Shorts on .... WATER....

My friend always says, Drink water, when I have anything wrong with me. When I'm crying, when I'm sick, anything....  I continued her tradition by telling all of my friends to drink water when they are feeling bad.  I used to hate water, and now I can see it totally different. 
Water is some powerful force....
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What about the studies on water that showed up in that movie "What the Bleep" which was a Quantum Physics flic.  Dr. Emoto proved that by holding a glass of water for a period of time, and filling it with intention (love, anger, etc.) he could actually change the molecular structure of the water.   It was fascinating to me.  And for a while, I used to make little intention cups that had certain words that I would drink from each night.  And now that I think about it, that might be something I need to do again.  If anyone is interested in Dr. Emoto's studies, here's a link to his website.  Seriously, just look at some of these photos and what the power of thought can do....
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When I was a little girl I grew up on the cliffs of Manomet Beach and my bedroom overlooked the ocean.  I used to stare out this window every night and wondered what was past Provincetown.  I knew there was more because I used to see the planes leaving Logan airport and I used to imagine where they were going. And I used to pretend that I would be on one someday,   I would go explore whatever is over there. 

I would watch the water, endlessly. I loved the waves, the sound and the force.  I loved the whales.  I loved the ocean, but I was afraid of what was underneath.
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Today I was told of a dream my friend had.  His dream was this…. He and I were in the ocean, we were drowning.... as I tried and save a Religious Hat of some sort, I think he said a “pope hat”, Some Religious looking relic, I was hanging onto my friend also. We were trying to save each other - my friend’s ex-wife was latched to his ankle, pulling us both under. We were drowning. We were going to die?  We both tried to figure it out.  We work in mental health wonderland, we like to pick things apart.....
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Earlier today, a neighbor called me and asked me to check on his house. He said he had a dream that the place was flooded and wanted me to look inside it – make sure it was all good. He lives far away.   I couldn’t get in at first, and not noticing too much beyond maybe some smoke detector battery beeps going off in there. I fuss with the door and I can’t get in. I go downstairs to the French doors – and I still can’t get in. I fiddle with this key and this door, like a true Viking chick, as my husband fondly refers to me, I fight this door with every bit of strength I had! I think I gave myself a headache from gritting my teeth too hard.  So, I get the door open , and I am immediately swept by a tidal wave, I was immediately thrown by the force of it. I was soaked, the house on this particular floor was filled with water.  Every floor buckled – every door swelled. A total loss.  This, is a $500,000 home.  Custom everything.  The ceiling was falling in from the weight of the water– all furniture destroyed.  Water was pouring from light bulbs hainging from ceiling fixtures....Instantly, his dream came to mind. My father’s rosary beads haven’t left my pocket for the last couple weeks, and I recognized that my instinct was to hold onto them while I was loosing my footing in the water.  I almost lost them once, and I would try everything to not lose them again.  My pope hat?

Tonight, I was writing a friend about it, and we were talking about not only the synchronicity of it, but what the symbols mean. Water, meaning emotion of course. Religious, showed up in his dream as we both come from very religious families, and we share a desire to have traditional, spiritual relationships with our partners. I have a very Catholic upbringing and probably fundamental core system, as tweaked as possible, but the fact remains, when you are raised with certain beliefs or behaviors, those will have to either by un-learned or something will have to fill it's place from your own experiences and as you trust your own judgement around what to believe or not to believe.   The "habits" we have are hard to break, and it takes conscious effort to process some of that out.  The ex-wife, well, as I’ve told my friend, she’s a freaking anchor - we know this! But drowning? The water moving tonight as I gushed backward made me feel as though I need to flow with how things feel – like them moving through – because nothing ever stays the same.We never stay feeling the same way forever, we always feel different. If we don't go with the flow, it gets ugly.  And man, we got some waves to ride...
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Three years ago I broke two ribs.  I didn't just crack them, I literally broke them in half, and when I moved my body at all, I could feel them rubbing on top of each other inside my body.  I could even hear the sound. It was totally gross.  I was on, what I like to refer to, as the Tube of Death, behind a boat going around 40? It was Fourth of July - A bunch of my friends packed up boats and all kinds of stuff and headed out to one of the islands in Blue Ridge Lake. The kids were having a blast - we would ride later and see fireworks. We had jet skis, kayaks, motorboats, tubes, wake-boards - we had food, drink, we were there for the duration... we were having fun.   It was my turn.  James  is driving the boat and I was flying.  I flew off that tube and hit that water so hard that at first I thought I hit a brick wall.  I thought instantly, I collapsed my lungs.  I got into the boat and I looked at James and all the kids (I was thinking I did not want any one to panic) and I say to him, I have to get off this boat, and instead of waiting for him to take me back to the island, I jump off this boat into the water, and realize I can't freaking breath.  James is like, What are you doing? Are you ok?  I swim to shore.  I wasn't even so close.  On the island are my other friends.  One of them is a Nurse Practioner- she is so sweet and reserved.  I call her over to the other side of the island and I lifted my shirt up and said, is there a bone sticking out of me?  And she gasped and said NO! Does there feel like there is? And I told her that I think I just did something serious to the insides of me.  A funny thing happened though, I totally went into like shock mode, pulled up a chair on the beach and instictively knew not to move a muscle, but I was watching my daughter have so much fun, that I was not leaving that beach. I even endured the boat ride back from fireworks and drove home myself.  I ended up having to call my friend when I realized I couldn't move anymore once I got home. I couldn't even undress.  She took me to the emergency room the next day.  The doctor couldn't believe that I walked in there. It wasn't until he said that, that I allowed myself to cry.   This is what being clueless about your body does.  I have no idea.  (Hello Universe, Please, just take me when it's time.  I don't need the head's up.)
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I had a drowning dream only once that I can remember. I was surrounded by dead things in the water, like dogs and ducks, and I understood the water to be the dead place – where people die, while I was in it. The water was black and it was nighttime.  Everyone I knew was on the beach. Everyone was laughing and having fun. They were at a party. No one noticed I was out there. I couldn’t scream. I had this dream 4 years ago.   I also recalled this dream the night I got married, July 3rd when I was wandering alone on my old beach amidst the bonfires while Edward visited his family.  I spent an hour wandering, watching the old dark ocean again like an old friend.  I remembered the dream again then.
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I knew 4 people that drown. Back in my late teens, I worked on a sword-fishing boat for a short time. I was the cook, and when we were ashore, we all shared a big giant house that had a Widow’s Walk, and the greatest pantry on the planet.  It was really old, like 1850 and had a few ghosts…. I would spend a lot of time there alone. I know what I’m talking about. This old creepy place used to make the Doberman cry. He literally would stay outside every door of every room I ever went into. The Dog never left my side and at night, he cried like a baby. When I would get up in the morning, doors were open, things were moved, it was a freaky place! Those guys were always happy to get the heck out of there! Anyway, a boat, that left the same port we did was never seen or heard from again during a storm. They were all pronounced dead, a tragedy at sea.  They had mock funerals, but what I was told is the boat went down, and after twenty minutes they would have been dead from the water temperature. I was young. I was friends with a girl that loved someone on board. It was a hard, sad time in her life.  I never went back out.  I remember having images of them floating in the water.   I didn't want to die that way.
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When My step-daughter had hip-surgery, I left the hospital about two hrs. from home.  It was raining so hard I couldn't see, and no one could go beyond 15 mph.  I was stuck in traffic, and so blind from water.  It had been raining like this for weeks.  Rivers were flooding, mobile homes were floating down rivers.... I was dog-sitting for some friends during this time.  You had to drive through a creek to get to their giant log home.  Tonight,  my daughter Meghan was covering for me.  She drives her Honda Civic through the creek, except the creek is not a creek, it is a raging river and my daughter is swept away - car and all.  She calls me on the phone screaming that the car is filling with water and she can't get out.  I am stuck in traffic so thick, i'm hours from her and in rain so hard that I can't even see.  I thought I was listening to my daughter dying.  She was screaming and hysterical.  She was 17 and newly licensed.   (She made it out, police came, friends, tow trucks, car was totalled)  My daughter is now afraid to drive when water accumulates now.  But SHE'S ALIVE!! and holds the record of THE scariest phone call I have ever received!
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Water, we can all agree. A powerful force.   Everyone, go drink some water!

