Hello friends-

Long time no hear!  So much has happened and I am sorry for not keeping things up to date.  I will soon be able to give you all the events that get me current but it is really hard to write them out at this point.  I am still processing the turn of events that have been handed to me, but one of the positive ones is that my dear sweet cousin Anthony has challenged me to take my writing into another direction.  I confessed to him that I was feeling weighted down by writing in the blog.  It is not as creative as I would like it to be – because I am not creating the events of my life (well, I am REALLY on the higher spiritual way- but that’s is not what I’m refereeing to here) – but I am RECOUNTING events to you.  It is a whole different thing because I have to be a fair as I possibly can – to describing and reliving the events to write up and post to the blog.  So to get me once again inspired to write he said that I should do some fiction short stories.  I said that I never before felt “inspired” to write fiction- but I really needed some creative outlet to just let my mind just go and maybe fiction could get me up and feeling more excited the writing experience.

So we set a time limit, I took this new assignment on with a renewed excitement that feels like I haven’t had in a long time.

The challenge was to write 6 short stories and I was to just “do it” and not worry about it or do too much planning.  So that’s what I did.  I picked 6 different male names (I wanted to give a voice to the male side of me) and 6 parts of the world and 6 occupations. I put them all into a hat and picked them out- One name, one location and one occupation.

Now remember I have NO FORMAL training in doing Creative writing- so I was just winging it.  I was SO excited!  I started writing that very afternoon and it just flowed out of me like I had done this type of writing for years. I thought my first story was pretty good – for my first time! And it inspired me to start to do some research into the “rules” of short stories writing.  I could not print any of this new researched material (no printer and LONG story) so I took notes and looked up “research” for the locations that came to me.  It was really fun!  And this is so much different from the limiting writing in “real life” blogging.

I realized that I started to “look” at people differently and events differently. I started to look at these things like characters and details that I had never seen before.  I saw that my writing style also was very different from my “blog” writing and I was free to just let what ever came out- come out!

My sister Traci asked me if I would put these short stories in my blog and I said NO – but as time has been going on, I see that my audience might enjoy some of them.  I don’t want to bore you to death with fiction –but I also saw that I could take ‘reality” to a different direction too.  I started to try and write some of the things that really happened to me and put the twist of my FEELINGS in a more creative way. That’s what happened with the following bit of info.  It is NOT a short story format.  It was just a logging of a little event that happened and I kind of liked it.  It might explain my different writing style to you – and I really did go there and have these feelings, but I would have written it completely different for a blog entry.

So I hope you enjoy this new little glimpse. I will give you some samples of my “fiction short story” but that seems to be a bit more ‘exposing” for me at this time.

I hope you enjoy it – and write me if you do –

(But DEBBY- don’t write me if you DON’T) haha

Love you all – Kym

Murrisk Abby, Ireland

The remnant of the Abby darts to the sky with strength and purpose.  Even with its roof long gone and the harsh elements of Ireland descending down upon its remaining steps, walls, and windows, it still has the power to transform me.  I can feel the faith of the people buried inside its walls and outside it’s foundation.  As I walk upon grave makers that seem to be scattered here and there but have a feeling of purpose, I wonder why was it designed in this way.  Some of the headstones are no longer readable but many still are. The new and the old mixed together in this stately location are mystifying.

The hidden doorways and dark dank tiny corridors insisted that I put my hands on the stonewalls to descend, give way to thoughts flooding of the people so many centuries before that touched these same stones.  I feel the coldness that is trapped in these stonewalls and steps.  I place my feet into the same divots of worn stone trails and feel the mix of anticipation and anxiety as to where these corridors lead.

 I am in awe at the opening of the lower chamber that grips me like two hands with its sense of violence and I see the headstones strewn about from vandals from long ago.  If it was vandals: why did they break them? Where they making a statements or looking for something?  Did they do it as an act of torment to get information from the friars that protected the Abby?  The questions come flooding into my mind – all the old movie mysteries and TV shows that I have been exposed to is twisting my mind to think about these things.  Or – are the stones talking to me? Is it the events that these stonewalls have been a witness to that is being transferred to me? I don’t know, I just feel them and experience them; it’s a mystery to me.

Walking into the main structure with its roof gone and graves underfoot, my eyes are drawn to the pointy pitch of the end wall with its openings that are the windows to this holy place.  The stone that was etched out to make an ornamental design that allowed the light of day to stream into the large cavernous space are still intact.  The side windows of a different design are more vertical and allow a silted light to wash against the opposite wall- but they grab you and hold you as if to suspend you in time – not your time but another’s.  I could hear the low base of the monks singing prayers to their God.  Not in an excited lively way, but in a low intimate moan.  A personal vow of loyalty and adoration- it was moving and loving and titillated my senses like a voyeur witnessing a private moment. 

