Wishing on the Blarney Stone

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The 26 eclectic-genre short stories for my #AtoZChallenge are excerpts from travelogue notes by

novel character Gahlen, who first appeared in SHARDS OF MEMORY – Oral History in a Heartbeat.

Each A-to-Z daily post is a complete, stand-alone tale.

By Gerd Eichmann - Own work, 

CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=77077363

Wishing on the Blarney Stone

Genre: Historical Recollections

(365 words)

During the self-guided tour, through enclosed areas and ramparts, we climbed the 127 steps to the top of the castle. We rested before approaching the Blarney Stone. Our cab driver Devlon offered practical details about the consistency of the stone, limestone of some sort. His wife Kerry focused more on the unlikelihood of any earthly gains through kisses and wishes.

In the spirit of tradition, we accepted the challenge of kissing the stone which required a bit of gymnastics. It involved lying down, bending slightly backwards while holding onto metal bars for support, and then stretching forward to kiss the stone. Half-jokingly, most wished for riches and fame. Others confessed to wishing for improved physique or heightened eloquence.

We descended slowly, stopping to view the countryside and winding river. Kerry wandered off on her own, overcome by reminders of Ireland’s history.

During a circuit of the gardens, we discovered an ancient cemetery. We roamed the grounds, touching headstones. We created imagined lives between recorded birth and death dates, the only biography allotted to most people as they crossed over to whatever awaits all of us.

Kerry caught up with us in the parking lot. Apparently, the Blarney Stone had kept its promise to her about eloquence. She had spoken little on the way to the castle but was unable to stop talking on the return trip. Devlon drove while Kerry shared her knowledge of Irish history based on stories handed down from ancestors.

Only months later, after translating the scribblings in my notebook, was I able to piece together the information Kerry shared on the return trip from Blarney Castle. Although the bitterness of her recollections bled through as she spoke, I had ignored the devastation such memories must wreak upon the soul. Back in Wisconsin, further research corroborated much of what she had related concerning the effects of famine on the Irish population.

Even the role England played in the spiraling conditions proved accurate. But the image of vile degradation imposed on her ancestors, as she described the slow wasting away of bodies, the inhumane burials of multitudes, and the stark fear devouring the living, is not something easily assimilated on a well-nourished belly.

*****

R is for RHUBARB and RENSHI #AtoZChallenge

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

My daily #AtoZ posts combine two concepts in under-300-words per day:

an appealing food choice along with thoughts that spring to mind.

*** *** ***  

 

Pies, sauce, or wild stalks pulled straight from the ground! Rhubarb was a staple food when I was growing up in rural Wisconsin. Mom had a terrific garden that included a corner for the unwieldy stalks of rhubarb. She cultivated with care and turned the stalks into heavily sweetened pies.

 

 

An earlier AtoZ post discussed the use of a Foley Food Mill to grind up apples for apple sauce. In our house, that same mill was utilized to make rhubarb sauce, except the stringy pulp of the stalks made it more difficult to mash out the sauce. Lots of sugar went into making rhubarb sauce, also.

 

 

As kids, we had free run of the fields and woods out in the country. We often found wild rhubarb and braved the obvious sour-face to chomp on a barely cleaned stalk fresh pulled from the earth. Again, that stringy pulp - hard to pull out from between the teeth. Sort of an early flossing mechanism.

Thoughts of my childhood are dotted with images of food, whether at home or away.

Does the mention of specific foods bring back memories for you?

***   ***   ***

Below are the final words of a short, renshi-style poem, entitled  A Magical Adventure, which looks back at childhood visits to my Gramma Anna and Gramma Julia:

Childhood

in retrospect

outshines the brightest star.

 

If you would like to sample my linking poetry, please visit my #AtoZChallenge poetry-themed blog site: http://poetryfromthelanai.blogspot.com

***   ***   ***



I is for ICE CREAM - Too Divine to Skip Over - #AtoZ

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

My daily #AtoZ posts combine two concepts in under-300-words per day:

an appealing food choice along with thoughts that spring to mind.

*** *** ***



canoe shaped ice cream sundae dish

For a Wisconsin girl, born and bred, ICE CREAM is the first thing that comes to mind for the letter "I". Wisconsin is the Dairy State. My hometown holds the top claim for "inventing" the ice cream sundae. The story goes that a glass dish salesman ordered canoe-shaped dishes for serving the new concoction of ice cream drizzled with chocolate syrup. Originally served only on Sunday, then everyday, the spelling changed along with the new dishes to "sundae" and . . . 