"I want to ride my BICYCLE... i want to ride my bike...."

When I was small, I was the last one on my road to learn how to ride a bike. I even had a really nice one with a hanging, white basket out front, with colorful plastic flowers on it.


It became mostly embarrassing, because while my brother and cousins were already fully skilled at wheelie popping, I still couldn’t balance the bike in order to ride it. I could never practice, because I lived on a dead end street filled with kids, and I would mostly surely be made fun of. That was too painful to endure. But I did, and eventually I got it. I think I was 8 (maybe even 9). When I knew I could, I waited until I could show my father, who was a policeman in the city of Boston, and golfed on the weekends, so it was hard to catch him home. One weekend, everyone in my family was out front of my grandmother’s house sitting on the picnic table there. All the other kids from the neighborhood involved in some sport game in the field next door. Great, I hope they all stay over there, Im thinking. I say to my father, “ watch me dad, I can ride my bike.” All the adults sat ready to watch me. My father was supportive, and I was ready. I started up Provincetown View Road, I was steady, and my family began to cheer. Lynnmarie finally can ride a bike! It’s a miracle :) ….

I passed 5 houses, and at the sixth, the man that lived in the house there, backed up his gigantic cadillac and ran me over.

Before I realized what had happened, my father, my uncle billy and a couple other uncles were beating the hell out the guy in the car. I know he didn’t mean to, but I don’t think they were really asking too many questions. I wasn’t hurt beyond being thrown across part-cement, part-dirt road, and being stunned about all this happening, when only five minutes before I was standing at the picnic table. Not a good first bike ride.

Another time, about a year later, when I was far more cocky on the bike, I used to do the whole no-hand, no-feet thing and float up the road. On one of my more brilliant days, I take my feet/legs and instead of throwing them out to the side – I decide I am going to throw them out to the front . As I did that, my feet went inward, completely stopping the front tire by getting them stuck in the spokes and my bike completely flipped over – a total 360. And no, I was not wearing a helmet. Who did in those days ??? This accident, I did actually hurt myself. I got a concussion, and started to kind of hate the whole bike thing.

When I went to Ireland, I chose to take a bicycle not even remembering these experiences, until the meltdown I had with Claudia in the car. I simply chose to take the bike because I thought it would slow me down, allow me more conversations with people, get in shape and really experience the country – not just go wizzing by it in a little rental car. I was also afraid of the reverse side of road to get used to. But here I was, with not so many great memories of bike rides, and really never picked it up through my life until just before leaving to go on this trip.

With this memory resurfacing, I had an instant fear of getting hit by a car. I was afraid already about that, but now I felt the fear on a cellular level, and I wondered what I was in for.

I wanted to share this bit of history, simply to add to the understanding of what I felt like I accomplished by returning from Ireland without a body cast.  Oh and Alive....

