(Continuing our temporary respite from things cancer, I offer my reflections on our recent trip to Ireland)

We always think of Ireland as green.  We found our explanation of that in the frequent rains that cover the land.  And even though it is on the same latitude as Siberia and Labrador, Ireland’s own weather is moderated by the flow of the warming waters of the Gulf Stream.  My friend is a university professor focusing on “service learning”.  He was on sabbatical and so spends part of his time working with universities in Ireland. Consequently our itinerary was influenced by his speaking schedule.

We began our Irish journey south of the western city of Galway.  While there are dual carriageways, similar to our interstate highways, most travel takes place on smaller two-lane roads.  These roads are narrower than in the US and lack a service lane or berm but instead are bordered by high hedges or rock walls.  Some roads are even narrower, requiring that one car pull to the very edge in order for another car or truck or bus to pass.  Everything seems compressed.  Roads are smaller.  Cars are smaller.  Houses and shops are stacked against each other, like many urban landscapes, especially in Europe.  This is a continent with an ancient history.  Over the centuries available land was taken up by earls and kings only later divided up for individual families.  But a man might have three sons.  His farm is then parceled into three parts, then six, then ten, and on.  This is why the promise of new lands in the far west across the ocean drew scores of pilgrims and seekers.  America was born of these seekers and pilgrims.

Everything seems ancient, compressed.  History hangs over the landscape.  Stone rather than wood is the preferred building material.  Structures have an innate permanency.   A village comes together a thousand years before Christ. Over centuries a town is built over the village.  Cowpaths become wagon roads.  The town evolves into a city but constructed over the same basic frame.  Narrow winding streets that easily conducted wagons, horses and foot traffic now slow the pace of faster modes of transportation, motorized automobiles, buses, trams and lorries.

Cliffs of Moher

The most astonishing place we visited was the Cliffs of Moher, walls of sheer rock that rise  700 feet above the Atlantic Ocean.  This is where we first experienced the power of wind in Ireland.  In most places on the cliff the wind came in gusts that we estimated at 60-70 mph.  It was impossible to stand still as the wind buffeted about us.  We had dressed in layers, wearing caps and covering those with the tightly drawn hoods on our coats.  In one section of the walk leading up to the watch tower the winds came over a narrow crevice in the rock wall.  Walking that thirty feet required one to lean far forward, pushing your upper body with the power of your legs.  We estimated these winds as gale-force, maybe 70-80 mph.  This narrow crevice was a perfect spot to rainwater to flow over the cliff in a slender waterfall.  But the wind was so fierce that the water arced in twenty foot streams back over the top of the cliff, drenching anyone who made the climb.

The sun made but a brief appearance.  Over a few minutes we watched as a brilliant rainbow danced on the water, constantly changing color and shape before fading to nothingness.  The first of a number of rainbows, including a double one that we were to witness of the coming week.  No wonder everyone looks for that elusive pot of gold.

I want to try a little experiment this week, departing temporarily from our regular cancer format. Instead I will be reporting on the events and impressions of our recent trip to Ireland.  I will cover what we did, impressions on the Irish economy, history, music, landscape, and life.  This trip differed from most of my previous travels abroad in that it was for pleasure only and had nothing to do with nursing or cancer care.  I may write more about that history in a future post.

As you may recall we were scheduled to depart from Boston in mid-October.  A hospitalization for H1N1 interfered with that plan.  Irish weather in October this year was unusually balmy and sunny.  Our November weather was more typical in the extreme.  Indeed we saw record rainfall and flooding throughout the British isles.  There is a saying in Ireland that the only way to tell the season is by the temperature of the rain.

This trip originated from Indianapolis with six hour layover in New York’s JFK airport.  Fortunately we had complimentary passes to Delta’s Sky Club.  So we spent those hours in the members-only lounge, watching TV, sipping drinks and munching on mediocre appetizers.  The flight over was long and cramped.  We arrived early morning in Dublin.  I had booked bus tickets for the cross-country trip to Galway on the western coast.  It was unclear from the internet booking if the bus from the airport into Dublin was included.  The airport bus driver was unsure also and so suggested that I buy tickets for his bus inside.  Two for 10 euros or about $15US.  When I returned to the bus stand, tickets in hand, a few minutes later, we were approached for the busline supervisor.  He conformed that  our Bus Eireann tickets did not include fare into the city.  He apologized but announced that he would take us for free.  I showed him the tickets I just purchased.  He then approached another couple on the platform who had a question.  Then he returned to us, retrieved my tickets, gave them to the other couple in exchange for a 10 euro note that he handed to me.  “Better to spend it in a pub” said he.  A gracious beginning for us.

