparents of Mrs. O'Malley's Husband

  

                                          




Our Soft Front Yard Friends

                                                         

The Cottage Heating System

                                                          

The 'Keeper of the Gate'

                                                              




Leaving the Light On.........!