Cuckoo!! ~ An Ireland Entry

I’m sitting here watching Yo Gabba Gabba with my granddaughter Serenity. She loves this show. I have to admit, it kinds of creeps me out, but I did actually crack up at the one that Jack Black showed up in. Anyway, this lady is singing a song to all these little munchkins about GOING SLOW, When we want to GO FAST. This is as my granddaughter says, “ I need more GABBA NOW”… Lyrics all about slowing it down.. It reminded me of another experience in Ireland….

 This is around Day 3-4. I was traveling through very barren area of Ireland. I knew this day would only contain nature, as opposed to towns, people or places… But this direction was also lined with lots of churches that no longer stood, some ancient cemeteries that contained some of the oldest markers still in existence in that country. Most of these places were few and far between – which meant I had to be prepared for the day – food and water, TP for sure, extra bananas… it would take me all day to get where there might be an open room in a hostel in Kilfenora (meaning "Church of the Fertile hillside or Church of the White brow") and is a small village, just south of The Burren.

I went down a side, dirt-road following directions I printed online for Dysert O’Dea’s castle and the church that was located on the property. I got chased by a dog and almost bit in the shin, (this would have been the second time I dog has run out and bit me on my bicycle. Once riding home from my friend Denise’s after school in Plymouth) I found the castle eventually – it was literally out in the middle of nowhere… By the castle was an old church and cemetery, and in order to get to the church, or to the gravestones, the walls contained stone steps that were just stacked into the walls the opposite way. This was something I saw a lot there, and loved the whole idea of it. (I’m a stair girl from way back…)

The walls in Ireland are in abundance. They had to move rock in order to uncover earth, as well as stop wind, so rock walls, rock everything….everywhere. I loved that.

The old castle was really cool, but I liked the church better. This place had one of the oldest standing High Crosses - carved in stone, that stood right there in the middle of the field. Again, no fences, no rules, no admission prices – I was so happy to just go explore. I stayed here for a while, but I admit part of it was fear about turning back around and passing the biting dog again- that was a little frightening . After a couple hours of doing some rubbings, writing, taking some photos, I was ready to battle that dog. Turns out he slept right through me hauling ass by his house. I was safe and back on the main road.

I started entering the Burren area of Ireland… About three/four hours down the road I came to Kilinaboy, Poulnabrone Dolmen (Poll na mBrón in Irish means "hole of sorrows") and is a portal tomb dating back to the Neolithic period, probably between 4200 BC to 2900 BC. Also, Kilnaboy had a medieval church of 11th century that has a Sheela na Gig (possible medieval fertility symbol) over the door and a cross on the church gable. I wanted to see this! This church sat on a hill in the middle of nowhere. There really weren’t a lot of homes or anything around this place. It was eerily quiet. I parked my bike and walked up inside the church. The stones were everywhere. I saw the keystone

over the arched doorway, but It was hard to make it out anymore. The grave markers seemed to be inside the building. This is also where I got one of my favorite pictures. It was a window inside a window – and it was fabulous. The place was really spooky. I had goose-bumps the whole time I was there. It just had a real unsettling feeling to it. The carvings were scarier than some of the newer ones – displaying more skull type, death- looking carvings- as opposed to celtic knots or religious symbols. They were embedded into the walls of this entire structure.   I was scared half to death by a groundskeeper that was apparently there the whole time watching me. I don’t know if he was napping, but as soon as he started coming around, I was ready to leave. (I’m not one to run from people. I usually engage in some type of exchange. It’s rare that I run from someone before they even really start talking. But I did. I wish I had got more pictures here, but I got kind of spooked. )

This can happen after spending too much time alone, not seeing people. I recognize that the more alone I am, stay in my studio, and I am not talking to anyone, or seeing anyone, that it can almost be weird to hear your own voice after awhile. Right down the road from this place was an abandoned jail. It was enough for me to take photos from the road. I figured if I got so creeped out from the last place, I was most certainly not going to like

going in to an old shackle house. I shot photos from the road. I kept my distance. It was a weird, almost conventional looking building. But in some way, frighteningly out of place.

This day of cycling was long long long….. I felt like I wasn’t going fast enough. Too bad I didn’t have this lady on Yo Gabba Gabba singing in my ear to Slow down Slow down….. I felt tired, and hot, and it was so damn windy. And no, the wind was not blowing the right way.

Since leaving the first castle of the day, I picked up a follower. I was being stalked by a Cuckoo bird. Now this bird stayed with me for hours, but he was good at hiding himself, because I tried to find it, but never could.  But for hours and hours, as I rode alone on these barren roads, this freaking bird screamed “ Cuckooo!” and I would yell back “ I KNOW!  SHUT up!” Or other nice things, like “Yeah, ok, you can fuck off now”  It never did. I think it was mocking me. I believe I do not like Cuckoo birds.

Toward the end of the day, I was windburned, sunburned and a couple pints of Guinness would be in order tonight. I couldn’t wait to get to the hostel.

Almost there, I meet a road construction crew working alongside the roads…. Repairing walls, filling holes, some just sitting there. I am peddling at what I considered a steady pace, but I swear I wasn’t getting anywhere! I kept looking at the map, I kept swearing at the stupid Cuckoo bird, and I kept on going. What the hell. I would never get anywhere at this rate.

At this point, I look over and I see three road crew guys sitting on the jagged wall, laughing at me. At first, I twisted my face like, what the heck, and then it dawned on me…. I said to them “ Oh my God, I’m going backwards aren’t i??” and they all laughed harder and said, “well right now you are! “ And they were right… I was literally going backwards every time I stopped peddling!!! The wind was so strong, I was going backward! WTF! I started cracking up, got off that stupid ass bike, walked over to these guys and said, “Give me a shovel. I’ll fill a couple holes for a ride to the edge of town. You need another helper?”

So I spent the next couple hours helping this road crew move rocks and fill holes. I sat on walls, drank water and laughed with these guys that have done this brutal job their whole lives.