Ours was a local bus, stopping briefly at over a dozen towns and villages.  As we traveled west, ancient hedgerows demarcating property lines gave way to low stone walls, dry-stacked with thousands of flat rocks.  The land sloped and fell.  We passed fields whose only crop seemed to be made up of dark, granite fieldstones.  Other more cultivated fields had long ago given up their own rock harvest to clear the land for planting and to build the walls that surrounded them.  Every town had at least one pub, B&Bs, its own cheese and fish mongers, as well as an assortment of ethnic “take-away” restaurants.

a Galway home with stream

With no facilities on the bus, we stopped at a little bus station halfway through our journey.  The sky was darkening as we pulled into Galway.  We asked a young woman traveler for the use of her cell phone.  She happily obliged, then offered to show us the square where we were meeting our friends.  Bob and Rebecca drove us the short distance to their flat, a modern, architectually sophisticated affair built on the ruins of an old mill.  A high rock wall surrounded the courtyard.  The mill’s original stream flowed alongside as well as under the new apartments.

Our flat & old mill wall

This part of Galway is called Salt Hill.  It posses an old village atmosphere.  Riverlets, streams, canals and locks divide buildings and streets.  Bridges provide access everywhere and span a raging river that then empties into the bay.  Ireland’s damp climate and near constant rain feed hundreds of lakes and stream.  The commercial area here is dissected by narrow, cobbled streets.  Pubs, shops of all kinds, and restaurants are dressed in bright pastels, forming an optimistic picture in contrast the the grey, unrelenting weather.  We walk down to the harbour.  We pass pleasure boats and working boats with even a few examples of nineteenth-century sail-driven fishing boats called Galway hookers.  These, along with tiny shops featuring “tarts”, led to a series of sad jokes.

Me & a Galway hooker

Our Galway evenings were mostly spent on little pubs featuring Irish music.  Our favorite was called Tis Coili. The front tables was reserved for musicians.  They sat in chairs and drank their ales, stouts, and ciders between songs.  The composition of the bands changed as different musicians came and went, sitting in for a song or two.  Fiddles, banjos, accordians of different sizes and shapes, a flute or two, and old handheld drums, sometimes a vocal rendition, most times not.  Rants and rifs that followed an improvisational impulse, people playing together and in solo sections, musicians sometimes trading instruments, rhythms interpreted, expanded, driven together in wild harmony.  And me with my Guinness.  Later we walked home through the continuing drizzle, the tiny streets filled with young and old, mostly young.  And sometimes the occasional colorful Irish drunk.  We crossed tiny stone or wrought-iron bridges, fording streams that hissed and glowed in the darkness.  An introductory welcome to an ancient land.

Our favorite Galway pub

Etan Boritzer follows the success of his first two books What is God? and What is Love? with the third in his series of explaining abstract concepts to children.  What is Death? is appropriately a thin book with just sixteen pages of text.  Facing each page are colorful, intricate drawings by artist Nancy Forrest.  Each picture illustrates the concepts presented on the facing page.  The aithor starts the discussion by describing the big question – what is death?  We know that everything dies.  But we don’t know what happens afterward.  People die when they are old, very sick, or have accidents.  Some deaths are peaceful, some are not.

The author discusses why some people are scared of death – it’s like walking into a dark room.  And we all have seen beautiful things in nature die.  Why is that? He offers an explanation of culture and religion, and the fact that different people have different ideas about death and dying.  Some people are buried, some are cremated.  The Egyptians wrapped their dead in cloths.

Boritzer hits the mark with children by getting them to relate to the death of someone’s grandfather.  He suggests that sometimes it looks like the person is just sleeping.  Then he talks about the sadness people have after someone dies.  He asks the provocative question – what happens to the dead person’s goodness, their love, their stories, the stuff inside – after the person’s outside, their body, has died.