 

 

that's the rest of the story. 



 

 

If you drive to my hometown, 45 minutes south of Green Bay or 224 miles north of Chicago, you will see a historical marker in Central Park where band concerts are still held. Main Street in town is totally changed. The ice cream parlor where the first sundae was served is no longer there; it closed in 1927. But you can still get a great ice cream cone at the Washington House where all the memorabilia of the town is now housed. 

 

Change is inevitable but that doesn't mean we always have to like it. Change sometimes makes me sad. But then, there's ICE CREAM. And just the thought of a macadamia nut scoop over a double chocolate scoop makes me smile . . . every time.

 

 

***   ***   ***

 

 

 

Heart of the Matter and Memories

Scene #1: The autopsy report states the victim has multiple stab wounds, and photographs reveal several jagged cuts below the woman's abdomen. The location of the bloodless wounds suggests a crime of passion. A reporter asks, "Why did the killer wait until after the victim died to target certain areas?" to which the coroner replies, "He went for the heart right after he hit the jugular, does that count?"  The reporter shakes his head. "It’s not the same, the heart is symbolic of love."

The heart is also a symbol of Valentine’s Day. While my thoughts immediately go to the heart of the murder, someone who recently endured a medical exam might picture a stethoscope monitoring an anxious heart beat. Newly-weds have vastly different thoughts.

Valentine’s Day hearts conjure up memories of love. One heart with two wedding rings brings a smile to a couple wed on Valentine’s Day. A cross-stitch of red hearts reminds a daughter of a mother’s gift; a royal flush to the Ace of Hearts has a Vegas winner beaming. Others get all fuzzy over a heart-shaped box of chocolates, a grinning cupid, or a pair of cooing love birds. Hearts on Fire can only mean young love, and boys naturally love heart-shaped balloons.

A heart surrounding a globe brings a tear to the eyes of grandparents whose families live far away. The mantle holds a framed purple heart of a loved one lost in battle. Flowers and an arrow-pierced heart represent a lifetime spent with a childhood sweetheart, the memories bittersweet. The Sacred Heart means salvation for many, and bright lockets remind one of a young girl’s special day.

Happy Valentine’s Day, and wishes for a wonderful day: Especially for You and Your Loved Ones!

What special memories do you have of this holiday?

#64 and #65 Turning From Diamonds

ANOTHER NEW BEGINNING

70 Poems for 70 Days 

 is a collection of poetry I wrote as a birthday present to myself and gifted in book format to 70 of my friends and family members. Over a period of 70 Sundays, I am submitting the poems in the order of composition, along with a short comment about the poem’s style or theme,

often including a complementary photograph.

 

With linked poetry, a form of Japanese Renshi poetry,

the last lines of one poem are used to form the title of the next poem,

then the next poem shifts to a different topic.

I hope you find a few entries that bring a smile to your face or a long buried memory to the surface of your consciousness. Poetry is like that, whether you are the reader or the author.

64

Recurring Thoughts

 

The day this thought

first occurred,

words spoken in her mind

She knew an end had come.

So loud the words:

“One cannot hate until one

has learned to love.”

Was it possible, she

tried to reason,

to experience both emotions

in a single span

of time?

Engulfed and smothered.

Memories meant to last,

turned now from diamonds

back to coal.

 

*****     *****     *****

 

65

Turning From Diamonds

 

 

Paris in the ‘70’s inspired

you to express

the longings deep within

To hear the music that your soul played

Whenever spirits craved

Encouragement

Euphoria filled the air as you

Strolled the Avenues

and Champs Élysée,

Searching 

Diamonds were not treasures worth

your heart strings, in a place

where wine

and chocolate

Co-exist

 

*****     *****     *****

 

Into Success #54 and Far Beyond #55

54

Into Success

She walked into success

With four-inch heels

And dusty-rose linen suit. 

Her smile flashed with confidence

Showering the crowded room

Doubt left at the sliding glass door 

“Sweet” described her weekly stats

Earned with forceful charm

Familiarity the winning edge 

Heights encourage depths

Obtained easiest by overreach

Far beyond the

elusive brassy ring.

 

Success followed by regress does not a failure make. Every experience is a rung up the ladder, heading toward the next goal.