By the time I was ready for the ride, they were still working so I got my second breath and kept going. I made it to Kilfenora before dinner time.

I arrived at the charming yellow hostel, and right as I got there, Crows started flying in. I caught one in my photo here…. Oh yeah. I was at the right place! These crows will totally take that Cuckoo bird! Show yourself I said! I never heard another peep! 

Get Your Arse On the Bus! - an Ireland Entry ...

I was probably day 5 into this trip when the muscle soreness I was experiencing was becoming disabling. This is when I really wished I trained like Claudia told me to. I needed to do something. I found the local pharmacy, bought some of that BioFreeze, hot/cold ointment – and found my way into this old cemetery on the top of the hill overlooking this town.


I was on my way to the Cliffs of Moher. I was on my way to the ocean. I wasn’t quite able to see it from this hill, but I could smell it, and it made me excited and like almost like home wasn’t far away.

In this cemetery was yet another ruin of church that used to stand there. The place was filled with the name Dwyer. The Pharmacy was also names O’Dwyer’s. I sat up there looking at all the carvings, reading the names, adding up the numbers. I met a man that was tending the grounds. He was a veteran of an armed service and wore badges and medals all over his clothes. There was a hint of mental trauma he carried in his eyes that made me not engage in a long conversation, but certainly gave him my time, attention and thanks for talking with me. He was a mumbler. A talker-to-self character.

I made my way a bit and found this river that looked like Guinness beer. Which I had discovered to be a meal all in itself some days ….I also learned by day 7 - you could get half pint instead of the huge one.  It was running downhill, over humps and the water was brown and foamy. Near the edge was this fabulous seaweed – I stopped to hang out and take some shots. The reflection in the water made it look like an alternate universe.

It took another hour or more before I saw the ocean. The smell of salt and Dead Sea creatures filled the air, it actually made me cry. I guess it had been a while since I had gone home to Massachusetts – 15 years maybe. I missed being near the ocean so much that at this point, it felt like vital life breath. I was exhausted and sore but thrilled at the same time. Traffic was picking up and I was heading uphill at this point, I should be to those fabulous cliffs in about three hours.

On the way up there is a St. Bridget’s well which I stopped at. I found it fascinating inside. It was wet and mossy from a spring that was cracking the cemented walls and filling a small well inside. It was filled with relics, religious statues covered in rosary beads, crucifix/crosses, and pictures. It was an underground space filled with Pain and Love all at the same time. It was a pretty amazing place. I hung out and walked some trails around there, met some local travelers that had stopped to check it out too.

The last hour or so uphill was tough on me. I was beginning to notice the roads becoming narrower, and at times there was no place for a bicycle to be without really being in the road itself. Let’s just say, the side of the road consisted of blackthorn bushes. Not fun to fall into. This was getting ugly.

I tried though. I also noticed that I had not seen many cyclists at all this trip except a group traveling together – no one carried any gear on their bikes, but you could tell it was some type of tour thing. Before long, I have a tour bus riding my ass. I am pumping as hard as I can. I’m carrying about 50 lbs. at this point on the bike; I can’t get off to the side. I’m hoping to soon, but so far, not looking so good….. This bus driver keeps riding my ass. I am starting to get a little freaked out. I’m scared but at the same time I’m getting pissed. So we do this dance for maybe 10 minutes, something like that. It may as well been an hour. I lost all track of time, myself, all of it.

The bus comes to a stop. Off the bus jumps the driver, and he rushes over to me and goes,”GET YOUR ARSE ON THE BUS!!!” And I go, What the fuck! You were riding my ass that whole time, freaking me out,  and  NOW you are yelling at me?!! I had NO PLACE TO GO!! (I also think I instinctively puffed up my chest to look bigger and moved right into his yelling face) So he looks at me and goes, “Listen Miss Grace O’Malley, You get your arse on that bus right now! I have six sisters just like you!” He takes my bike away and puts it in the luggage storage and I am forced to get on this stupid ass bus.

Hahaha. I get on there and it’s a tour group of all these older people, and they all started cheering. Hahaha. I started cracking up. The bus driver started laughing too, and says, get your arse up here and sit with me – what the hell are you thinking riding a bicycle on this road? Don’t you know that these days, there are far too many cars and buses for it to be safe…. I was still so freaking mad that I did NOT want to like this Irish bus driver one bit, so I think I scowled at him.

The sweet couple that sat behind me from Donegal said, oh Love, you look to be about our daughter’s age. I said, I will be turning 40 next week – and they both shook – YUP! And she’s in India right now taking a hike up that mountain over there!” Ha-ha. So we all laughed. I met some great people on this bus. And I was actually happy for the big cushy paddy seat I got to sit in. (But I was secretly plotting the death of the driver.)

Well, here’s a change of tune… I stayed hanging with the bus driver when we arrived at the cliffs. Turns out, sitting and talking to this guy was relaxing and funny. He said. “I did what you are doing once, and then I bought a motorcycle. And you know that stuff you stopped and bought, (I had showed him) don’t be putting it on your arse now. I know you’ll want to, but trust me, don’t do it. I traveled with a lady who smeared it all over her bruises and she regretted it for days.” I kind of cringed and went, oww, ok; I certainly will not be doing that. (Then I thought, shit, that’s the real place I needed this stuff, what am I supposed to do now? – Ok – just put it on my back and hamstrings, maybe my feet…)

Three hours passed before this driver had to leave again. There is a fleet of buses coming and going so you can stay at the cliffs as long as you want. He was funny as hell, and after we got over the wanting to kill each other part, we became fast friends. He took my bike off the bus, and I was on my way to the Cliffs of Moher across the street. He gave me a giant hug, a glimmer and said some wind at your back thing again…. They love that one over there.