Adjacent to the arched door that I entered, was a vertical stone in the mist of horizontal ones.  The stone resembled a face in an odd yet natural way from how the stone was quarried, it was as if the large mouth of a face had a drop of its lower lip, which made a bowl that once held holy water.  I reached into the dark small mouth opening to mimic the action that is so ingrained in my Catholic background – and I felt a jolt of energy even though the basin was empty of its contents. I was now a part of this place, I was a participant of its energy and power, I was no longer a visitor- we were one.

I scanned the contents of this main building with the sprinkle of Irelands rains descending on me.  I didn’t feel alone, or depressed with the rain, I felt it was a baptismal of sorts and appropriate for this event in my life.  I looked around and wondered how the space was used- in a practical sense.  There were no pews or visible alter.  It had many large and small flat grave markers on the floor with the bones of a world of people that walked this sight, some not in life, but in death.  But they were there and I was too, but what was there before them?  What an unusual place to be buried, under a roof of a wonderful temple – was it always like this, was this its purpose when it was made, to be an elaborate cover to the final resting place of important or holy people?  I didn’t know the history of this place, its still a mystery to me.

As I walked around and photographed walls, windows and openings I wanted to captured not only the loveliness of this place, but capture a part of its essence and bring it with me. 

I was pulled back to the stone corridor that I had entered, even though there we other doorways that I had yet to explore.  I turned left to go through a small opening that I could see beyond before I walked through it.  It was a very small stone walled courtyard that held a single upright headstone of white.  It was the grave of Michael O’Toole and his son, also Michael.  The junior died in 1918 and his father lived to 1927.  Why were they placed here all alone?  The stone of white was not really white at all.  It seemed to be painted white and the original gray of the stone was showing through like the face paint melting off of a clown caught in the rain.  It was carved and of the usual Irish insignia of a cross on top and the room was no more then 3ft from one side of the headstone to 3 ft. from the other.  It stood just over 4 feet high but it felt like it was cloaked in a feeling of loneliness.  I wasn’t sure if it was my own feelings or that of the father and son team.  At first I hadn’t noticed, that there was a very low and narrow opening in the room that took me outside the Abby walls. What an unusual place to be buried – it kind of felt like a punishment to me – other’s may of seen it as more of a place of honor, but I didn’t.  It was like they were buried inside this holy place and yet they weren’t quite an insider. The feeling of loneliness hung onto me till I left this small space.

Outside and all around the Abby and its buildings there were lots of upright and ground level headstones.  I wasn’t in my usual mood to walk around and visit the people buried there- I usually say hello and read their names and see the dates of their birth and death.  It’s an act of my respect for them.  They lived and died in this world and for that alone, I feel respect- for they have already experienced one of the hardest things that face humans – death – for we all must die. It’s still a mystery to me.

I am not a very experienced visitor of Abby ruins, but this one makes me question the hows and whys of its long existence.  It has rooms or to be more exact, it has ruins of walls that don’t make sense to me.  Outside I see more rooms that have still more graves inside them.  Flat, large stones that announces and protects the bones of people – but why are they located in odd places that looks like small animal stalls?  Why would a family want to place the remains of loved ones in these small odd spaces?  What was the significance? It’s a mystery to me.

As my time was coming to an end and the Irish rains were falling harder, I had to leave this special place.  I enjoyed the loving energy and generous hug of this Abby and it’s rugged beauty, but I mostly enjoyed the questions and feeling that it brought out in me.  We were connected for a short time- these walls and me. It left me wanting more; more time, more photos and mostly more information.  I was consumed to know all that I could – for it was now a dear friend that I can’t wait to visit again. It’s no longer a mystery to me.

Kym McBride

April 18, 2006

There is such a different way of speaking in Ireland.  Yes it’s the accent, but it is so much more, it’s some of the words. I started just making a list of the words as they came up- but it was quite boring when I had it all typed. I wanted to give you a bit of the story on some of them.  So let’s see if I can pull this off.
 
Before I arrived in Ireland, I talked on the phone with Noeline (who is mentioned in earlier blogs).  I told her that I would work my fanny off. She said that I better not say that in Ireland, for it means VAGINA. So unless I MEAN to work my vagina off, I should avoid the term!
  