*****     *****     *****

55

Far, Far Beyond

 

Encouraged to walk

You stood and crossed

The room 

Continuing far, far beyond

Until hands

Steered you to safety

Tempting with strange noises,

Very loud 

Your lips quivered

Searching for a promise

Sweetly warm

 

Discouraged, you sat

Garnering attention anew 

Lesson learned

You rose on wobbly feet

A toddler, at last.

 

Each of the linking poems receives its title from the final words of the previous poem. The fun of forming a poem based on this new title is that you never know what to expect until the words actually reach the page. Even then, the idea often veers into unexpected territory. This poem is a good example of such a twist. For those who first think the person encouraged to walk is elderly, the ending is a pleasant surprise that conjures up memories of ones self, or of children and grandchildren taking their first steps.

MEMORIES ARE MADE OF THIS
photo by: lakotawestband.ord

 

 

 

*****     *****     *****

 

Near Horizons and Break the Cycle Linking Poems #52-#53

From Poem #2 SMILING BACK

When I wrote the 70 poems for 70 days, I had no idea if anyone else would read them. After pouring my heart onto the page, I had met my initial goal of writing the set of linked poems. Later, it became obvious that while I'd scratched the surface of my memory, that mere scratching had triggered an opportunity to delve deeper into the topics that surfaced during the writing process.

 

Once the little book of poetry was published and distributed to 70 friends and family members as gifts, it seemed practical to post articles that reflected on the poems, or to write more in depth about a segment of a poem, or to contemplate new ideas stemming from the original seed of thought.

 

Give me a choice between chocolate or a new project,

and I'll take both . . . every time!

 

 

Now, a year later, I am reaching the end of this latest project. I hope you found something of interest in the preceding Sundays. Over the next three weeks, may the final sets of linking poetry create a desire to pen the precious thoughts welling up in you.

52

Near Horizons

Farms spread out

by design of county plats

Home for dinner

Each family tucked in

for the night. 

Breakfast a routine affair

Like Sunday drives

after mass

And holiday visits

to relatives. 

Roads with numbered routes

Lead to fishing holes

And beach parks

hold dreams that encompass

only near horizons. 

Dare to break the cycle

 

Poetry is meant to be read not as an interpretation of the poet’s thoughts, but as a means of opening the reader’s mind: to spark imagination, to recall memories long ago experienced, long forgotten; thoughts happy and sad, thought-provoking experiences that form and inform the person you are today. Do not fear the past so you can enjoy the present and plan a happy future. Poetry can open for you infinite possibilities. Claim what rings true for you, leaving the rest for others to explore their own awakening.

 

*****     *****     *****

 

53

Break the Cycle

 

 

No! My education

is too lacking.

The words all

come out wrong.

Why would anybody

even care?

Marathons are

not for weak,

questioning souls 

but for

strong minds,

solid knees,

and muscular hearts

Yes. I can

believe in myself. I can

stop braiding negativity

into disbelief. I can

start spinning confidence

into success.

 

When a child is told often enough that they don't have the strength or the brains to accomplish something, this negative attitude carries over into their adulthood. Breaking the habit of believing this may seem insurmountable, and often is, because negativity only breeds more of the same. 

 

Need incentive to change?

 

Check out this TED talk entitled "How to stop screwing yourself over by Mel Robbins: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lp7E973zozc#t=834.232184

 

or

 

The skill of self confidence by Dr. Ivan Joseph

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w-HYZv6HzAs#t=18.4932751

 

 

 

#27 BREATHE DEEP from Another New Beginning

 

 

 

One of the more fun, and light-hearted poems in ANOTHER NEW BEGINNING is:

 

#27

Breathe Deep

 

Apple pie

baking in the oven;
 

Lilacs

in bloom;

It only takes a moment to breathe deep.
 

Ocean breezes;

L’air du Temps;

Fresh bread cooling on the rack;

Baby’s powdered skin.
 

Breathe even deeper.

Spring

after another hard winter.


*****  *****  *****

The sense of smell is a strong trigger for memories. Who doesn’t get a warm feeling when reminded of a special food cooking on the stove or apple pie baking in the oven as you walked in the door after school? But how did you feel about the guy in the next cubicle at the office who wore too much aftershave? Did you need an alarm clock to wake you when bacon was frying in the kitchen?