The cliffs could still be approached to their edge without any walls, fences or protection. People would fall to their deaths there. Wind could blow people off occasionally. It was a favorite suicide place. I could see that they were starting some construction, and that soon the Cliffs, like most places in the world will be behind a fence, wall or have some imposed liability around it.

I don’t have a lot of words for what I experienced there. It was overwhelming. The size of them… the greenness of the water and the earth, the humbling roar and crashing of water on rock. … I immediately felt a need to get down on my stomach when I got closer to the edge. I crawled to the edge that way. I saw that other people were doing the same thing. It was so scary that people were literally on the ground. It amazed me.

I sat there forever. I loved that I bought a cool camera and could film the little building on the very last peak. I watched and felt the ocean. I listened to the harp player on the stairs behind me. I watched people’s reactions to the powerful force of water. I got waves from a couple straggling couples that were on that bus earlier… I remembered stories I read of earlier days when ships were destroyed by Ireland’s rocky shoreline…

I took as many pictures as I could, I took in as much as I could, but I needed to go on. I had to find a place to stay. So I belly-crawled backward until I could stand. It took me awhile to be sure I found my legs… went and got my bike – ready to haul ass down the hill so I don’t get killed by another bus driver, when I look over, and there is my grinning, six-sistered mouthpiece bus driver, arms- crossed and looks at me and goes, “ get your arse on the bus….”

I said, “You came back for me?” He said, "No I gave up my routes until you were finished looking at them. They’re amazing aren’t they?” I said yeah, beyond, and I’m feeling it a little amazed that you’re giving me a ride down the hill…” and he said, you don’t need to be riding that bike on this road. I will take you to the road you want to get off on, and leave you there. At this point, passengers started filling the bus. All chattering about how amazing… and all carrying soveniers and t-shirts from the peddlers set up in the parking lot. I sat up front, showed him where I wanted to be let out.

It took only a little time to get down the hill. I was at my road. He pulled the bus over to get my bike out of storage. When he was outside he said, “just marry me, run away with me.” I said, but your passengers need you, and I have Bio Freeze and new directions on how not to use it…. He smiled at me and gave me a big kiss. He told me to be careful. He told me to stop being so stubborn. Then he said, are you sure?  I rode away smiling.

I was sure about NOTHING!

Except there was another hostel down the street, and I wanted the private room... so time to pick up the pace!

Clifden Bee-Hive - An Ireland Entry ....

For the last two years, I've thought about writing about my trip to Ireland. It seemed hard for me to put words together in a format I could flow with, and when I tried forcing what i learned over there into some kind of order- I become overwhelmed. Nothing got written. I get stuck.  So here's what I decided. I am going to write as things come up for me. I'm a big believer in bringing in what we need exactly we need it - and so i like to go with that. I go as far to belive that the conversations i had today, the words I choose to share -all of it are genuinely connected to me & all that I am right now. This makes me a more present creator of what i'm doing, whether it be clay, writing, all the way down to cooking. Feel what you need and go with it. Feed your body, feed your spirit. Feel Stuff. Don't TRY and make sense of it. Just pull from it and dissect it. You may never know where you may end up...

This post... On my way to Inishbofin - a tiny island off County Mayo and the days before i got there.....

About 6 months before planning this trip, I got a puppy. She was fat & the only girl of the litter, and was sound asleep at the bottom of all the male puppies gnawing on each other on top of her. I picked her. She came home & was afraid to stand up. She laid for almost three days. She didn't cry, she just couldn't move. And I understood this dog to be mine, just like that.  I have a narcolepsy that seems to be sparked through my emotions (or fluxations), effecting the muscles in my legs. It used to show up more with sleeping at inappropriate times, or "fainting" when I was small, but I have learned over the years that my muscles were actually doing something, and it's cataplexy. It was almost like the dog was doing the same thing.  It feels like paralysis, and it can be totally disarming.  So this dog is basically ME. I decided to let the dog tell me her own name. So I waited.  And there it was...she is Grace O'Malley. (Now, some of you may not believe this, but I knew of Grace O'Malley, but nothing really about her, and I always saw it spelled, Grannuille. I decided to read about her, and of course, I LOVE HER. An awesome, fearless Irish pirate pretending to be male, protecting her clan, fighting the good fight, standing up for what she believed in, and not being afraid to fight for it. To me, some parts of her seemed like an enigma. Some parts, I totally got. A true warrior, and a woman who embraced all parts of herself and just did it. So, I decided I would throw in one of her "forts" for fun during this trip. The fort was on the island of Inishbofin. That's why I wanted to go there.)

I wasn't banking on the fucking BANC HOLIDAY they had in Ireland this weekend, which basically means, that everyone gets an extra day off from work, leaves the center of the country and they flood the shorelines, filling hostels & bed and breakfasts everywhere. I actually think three people laughed at me when I stopped looking for a place to stay. (oh, and to make matters worse, every good little catholic girl & boy were making their first communion as well, so there were tons of families, kids in suits and white dresses - so reminding me of the picture I carried in my wallet since my early teens of me making mine.) There was NO place to stay.
I rode almost 90 miles up and down looking for a place. There was nothing. I rode every side street, every hilly, windy dog-infested street, looking for any sign of even the biggest dive on the planet - I didn't care- I just wanted Roofage. The wind was most certainly NOT at my back, Love. 

I stopped at this funky deli/shop along the way to eat a bite, take a break, and talk myself up to sleeping with the sheep. While I was sitting there, the woman across from me was reading a book I read years ago. Women Who Run With Wolves. It's a tough read actually. I had to do it a couple times before I could absorb some things that I just didn't get yet. But there were parts that I did get,  and contributed to an attitude which probably brought me to Ireland on my bicycle in the first place.  Here was this woman, reminding me. I got the message. I got back on the bike after a good long break and starting looking again for a place to stay.