I find that the references to the male penis are pretty much worldwide. The usual are used and I don’t think that I will mention them here, even though Anthony was more then willing to give me EACH and EVERYONE of them – it really is an AMAZING list to describe or reference one LITTLE THING! (Sorry Anthony!)
  
Of COURSE, Guinness is the national drink in these parts, but there are a few other types of alcohol references that I have come across.  A Bud Shandy.  This is a glass of ½ Lemonade and ½ Budweiser beer!  It’s of course lower alcohol and it is said to be quite refreshing! Dermot and Geralyn are avid Salsa Dancer’s.  They go twice a week and Dermot drinks this when he dances. (Sounds yucky!). 
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April 17, 2006

One day I was working at my little newsagents shop and I was trying to box up an item that a customer was purchasing. I was working with Mary at the time and the shop had about 8 to 10 people mulling about. I could tell they were tourists because they were looking at all the crap tourist stuff.

Mary was acting a bit nervous and was going to the front door and looking out down the street and looking at the clock. I just figured she was looking for some one in particular. It started to get a bit busy at the register and I stopped noticing what Mary was up to. Then she started to turn the lights on and off. There was a panel of about 8 light switch’s on the wall behind the front door and she was looking at the lights and switching them on and off, like she wasn’t getting the right light switch that she was wanting. I just kept on ringing people out. Customers were also looking at her like “what’s up?”

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4-10-06

Well, it’s April 10th, 2006 and I have only 7 days before my Visa expires. I have to leave the country. Luckily I was able to get a job at the newsagents for a short time to get the money together to get tickets out to England only to come back in the next day to get a new visa for 3 more months.

Even though at this point I have no idea how I will be able to stay for the next 3 months without a job or a place to stay. But first things first – I have to get the 3 month visa and I’ll work on the rest after that! Priorities!

I have tired everything in my power to find a way to stay. I searched the Internet for my options. I have met with the political weight in this part of the country- Michael Ring to see if there was anything that he could do for me. He is one of the men that have been working with America to get the illegal Irish immigrants to be able to stay in America and he was very surprised to find that an American wanted to stay here. I told him there were two sides to the coin and I need his help. I got a letter from him a few days later giving me my options – which were none, more then I already was aware of. I can’t get citizenship because of the one generation that separates me from my Great Grandmother. My mother can’t apply for citizenship here to open the gate for me – only the children born AFTER she is awarded her Irish citizenship could apply. And since I’ve been around for 47 years – that leaves me twisting in the wind. The only way to stay is to get married. PERIOD. And trust me – the available men here is 10-17 or 70-90!

I even went so far as to ask Anthony to marry me! HE DIDN’T BUY IT.

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4-8-06

I know that many of you are wondering what is happening in “real” time. I have decided to give you one big update so that we can get to real time.

I have recently gotten addicted to “Lost” and American TV show. My cousin Anthony doesn’t watch any TV except this show and since I am so desperate for American accents and shows I have been watching all the shows that he has downloaded from the Internet. Ireland is about 10 shows behind America so that’s why he downloads. Plus with his memory, he forgets the shows are on Mondays and he’s a bear to live with when he miss’s one!

So I have decided to use the way that “Lost” tells a story with current time and then they jump back in time to flesh out the story. It’s a bit annoying but after you get used to it- it’s fine. Plus I feel bad that I’m so behind on my blog, so I will use this.

So on with the update, and I will try and answer questions that people have asked me.

#1 Question is: What ever happened to Noeline?

To be honest, I don’t know. After our little blow up I came to live at my cousin (I call her Aunt) Teresa’s house. I didn’t call her the first week I was gone, I was trying to settle in at a new home and I was still a bit pissy about what had happened.
But I think by the next week I had called to tell her that I had gotten a part-time job and was working weekends, but would try and see when I could come over again. She was very surprised to hear from me again and said that she was thinking of me and wondering what was up. She was still trying to get the town hall for a sale of the donated items that could raise funds for the container cost for the stuff that is going to Ghana.

Well, I’m sorry to say that that was the last time that we talked. I did see that she did have the sale- but on April 1st a week or two earlier then she originally wanted it. I found this out, not by her but by a flyer that was hung up in the window at our shop. I didn’t attend or help to get it together- I do feel bad about that – but shit happens and I am just trying to get myself together before I go out to save the world.

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3-5-06

I arrived at my first new job in 16 years! I was amazingly calm I was as I walked into this little shop on Bridge Street.