This leads to a discussion of different ideas regarding a soul, that element of personhood that some people believe lives on, in some other place or maybe to be reborn again in another body.  He touches on Hindu, Christian, Islamic, and Jewish beliefs about death.  He also points out that there are people that do not believe in a soul or afterlife.  The author appeals to common childhood experiences, like moving to a new home, to illustrate more abstract concepts.

So, maybe if we start to think of Death / in all these good ways, / we’ll be able to do good / and living things in Life.

Discussing abstract subjects such as God and Death can surely be difficult for parents.  But such things do come up.  This is perhaps especially relevant to families dealing with cancer, whether the death is imminent of just a possibility.  These questions are difficult to answer with any concrete finality.  But the discussion must take place.  Boritzer’s books are a good starting point.  He approaches the subject in a step-by-step way, appealing wherever possible to typical experiences children may have already had.  Since he deals with the topic from multiple viewpoints, the book is valuable for parents from a wide range of belief systems.  The illustrations are mostly soft and soothing, relying on pastels and fluid lines to express concepts in realistic but nonthreatening ways.

Whether you are a parent, grandparent, aunt or uncle, whether you are facing cancer in your family or not, What is Death? is liable to make a valuable addition or gift to the children in your life.

Purchase from  Amazon:

What Is Death

cancer

Today is Wednesday and by posting these Guest Posts, we will be back on schedule after unforseeable lapses from H1N1 and family travel.  I just recently added Donna Peach’s blog to the list.  I love her name. As you may recall, my favorite chemo nurse was Donna from Georgia whom we affectionately called “Donna the Peach”.  The Donna Peach writes from her blog Donna Peach or Dancing Thru Life’s Adventures with Breast Cancer

advanced cancer: thriving

One part of this disease that is overwhelming is the way it demands your attention. After your doctor tells you that you have cancer, curable or incurable, you never really stop thinking about it. I shuffle it to the back of my thoughts so it’s like a software program running in the background. But, no matter what I do, this stupid cancer is a persistent prickling awareness.

Most of us have an arsenal of activities that distract our attention, and they work for us in varying degrees and under varying circumstances. Some days we may have only enough strength to evade cancer’s oppressive mood or to cope with the physical demands of the disease or its treatment. Cancer is a potent foe.

Yet, it’s important that we reach toward other goals in our lives. It helps us to thrive and to endure the emotional, psychological and physical effects of the disease and the treatment. Having goals and making steps toward accomplishing those goals help us focus away from the negativity of those effects and to build and maintain emotional and psychological strength. While the jury is still out on whether a positive outlook directly benefits survival or prevents disease progression (see my post depression and survival), the experts still advise us that a positive attitude will help us cope. For those who have curable cancer, studies show, also, that survivors with a positive attitude make a gentler transition back to a normal life.

Whatever our goals have been, it’s important to adapt them to our current levels of energy. Exercise. Learn. Teach. Create. Pray. Play. For however long you can tolerate it, whether it’s five, ten or fifteen minutes. Keep working toward ongoing goals you have had or create new goals, and don’t be afraid to try new activities that appeal to you. Let the other parts of your life help you so that cancer cannot dominate your life 24/7. I don’t know about you, but the days that I dance or walk, work or play, write or meditate, I feel stronger and pleasantly tired. And, I feel that I’ve laughed in the face of the pink demon.

joy of simple communication

Conversation is one of the gifts of being human. I love not only language and its nuances, I love the various forms of communication and expression. I think human communication is a privilege of our species. Today was a lovely example of this, and, specifically, of enjoying the social aspects of the work environment.

I’ve never really enjoyed isolation. In fact, if I have to stay in all day, it drives me crazy. I always feel like I need to get out. I need to see people. I need to converse. While going through treatment, though, some days I do spend my entire time inside. Even when that’s physically required, psychologically I still fight the idea of it.

Today was like being set free. For some reason, being around my office and with my coworkers was overwhelmingly delightful. It didn’t have anything to do with what we discussed or what we accomplished with the conversations. It mattered that I’m fortunate to be in an environment with people who are not just amazingly supportive but sensitive and fun. The jokes, the teasing, the greetings made me feel so refreshed that, even though I was exhausted by the end of the day, as usual, I went home feeling grateful to have the kind of job I do and to be able to work with the people in my environment. I feel blessed.

from: Donna Peach