I ended up in Clifden, a little seaside village,  at a hotel on the main road there. The woman behind the desk says, "Oh Love! There is one cancellation, just now! but she whispers, But it's expensive - 200 Euro. I said, I'll take it. (No, I didn't do the math. I just said yes).   She whispers again, There is a place down the street, I work there in the mornings serving breakfast, the owner, she has a room there, she has one room, and it is only 35 Euro.  I will save this room for you, but go, and ask her if you can stay there....So I was totally like YES! and i ride as fast as I can to a little Bed and Breakfast overlooking the harbor down the road another mile. I could do it.

I ring the bell. I ring again. To the door comes this heavily made-up, giant Bee-hive Suicide Blonde woman, about 60 years old. I tell her about the woman down the street, and I ask if she has a room for me. She says "yes, but it's not much of a room... it's the one I slept in when I was growing up, it's on the top floor, and it's small."  At this point, I think I must have realized that I couldn't even stand up anymore, and I totally dive-bombed (fell) into this lady's big bee-hive hair and started bawling... you know, like a huge baby. I could not believe it. But I was like, out of my body, and just couldn't stop myself.... After I DID compose myself, and she wasn't afraid I might do it again, she says.. "Oh my lord child, you are totally exhausted, let me look at you" At this point, she takes me up three flights of very narrow carpeted stairwells, and brings me into this room filled with light, and it was all white.  She lifted my arms up and peeled off that biking top, undresses me and starts this teeny tiny shower for me. She cringed in pain when she saw the color of my Irish arse. NOT PRETTY. A shade of blue/purple/black & even some yellow?....She said "You have to sleep, I am taking your bike away from you. You will have everything you need, but you have to sleep. You can stay here a few days. I will not give your bike back to you until then."  She took my bike and hid it on me in the little shed out back behind her building, and padlocked the door! I felt an incredible relief.  Someone took my choice away, and here I was, thrilled by it.  I loved this lady already. 

The room was all white, and it overlooked the ocean, just like the one I had when I was growing up on Provincetown View Rd. I got in the shower and I just cried. I have no idea even why, I was just so tired. And I was making this noise, one I never heard before. Deeper cry? Tired cry? Ancient cry? All those side streets, all those places I went this day, I drove 87 miles, and they weren't easy. I cried and then I passed out on that white tiny bed.
I had a deep dream night this night. A dream about a lifetime love.  I recorded it in my travel journal.  It brought me to a total peace, and brought back some kind of comfort I was missing.  I was feeling good.

I woke up late for the whole free breakfast thing & went running down all those stairs with my bed head, jammy bottoms and my peace t-shirt. I didn't know it was a whole formal kind of place, (so inside were families all in suits and church clothes - pinkie fingers flying all over the place)  but the employee serving breakfast, the same woman from the hotel down the road started laughing and I went right up to her and i said, I totally need to eat food, and if I don't do the whole free breakfast thing, I'll be waiting til lunch, she sat me down, gave me this spread you would not believe. I think I ate for two hours. Fresh fruit, fresh yogurt, Irish Bread, Jams, Tea, Cereals, Fiber - I was finally starting to feel somewhat human. Coffee. I didn't care what i looked like. I was getting my food, i had this awesome dream, I didn't have to look at that bike, and I could feel my legs again.   The owner said, "Child, you walk where you go today, it's a small place, you can even walk to the ocean, but if somewhere farther,  I know a taxi, he'll take you anywhere you want to go..." I said, tomorrow, I want to go to Inishbofin. I need to get to the boat that will take me to it... She arranged it, and I went upstairs and laid back down. Today, I would walk.  Tomorrow, I would walk.   This was a tremendous comfort.  The whole room filled with light, and I had everything I needed.

I stopped crying, My eyes were little slits, but I looked human. I hid all my padded arse bike-pants, grabbed some jeans, a t-shirt, and I hit the streets of Clifden. My first stop, the massage therapist/Reiki woman about a mile away. She refused to massage my bruised skin, but cleared my energy, rested my chaos. I felt even better.

I ate mussels at a local outside cafe and drank white wine. I listened to a loud American girl, who was young, and attention-seeking. I turned up my ipod. I ate my bread, ate my seafood chowder, the mussels in butter. I was listening to Natalie Merchant, drowning out Ms. Mouth. Out of the corner of my eye I see this woman trying to talk to me. I take out my earphones - she is also American & says, " I had to move way over here to get away from her. I see you are trying to drown her out too."  I said absolutley. We talked a bit - her husband was with her - both Texans, oil money, travelers.... they asked about me and what I was doing.. I told them a little bit of the planning around this trip, the trip so far... This woman is staring at me with this envy... I could see it, and like this glimmer in her eye, and almost a smirk on her lips... Not the husband.   This guy is looking at me with a total blank, almost downright righteous face and says, "You are totally having a mid-life crisis."    And the wife smacks the guy in the arm and goes,  "At least she's not out fucking 25 year olds and driving sports cars! She's riding her bicycle and isn't afraid to do it alone! Gerry, What the hell!"

Funny note:  I drive a little red sports car, and I swear, I only dated a 25 year old once....

Curly Cue ~ Ireland, First Entry

When I turned 40, I decided to take off to Ireland, with a bicycle.  An untrained cylist, a new bike, tons of gear, a few outfits, not too much cash, a few phone cards, a map, no reservations & my questionable intuition.  No reservations EXCEPT for the one I made at the Ballynahinch Castle  in the Connemara area of Ireland for two nights, for the night of my birthday, and the day after. I figured why not turn 40 in a castle, right?   I had a back-pack on, panniers on the bike, and water.  I had a list of hostels i could stay in, energy bars, and some kind of mad drive.  So here I go....