As I mentioned before it is a newsagent. It sells newspapers and lots of assorted magazines, a bit of tourist things and a Hodge-podge of school supplies, wallets, picture frames, toys, greeting cards, puzzles and sweets. They also have some more high-end items like statues and glassware and even a few bits of Irish china. It mostly makes its sales from newspapers, cigarettes and lottery.

I was introduced the first of my co-workers, Ruth who was a tall woman with very black hair. She was standing behind the register, which is a very narrow area to one side of the shop. The shop is in desperate need of a total revamp. It’s not “quaint” it’s just used and abused. Non-sale items are stuffed everywhere. The box’s for the statues and little knick-knack stuff is on top of and under shelves. The extra cards (which are many for some reason) are in wooden box’s that line shelves below the counters and in small cardboard boxes stacked wherever they can fit. At the end of the counter that makes up the register area and the sweets (candy) and ice cream area is a broken copy machine and a small table that makes up the “work area” for stocking and newspaper inventory and such. But even this area is not workable, it is stacked with books, packaging slips and just about everything else that has no home.

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3/17/06
 
Well, the Luck-of-the-Irish was with me today.  My boss, Margaret called me and told me that I could leave at 3PM to attend the festivities of St. Patrick’s Day! YEAAAAA!
 
  I was so EXCITED!  Geralyn was going to take me into town with her daughter Laura.  Laura was going to NOT be at the clock tower dancing, she was now going to be in the parade with her school doing the salsa or something like that.  (See I told you that plans change around here all the time!)  I was to go to Geralyns to get a ride.  I showed up in my usual gray coat and black and brown scarf only to find a BEAUTIFUL green scarf on the steps banister!  It is Wonderful and crazy and sweet Geralyn stayed up till 2AM to finish it for me for St. Patty’s day! Isn’t she a love?  I really really love it and it is BOLD!  It made my day and when she told me it was mine I heard Laura in the background singing, “Geralyn loves Kym, Geralyn loves Kym…” and it was really funny, but I felt it too!  It was a wonderful validation to me that my new cousin did like me.  Even though she goes out of her way for me very often (rides to and from work), it was very personal and her effort was NOT lost on me.
 
And being in true form for Geralyn she had to show me different ways of wearing it.  But on this day, being that I WAS going to the parade, I took both of the scarfs with me – it was sure to be a cold TWO-scarf day!
 
Geralyn and Teresa were still planning on meeting me at the shop at 3PM to get a good spot for the parade.  I arrived at work very happy and excited-, which was easy to tell since I had the biggest stupidest smile on my face!  And to boot, I was dressed in all black with the BRIGHTEST green scarf around my neck!  I loved my scarf and I LOVED that it was green!
 
As we drove into town I was like a little kid with my face pushed against the rear seat window.  I was looking for the tell tale signs that it WAS St. Patty’s day- GREEN!  We drove in past St. Mary’s Catholic Church and one of the many mass’s that day was letting out and all I saw was muted green in the form of live shamrock pins. (These are a big deal in Ireland. They are live shamrocks with the roots attached – yet hidden by a cardboard circle backing.)  They are sold in a little plastic bag and it is called “ready for posting- shamrocks” Which means that they are designed to be purchased in Ireland and sent else where.  And I was sure to oblige them, for I purchased about 10 of them and sent them to different people in America.  Which is NOT a touristy thing to do, this is a “local” thing around here.  And they “locals” even purchase them for themselves-, which was seen on their lapels as they left church. But there was a sprinkle of brighter green here and there, I was a bit disappointed, as on this day in America the green JUMPS out at you- but here green was downplayed.
 
But not even this was to extinguish my excitement as we rounded the corner to my little shop; I was so excited to start my day!  I even jumped out of the car before Geralyn could come to a full stop and she yelled at me to be “careful!” like a mommy dropping off her kindergartener for her first day at school!

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3-17-06
 

   Today I find myself up at 7:30AM with the feeling like Christmas’s of the past.  I’m anxious and excited about the events of the day!
 
  Today is my FIRST St. Patty’s Day to be celebrated in Ireland.  Even though everyone says that St. Patty’s day in Ireland is really a holy holiday and is NOT anything like St. Patrick’s Day in America- from what I have been seeing, that is not completely true.
 
  I have seen and felt a HUGE energy shift in this wonderful little town of Westport.  All the colorful slices of shops that devour the 3 or 4 streets of Westport have window displays that are dominated by the “green”.  In windows are green balloons, and shamrocks, cardboard cut outs of leprechaun’s and dolls dressed in shamrock finest.
 