 

When someone says, “The nose knows,” everyone nods an acknowledgement. Not all “bad” odors are bad, evidenced by a newborn baby’s soiled diaper. You’re just glad the baby is so healthy! Bed wetting, on the other hand, may conjure up completely different emotions.

 

Fragrant flowers (such as: Lilacs in bloom) recall a wide variety of memories ranging from weddings and birthdays to funerals. There is the carnation fragrance of a wrist corsage from your favorite prom date; the Hawaiian plumeria lei tossed in the ocean at the end a fantastic second-honeymoon vacation; the flowers for your son’s bar mitzvah; the table bouquets at your daughter’s baby shower.

 

During the editing process of writing a story, the writer is urged to embellish scenes with greater use of the senses for description. When the reader is drawn into the scene with their senses, they become much more emotionally involved in the story rather than being a mere observer.

 

With food, smell and taste often go hand in hand. What non-food odors, aromas, or fragrances are readily recognized and generate an immediate emotional reaction in you?

 

A MAGICAL ADVENTURE Poem for Another New Beginning

13

A Magical Adventure

Gramma Anna shuffles the deck

for another round of five-card Rummy.

I am four years old.

The crystal candy dish visible

In the glass-front dining room hutch

holds round white mints with xxx on top.

My mouth waters at the thought of

those sugary xxx marks on my tongue,

melting. 

Deep purple plums, tangy

in their under-ripe bitterness.

At age six, a secret treasure mined

From Gramma Julia’s garden.

Kitchen fragrance,

Dough rising beneath a clean

flour-sack towel.

Fillings of poppyseed, raspberry, and prune

crowned with sweet whipped cream. 

Childhood

in retrospect

outshines the brightest star.

 

Barbra Streisand sang it best: “These are a few of my favorite things!” The time spent alone with my grandmothers was sparse. I was the fourth child born in my family, and have many cousins older than me. My memories lean toward culinary events. 

As kids, we weren’t so conscious of what we ate. We were neither spoiled nor deprived. Breakfast, dinner, and supper were all full meals, served “on time” every day. “Deprived” to us meant end-of-the-month baked cabbage sprinkled with caraway seeds as the meal’s vegetable. Mom loved making it because the recipe was simple and vegetables from her garden stretched the food budget. Thanks to Dad, dessert was a staple of every meal. 

Visits with my grandmothers, Anna on my mother’s side, Julia on my dad’s side, are recalled in the context of food. Both baked excellent pies, cakes, breads, and biscuits. Their candy dishes were always full. Holiday favorites for me: gravy and riced mashed potatoes. 

Nothing outshines my memories of both Grams’ kolaches: baking in the oven; cooling on the kitchen table; the colorful fillings, finger-tasting the freshly whipped cream. Food didn’t make the memories, it was how they served the food: with unconditional love.

 

Nothing outshines memories

 

 

SMILING BACK: Linking Poetry Japanese Renshi style

In my book of linked poetry, Another New Beginning, the first poem is entitled A Tiny Flower. It spoke of a small, surprise act of kindness extended to me on King Kamehameha Day. The following words, the last line of the poem, are used to form the title for the next poem:

Air brakes lift

We roll forward, and

the universe smiles back.

 **********

 

 **********

My poetry is loosely patterned after the intriguing renshi poetry of Japan. The Japanese word, ren, means “to link.” The final words of the previous poem suggest the title for the next one, thereby linking them. Then there is a shift as the new poem changes topic or idea to present a new thought. 

In today’s poem, Smiling Back, one of my alter egos of past decades recalls “after hours” fun times with co-workers, eventually overshadowed by shifting lifestyle. Anyone over the age of awareness knows life does not move forward at a predictable pace but shifts and changes, often with the wind. This is colorfully expressed in Steinbeck’s “best laid plans of mice and men” which suggests that things do not always work out as planned, no matter the extent of preparation.

 

Those flexible enough to bend with the wind will most comfortably weather the storm. Over the years, I’ve weathered many storms. I believe learning to give thanks and forgiveness has allowed me to become a content person, comfortable with my inner being.

 

 

Smiling Back 

From shadows,

smiling back at me,

clear memories

of frothy rapids

while tubing down

an apple-scented river. 

 

Company softball games,

cheering on my teammates

win or lose, celebrating

El Torito style.

 

All too soon, highways

move me state to state,

major life changes

blinding me to loss. 

 

Above the clouds

endless open skies

ease me from the past; with

lazy eagerness, promises appear

of another new beginning.

 

**********