The day I was leaving, I freaked out.  I started crying to my friend Claudia who was taking me to the Atlanta airport, I was telling her that I was nuts! What was I thinking!?  I didn't even get into the training aspect too much of biking & here I was thinking I could actually pull this off- so I basically had this emotional meltdown on the way to the airport, crying & insisting I couldn't do it.   Claudia was awesome & spewing all kinds of wise encouraging buddah words - none of which I even heard - all I heard is, you are so fucked.  Are you some kind of sadist?   And I think I even heard my old friend Cathy saying " Lynn why do you do everything the hard way" .....To myself, I whispered...You spent all this money and now you have to go do it.  Everyone will think you are a big giant baby.  I self-talked myself to death.  And then I think I drank rum in the airport bar and I was able to get on the plane.

The plane was a huge one, and the flight was about 8 hours long.  I ended up with a three-seat section all to myself across from a great guy who also had the same set-up.  He was quiet, and had peaceful energy.  I read a little, I listened to music and I tried to sleep.  We smiled at each other, but we didn't speak.  I appreciated this, because I was deep in meditative thought - where would I end up? what would I experience?  Who was I going to meet while I was there?  I was breathing, I was opening.  The book I took to read was speaking to me in deep, thought-provoking ways and I began to feel certain I made the right move by planning, and then following through with this trip.

When I arrived in Shannon, it was about 2 a.m. US time & I had a bike to assemble from a big Box and Bike bag that I borrowed from Mike Palermi at the Cartecay Bike Shop.  So I took it into this long glass hallway and assembled it there.  This took probably longer than it would take most people, but I was a girl with no plans, no deadlines, nothing - so I didn't rush and just welcomed every conversation that came my way and listened to words resembling, "May the Wind always be at your back Love" and "OOOHHH Love, are you so pretty and traveling alone?  You shouldn't be traveling alone in the country" oh and other words like, "What in the world was your country thinking bringing him back!"  Speaking of George Bush.  As our country just went through it's re-election process, and let's just say, most of the Irish weren't so happy about it and I apparently was a target for some Irish political opinion.  (which is actually funny, given I have this rule - I don't talk religion or politics, I observe, I learn and I think, but that's it)

So my plan was, to assemble that bike & ride out of that airport traffic on a bus.  This was soley to avoid having to ride my bike on any interstate, and not being sure of the whole riding on the other side of the road issue, as well as 8 or 9 rotaries to go through before I even got to the interstate, I figured I'd get dropped off in Clarecastle, one of the first stops on my way to spend the night in Ennis at the hostel there on the river that runs through town.

So I rolled my bike, had everything packed, and went up to the line of buses sitting there waiting to take passengers away.... the first bus driver sitting there says,  "Oh NO Love, No Buses for at least three hours... you have to ride out. (plus, the bike would have the right to be refused if they were full, so I could have waited, and still been sitting there)  Look at you, you're all set!". I told him there was no way I could, asked him why all these buses were here - and in my own foggy hell, I see him writing me directions on a little piece of white note paper.  I said No! I'll take a taxi, and he laughed and said - "oh Curly Cue! You are only afraid!  You will ride out because you're all set, and it's easy! You can do it. Here, I am drawing you a map. Just follow it". He drew 8 rotaries, listed by number, and he drew an arrow to the exit i was supposed to take from that particular rotary.  He filled the paper with arrows/circles/numbers.  Okay.  Anyone who knows me at all, knows that this is like being presented chinese or some puzzle -but I didn't have a choice.  I had to listen intently and I had to follow this funny map.  I was either riding, or I was staying at the airport for a long time, which would have thrown off my whole day. And then there was that big coward self talk that i had to battle... so i took a deep breath, looked for the car that could be speeding at me to end my life,  shut my eyes for a few minutes, and just started pumping these thighs.

I rode to the first rotary, and I stopped & watched how the traffic flows (opposite) and i look at my hand-made map, and I took it on.  I jumped in there, rode against what I was used to, and followed directions.   This trip was going to be a trip!  Following directions?  Doing everything opposite?  Yeah okay. 

Needless to say, I made it out of the airport and started my ride on N18 toward my first stop,  Killone Augustinian Convent in Clarecastle.   To find out more about this ruin, please click here  - I spent time roaming and touching stones. I examined the incredible cemetary stones, carvings...  I ate figs in the field, and thought about the years I spent wanting to join a convent, when I was younger.  It appealled to me, and it was something i considered with great thought in my life at one time.  I felt the earth here. 

I said goodbye and started peddling again.   The padded pants I was wearing were not feeling quite thick enough after three hours, my feet weren't thrilled, but I was.  I was almost forty, I was free.   I headed toward Ennis, County Clare.

 I found myself on emptier roadways, with lots of walls, and even though i rode along side them, I felt like I didn't care if I really got into whatever those walls protected, I was simply happy to ride along side them.  I'm 100% Irish, so by this point, my face is BEET Red, And I am probably panting, but somehow, my legs just kept moving.  I looked at the little white houses all in a row....  and then I hear the loud BEEPing of the Bus approaching from behind me,  and out of the driver's window is my map-maker, and he yells out his window to me.... "HOW DO YA DO, CURLY CUE????" and he drove on past me, waving and laughing.  I think I may have mumbled something not nice, but today, I'm considering that guy, an angel in disguise.