 Added in, the array of silly things that are sure fire hits with the tourists that can’t wait to buy useless items just because it has the Westport name and photo’s on them, like, huge pencils, shot glass’s, coasters, linen hanging things, walking sticks, dolls, pipes, coffee mugs and anything else some company makes to take the expendable income of tourists- you find it in the stores of Westport.
 
  I witnessed the “changing of the postcards” which are in EVERY store.  For the last 2 months I have see the rained on, the wind blown, the bent corners of the postcards on the ¾ empty racks that are a staple in the shops and hanging on the doors.  But in the last week they have been replaced with fresh ones with wonderful color but are photos that have been taken in the last decade – but never get old to the tourists that flood this magical place.
 
I saw the installation of the colorful flowers that are planted in the ground around the Octagon and the Clock tower that welcome the hordes of tourist that have begun the decent on Westport for the “downing of the Shamrock” – which is what the locals refer to on this most holy day.
 
  The shops in the town close down on this “bank holiday”.  The only places that are open are the restaurants and the pubs and OF COURSE the newsagents of whom I work for!!?!?!?! 
 
I, Kym McBride who has never worked or gone to school on St. Patties day – HAS TO WORK ON ST. PATTY’S DAY IN IRELAND!!!!  Do you too see the ironicness of this?  It is NOT lost on me.

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March 1, 2006
 

Here we go again…

Teresa and Mary picked me up at Noeline’s house and brought me back to Teresa’s.  I again pulled the red monster and my other items into the front bedroom, sat on the bed and felt again… defeated. 

I am a firm believer that things happen for a reason, but that is usually after I’ve had some time to process the events. Till then I fall apart like everyone else!
 
At this time I was just upset, tired and confused, I just wanted to know “what the hell is going on God?”  I unpacked and waited for an answer, but there was none.  I felt I was back to square one.  I was once again was in temporary housing and was too far from the Westport to get any work.  I also felt that I was a burden to my new family.  What a way to start a new relationship – asking for help.  Now what?????
 
But I still had hope that I could get the job at the hotel, but it was still a long shot.
 
Monday I was determined to find out what my options were. 

 I was told that I would hear from Newport House Hotel on Friday as to weather I had made their short list or not.  I didn’t hear from them, so I figured I would call them.  Catherine answered the phone and said I interviewed beautifully and had all the skills that they needed for the position plus many more.  And that I made the short list!  I felt my heart jump out of my chest!……….. “BUT…I took the short list to the owner and he decided to try someone else, but we’ll  ..blahblahbalhbalhbhlah

bblahblahbalhbalhbhalahbbla”.

So this job was not going to happen. All in one day- no home, and no job. GREAT!
 
The whole rest of the day I just sat around and brooded on what I was going to do…drank tea, had some cric with Teresa and Anthony and all the stoppers by.
 
That evening I got a call.  It was Margaret from a newsagent store that I had applied for a position a few weeks prior.
 
I had seen an Ad in the Mayo News and it required a “Mature Woman”.  It was for a part-time sales person. I figured that I had the mature part down and I was a woman.  So I called the number listed, Margaret, the manager answered.  I made an appointment to meet her.
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Feb. 30-31, 2006

After the fallout with Noeline and my little cry, I got out my work clothes and boots and trudged back to the main house and commenced working on cleaning.  I was in a really low mood, I felt horrible that Noeline spent last the last 4 days with this hanging over her head rather then confronting me.  Not that I wanted to feel bad, but I hate hurting people and needlessly at that.
 
So basically I didn’t say much the remainder of the day.  At first I was going to try and help Noeline pack up items in the kitchen area, but she knows more of what she wants and to whom she wants to give stuff too and I just seem to be in the way when this is going on.  Noeline has a small kitchen that is stacked up with lots of tablecloths, small decorative pillows and covers, kitchen dish’s, glasses and flatware and pots and pans and all kinds of smaller household type items.  A man who is a helper of Noeline’s gets big cardboard drums that have lids on them and we had about 3 lined up and each was going either to a special person or to Noeline’s school. 
Noeline has just gotten word that the school that she had paid for to be built was completed and it is grand!  It has walls and a roof and it is 100x better then anything around for miles.  She paid for it to be built out of her own money and she is very proud.  She has been collecting desks and chairs from for the last few years to supply the school.  Her friend that runs the mission called to tell her that they can’t afford to hire teachers to teach at the school, but the Salvation Army has offered to run it and get the teachers.  Noeline was thrilled with that- she doesn’t care who runs it as long as children are being taught. So the one drum was dedicated to educational type toys to go to the Rainbow school.  

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