My Home, the Pub

I’ve spent the past three months trying to decide what to write next. My thoughts and emotions have been whipping in the Irish wind like the bedsheets out on the line. Just when I think I have things figured out, it rains. 

My morning ritual involves hot porridge, chia toast, latte from the Centra around the corner, and reading whatever comes up when I google NEWS USA. Yes, it’s mostly depressing, but it keeps me connected and exercising my complaint muscle. It could easily atrophy here in the comfort of my snug little Irish hideaway.

I stayed up into the wee hours the other night to watch the Trump rally in Tulsa live. Who lures his own faithful, trusting followers into harm's way like that? I can see him gleefully dumping a load of starry eyed Democrats into a contaminated cesspool. But his own people? Shame Shame Shame (not to mention just foolhardy, because every Irish storyteller knows nothing will break a love enchantment like the kiss of a ventilator).

The media had said he was going to explain his vision for the next four years should he get reelected. At 45 minutes in, he had only defended his own honor (as if seeing our president walking slowly down a ramp was our biggest national concern), and trashed everyone he could think of to trash. So I went to bed. I taped the rest so I’ll painfully resume it later. I’m going to need lots of Doritos, dark chocolate digestives (you gotta try ‘em) and red wine. I might even have a Xanax stashed away somewhere. 

Everything in Ireland is about back to normal. Through careful attention to protocols set by the experts (and encouragement and modeling from the elected officials), we have zoomed, ahead of schedule, through the stages of safely reopening. Only a handful of cases left in the country. Business people are delighted! The last thing to open will be the pubs, still a few weeks away.

So in the meantime, Dixie and I have been inviting some core musicians to our home once a week for an “auld session”, as they would say. We're calling them the Cedarwood Sessions since we live in Cedarwood Grove. Not only do I get to hear my favorite music in the comfort of my stocking feet, but the quiet atmosphere and intimacy allows for more storytelling, quiet ballads and just transatlantic bonding. I hope we can continue this new tradition even after the pubs reopen. 

Generally, we have a piper, a banjo, two button accordions, a concertina, a fiddle, a guitar and a bouzouki. The piper also plays penny whistle (not at the same time), but we could use a flute. May have to invite a flute player next week. The blending is sweet, with nothing dominant or overpowering.

Just before the lockdown (literally the week before the lockdown) I went on a mission to find a new, better fiddle. I was told a musician in Waterford had a shop at his home and a good selection. Dixie and I made an appointment and drove the 90 minutes or so to check it out.

Walking in the door was magical. The seller, David, had almost 40 gorgeous, high end vintage violins hanging on the wall. I felt like the Donald at a MEGA rally. I was ecstatic as David placed fiddle after fiddle in my hand to test drive. He insisted I try every one (in every price range...yikes!) We were there for several hours... in heaven (I should write a book like other folks do about going to heaven and returning).

Dixie held a list of all the instruments and recorded my comments and rankings of each one. When we narrowed it down to two, we brought them home as you would bring home new puppies, to see if we would mutually adapt. 


After several days, I reluctantly had to admit that neither would work out. You could say they had too much bark but not enough bite (which for a puppy would actually be a good thing so this analogy has totally fallen apart). I was pretty sure this would be the last fiddle of my life (I know... I know... I've said that before), so it had to be just right.


We drove back to Waterford thinking we'd have to move on, but David shrewdly encouraged me to revisit a few fiddles I'd liked from before. 


How could I have missed it? Here in heaven... there it was... like Jesus! Perfect in every way! THE ONE TRUE FIDDLE!!! I cradled it gently in my arms singing Silent Night. And we drove home with our mission accomplished.


This new perfectly divine fiddle sounds truly majestic in my kitchen, at the Cedarwood Sessions. I suddenly play... better. I'm good with that. 

It was my hope, when we bought this house last summer, that it would be filled to the brim with laughter, music and merrymaking. And now it is. And I feel so incredibly blessed. My heart aches to hug my children and let my grand babies see that the Grammy App on the iPhone is a real person. But that complaint muscle just won’t flex. There is too much fat surrounding it!