Closed down? Partitioned? Ok...I'm taking baby steps

My best friend told me the other day that I don't "tell the truth" because I don't show how I feel when I feel it, and how I can be void of any outward display. This is, after hearing from another close friend - that I appeared to be "shut-down" and when I asked what that meant to him, he said this... He said " You show some people one part of you, and other people get another part of you, and then there is this select group that get to really see you" and then I think he even added, that this last mentioned group was particularly small. So basically i'm being called a big giant poser because i'm not all about the BIG SHARE, that apparently everyone else jumps right on board for. Okay you two...You are both right. I have never felt the urge or some giant need for everyone to know everything about me, my feelings - none of it. I admit my privacy thing is a little over the top. But this will be my attempt (this blog, I mean) to go ahead and try and put myself out there in some other way.

I thought my art was enough - I felt like I was trasparent every time someone even looked at one piece. You know, like someone could tell every single thing you thought when you made it, what it meant, like it defined me. This was until I sat in Melanie Dallas's office, being interviewed for a job in the mental health wonderland after being crushed by the economy. The artist life I once knew wasn't working anymore and here I was. During this interview, sitting right next to me on the floor in her office was a piece of art that I had done. I stared at it for a long time just bewildered that it was there. Feeling like it meant something - I think I took it to the place was I was meant to work here and know this incredible woman sitting here, and being forced to take a desk job wasn't as humilating as I was making it (not that an office job isn't cool everyone, so please don't get worked up, it's just that I did it for twenty five years and literally took every suit I owned, every stinking pair of pointy shoes I owned and had a bonfire in my yard when i PROMISED myself I would never be a corporate slave again, I would do whatever it takes to be me, live doing what I loved - which was art, being creative, using my hands).

As we sat there talking, she told me she felt like that piece was very powerful to her, and she asked me thoughts around the piece. This was something I was unsure about doing because I was always one of those artists who believe art should be whatever YOU see in it - not what the artist sees. To Mel, this piece spoke to her in a fabulous way while she was doing a wonderful energy healing program to become even better at what comes naturally to her, and she cherished it. I also cherished this piece, because it was piece surrounding my father's death. To me, It meant something very different.

My father died when I was in the 7th grade on the table at the Mass General hospital after having heart trouble. They brought him back to life this time. I used to hear my parents talking about it - and being Catholic, drawn to religion just as a seeking-soul, I would ask my father when we were alone what that experience was like for him. Was it like the movies where you see a light and a tunnel? What was it like? And every time, he would jump up and yell at me and say "I SAW NOTHING!" And the one thing he didn't say, was the thing I could see, which was fear. After this experience, my father became afraid to die. And it made me afraid too.

The piece was a finger painting that I did in Vicky's energy workshop, and it looked like a tunnel. It has vibrant colors and light... And somehow right in the center was an eye looking at me. To me, it looked exactly like my father's eye. I added two androgenous black clay sculpture people onto the canvas and they looked like they were flying through the tunnel. Going inward. I had a small picture collaged into the corner of a man sitting in a wooden chair, looking out a sunny window, alone. In small letters underneath read, "I Saw Nothing".

I've spent my life studying religion and what people believe in. I've come to realize we are all basically speaking the same language, and we all have the same fears - it's probably what we do with them that makes the difference. My father's fear, I'll never know. My own, I'm looking at.

That's enough sharing for the moment. I think I may be burning my pizza.

Forts

Forts. Anyone else have them when they were small? I had one under the stairs in my home in Manomet. I used to have two real members that were allowed in. Susan Malonson and Tracy Cyr. Girls only we said. And I think we even posted an official sign outside the curtained doorway. What I wasn't telling them, is when they went home, I let Edward be a secret member. Here I am, 30 something years later, married to him. I totally violated the secret girl fort pact thing - I admit it.

I'm 43 now. I still have a fort. And right now, I'm currently inside that fort- except this time, it's under my giant loft bed I built high off the ground in order to keep Grace O'Malley the fearless warrior dog off my bed. So now underneath. It is my zen. My small space that makes the world feel safer - smaller. {Kind of like Facebook. HAHA. Talk about the giagantic world becoming a matter of web pages in a matter of a year...} I have most everything I "may need" within an arms reach. I have heat - I have light and I have a bed. Again, I retreat to my fort. I type, I eat, I watch, I listen under here. It has become the thing I have that made foreclosure, joblessness, health scares, loss and choices feel so much smaller than they felt out there. I believe a fort should be considered some valuable tool, and tonight I'm praising my space.

Last night my daughter Meghan came over and we had a girl night and slept in my fort. We watched online tv and laughed and spoke of our lives and shared some feelings.... Tonight I asked her if she liked staying in my fort... She said she'd only come back when it was warmer, but I think she liked it. I think I might invite her to be a member if she plays her cards right.

The thing about forts when you get past approx. age 10, probably become something else. To make myself not feel ridiculous, I sometimes call it hibernating. Or how about Going within? How about becoming my Avatar? Sometimes I've heard the mental health people i know refer to it as nesting up. Of course, they are referring to children, but I recognize the behavior in us all. I understand the need. It can be hard to leave a fort when it becomes a nest. Especially your own nest. Only yours, designed by the the Safe Interior Designer team... Sometimes it can feel like leaving another world. This one, protected from everything else. The one out there in that cold, wooden cabin, requires laundry, and chores and bills, choices and constant upkeep, worry, vastness, sometimes fear, reality. It's unnerving and something I was looking at tonight. Remembering how long I have had a fort, and why i've had one. And how many memories I have in them. Where those memories have brought me. haha - Looks like not very far! I still have a secret member in a fort underneath something else. Ok. Can I participate in a study for the unevolved? How about the stuck? I'd be willing to live in a fort... gimme a call. I'm down with the cause.