Birthdays should be special, and milestone birthdays should be celebrated in grand style. We celebrate Hubby's 40th birthday amidst the company of good friends and nestled in the Irish countryside in a 250-ish year old house.
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This day we leave the house for Ennis on an adventure à deux, and away from the company of our friends, Hubby settles into his own skin again. I find that Ireland suits Hubby's temperament; being here, I see facets hitherto unguessed at in him. Ireland calls to him, and tugs at his psyche with a siren song. I had no idea. Sometimes, no matter how close I am to him, I have moments of clarity when I realize that in some ways I am meeting him again and again for the first time. My aunt Lori once said that the person you meet is not the person you marry; that was just a representative they sent out to meet you.
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This means so much to Hubby: four friends have flown across the Atlantic to join him; James has flown over for the evening from London; and Alwyn drives four hours to join us as well.
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Dinner for eight is a delicious affair as produced by George: five luscious courses with lamb (Hubby's favorite) as the main entree, eight bottles of wine, two bottles of champagne and a sweet rum-soaked sponge and cream birthday cake.
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When George and I plot out the details of
Hubby's birthday festivities, I mention that Hubby is particularly
enamored of traditional Irish music.
George: Ah! I know some musicians who would be perfect!
Me: The Chieftains? The Clancy Brothers?
George: (pause) Uh...no.
But George works his magic and after our meal, we retire to the drawing room where a gifted sixteen year old young woman gives us a stunning private concert. She plays the fiddle, the tin whistle and the concertina. But it is when she sings the Bantry Girls' Lament, her dulcet and raw voice welling with the sad history, that we are all momentarily weepy.
"I love my culture," sighs Alwyn when she finishes.
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What ties us to the earth we tread? What makes
a geographic mass the thing for which we will die and kill and embrace
and yearn and miss and love? And when we lose it, what do we have left
to salve the wounds? The music and the food. We preserve what remains
of our identity and we indoctrinate future generations with what we
remember.
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I find that when a people's temperament bends towards romantic and dreamy, and their history bloodied and conquered, their music can be as heartbreaking as their food is soulful.
"Fields Of Athenry"
By a lonely prison wall, I heard a young girl calling
Michael, they have taken you away,
For you stole Trevelyan's corn,
So the young might see the morn.
Now a prison ship lies waiting in the bay.
Low lie the fields of Athenry
Where once we watched the small free birds fly
Our love was on the wing
We had dreams and songs to sing
It's so lonely round the fields of Athenry.
By a lonely prison wall, I heard a young man calling
Nothing matters, Mary, when you're free
Against the famine and the crown,
I rebelled, they cut me down.
Now you must raise our child with dignity.
By a lonely harbor wall, she watched the last star falling
As the prison ship sailed out against the sky
Sure she'll wait and hope and pray, for her love in Botany Bay
It's so lonely round the fields of Athenry.
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I love the romance and the roughness that is Edinburgh. I love the callow and carefree joy of Paris. I love the steady heartbeat that is London. How should I describe Ireland that won't devolve in ridiculous clichés?
Ireland...is oneiric and filled with longing.
Oh how you make me want to go to Ireland!
And I so want to be able to write "we retire to the drawing room"!
Sounds like a really wonderful birthday.
Posted by: Tanna | October 27, 2007 at 04:19 AM
I haven't had much time for blog commenting lately, but I have been loving your Ireland posts. Such an entrancing place. I once rode a bike up the west coast of Ireland, from Cork to Galway, and I swear I was happy every minute of every day, even the rainy ones (8 out of 10, to be sure).
It sounds as if you had a wonderful time, I'm so glad.
Posted by: te | October 27, 2007 at 10:38 PM
Happy Birthday to Hubby! What a wonderful way to celebrate.
Posted by: beastmomma | October 28, 2007 at 04:59 PM
I grew up listening to tales of my grandfather dancing the jig around a fire while neighbors played the fiddle after a harvest. And of my destitute grandmother feeding a family of eight children with pots of good old-fashioned Irish stew. Your writing makes me yearn for a homeland I've never even seen. You nailed it, sister.
Posted by: Jenn | October 29, 2007 at 06:58 PM
Tanna, oh go go go! It's so wonderful. And then you can write about retiring to drawing rooms! We had a great time.
Tea, thank you so much! I'm with you -- we were happy every day -- and lucky us, there was only 1 rainy day in the 7 we were there!
Jaspreet -- thanks sweetie!
Jenn -- you and Brad have got to visit the homeland -- it'll be like coming home.
Posted by: cath | October 29, 2007 at 08:10 PM