Dance then wherever you may be

Part One
Freestyle Living
Being twin daughters of a single female hippie born in rural Ireland in 1988 and called Spirit and Dance has to be the entirely worst thing that could ever happen to two sane individuals mentally but not physically joined at the hip. Well that and starting school!
Our tale begins and ends together so we shall tell it as one. We are not identical, Spirit is dark haired and sallow whereas Dance is blonde and pale. When we were really little we pretended to be fairies in the woods. We danced and chanted and giggled and laughed; we had such fun together. We ate wild berries and mushrooms, fished in the stream by tickling the trout like our mother taught. She would build fires and we would barbeque the fish and mushrooms.
Sometimes there would be friends of mother’s; men with long hair tied in ponytails and women with short spiky hair in colours of the rainbow. Children came too, that was great; we would play famous Celtic tales like Echtra Nerai or Cath Maige Tuireadh. They talked of school but we thought it was another type of game and never questioned them or mother. They would park their caravans on our land and stay sometimes only a week, once or twice over a year. Mother never let anyone stay in our house. She had a little caravan that she moved into as soon as she decided we were old enough to be left alone.
We call our mother “mother” because it annoys her. She would like us to address her as Sweet Divinity, the name she chose when she left home to join a commune. We found out years later she was called Mary Winifred O’Connell but we were used to mother by then and much as we would have liked to annoy her with Mary we could never remember it in time. We never really knew mother, just when we thought we understood what she was, she changed becoming more robust, or a little fragile, very political or like an earth mother. Her moods were like shifting sands, when other people were around she was always bright and shining like a beacon of hope. However when they left they snuffed out the spark of hope and we endured dark days, sometimes she didn’t cook for days or even get out of bed. It was on one such deep black nadir, as long as we had known, lasting more than five days that we went in search of food and changed our lives forever. We could only count up to five and we had done that and eaten all the berries we could find. We weren’t sure about weeks but we knew it was autumn as the leaves were falling from trees, it was getting colder and both of us had put on shoes for the first time that year. We were about six and we dressed with care for the occasion of the big walk. Spirit was wearing orange corduroys with a yellow jumper that came down to her knees. Dance was wearing a dress that dragged along the ground made out of heavy crushed velvet. A dark blue matching cardigan two sizes too small finished her outfit.
We now know that we looked wild but back then it seemed natural to have our hair streaming down our back, unkempt with twig and leaf entwined. The clothes we wore were either too big or too small, all given by these transient caravanners as part payment for water and pitch. So on this particularly momentous day in our lives we thought we looked normal and set off down the road. We decided to walk down rather than up because when the people went for a walk in the evening they always went that way and came home cheery, loud and happy.
The first part we skipped as a new freedom descended on us, this slowly gave way to a slower pace until we were trudging. Our clothes were getting wet as rain dripped unnecessarily harshly, they hung down and got heavier and muddier as we marched our slow monotonous walk. The village started abruptly as we turned a bend, cottages on both sides gave way to terraces and eventually we saw a shop. We had brought money in mother’s purse. Although naïve about a lot of things we knew that mother gave money to get things and people gave money to her for staying with her. We pushed open the door and Dance spoke to the lady, well pointed at things; a packet of jam biscuits, a chocolate bar and bananas. Spirit opened the purse and gave it to the lady.
Honesty was thankfully well imbued in the shop lady and she only took out the £2.30 needed. We left and sat on a bench outside, each item came out of the bag, halved and stuffed unceremonially into our watering waiting mouths. We choked and spluttered our way through the food and with hiccups stood and went in search of something to quench our thirst. As we turned a corner a group of children were coming the other way. We said hello to them but they laughed, encircling us, they pointed; at our hair, our faces now covered in chocolate and biscuit crumbs, our clothes, they said we smelled funny, we were dirty, and we were stupid. We cowered turning into each other, arm around protecting, not understanding why but aware of danger. The noise must have alerted some adults to investigate because suddenly the chanting stopped and we opened our eyes. A huge man stood over them asking who they were. Spirit spoke, “I am Spirit. She is Dance.” “Come on now girls, tell the truth. You have run away and stolen a lot of money. Mrs Hanrahan at the shop says you had more than fifty pounds in that purse. Tell the truth like good girls.” Dance moved forward, facing him, she craned her neck until she could see his face, “We tell truth, me Dance and she is Spirit, we were hungry so we came for food.” Spirit dragged her back to be with her and put her arms back around her. “Sergeant Barlow, I think they could be Mary the Hippie’s kids. Do you remember the couple that were there last year, what were they called? … Bill and Florida, they mentioned girls but we thought they were stoners,” this came from the mouth of the landlord of the Half Keg Bar, Johnnie Mackie. “Where do you live girls? What is your Mammy called? Do you live up that road?” Sergeant Barlow pointed up towards our road whilst firing the questions at us. Spirit let out a little “yes” barely coherent, barely a whisper before she fainted and Dance followed her.
We came to in the Garda Station, Mrs Hanrahan, the landlord and the Sergeant were talking about us. We couldn’t grasp every word but “school” “parent” “care” and “poor” were mentioned over and over. We saw the lady crying so we got up and went to her, we held her hands and she cried more. “Well girls, we had better get you home,” the Sergeant spoke gently to them now and he ushered them out and into the Garda car.
Back at home we went into our house, undressed and went to bed, exhausted by the day’s events. Later, mother came in and told us that because of what we had done we were to start school in a tone that made us very afraid and we clung together all night.
Part Two
Life is not so Sweet
“Jack, can you take the boys to school for me today, I must start out early. New case in Ballyeden,” Ann Donahue asked her husband. “Ann, that’s the third time this year you’ve asked me. I have a meeting with the Americans at ten and I need to prepare. You said these extra hours wouldn’t affect your duties in the home but from what I can see the boys and I are suffering. No potatoes again last night for supper and the reason given; too tired. Well Ann I am sorry but Kyle and Ryan are your responsibility. I was never in favour of you returning to work so soon, the boys aren’t even ten, I’m off to work, bye!” And he was gone toast in hand, Ann sat down at the table and wept. Where were her feminist principles now, at college she would have given as good as she got. She would’ve told him they were both parents and it was their joint responsibility to mind the kids. Rural Ireland was no place for intelligent career women in 1994. Jack laughed at her and put her down, she knew in her heart she was victim of emotional abuse but she loved him and the alternatives she knew from her work were too awful to contemplate. Drying her eyes and breathing deeply she resolved to get the day going. “Kyle! Ryan! Come on I’ll drop you at Nana’s and she will bring you to school. Have you got lunch? Straighten your tie Ryan, Mrs. Brennan will call you a scruff!.” The boys surprised her by complying without a moan and moved off outside to the car. Brightly Ann decided this was a good omen and she would deal with the day well. Nana was Jack’s Mam, she had raised six children, never working outside the home and thought Ann unacceptable as a mother and wife. She was always ready with a comment about Ann’s lack of household accomplishments and always finished with some remark about not seeing them at Mass on Sunday. Ann hated her Mother-in Law but she tried to smile as she knocked on the door. “How many times do I have to tell you Ann my dear come straight in, your family.” The matriarchal Donahue proclaimed loudly.
“Hello Ryan, Kyle you’re up early. Come in while I get you some proper breakfast. Granda’s out the back with the greyhounds. Go on through!” “Hi Nan!” they both shouted as they rushed past and into the back garden to play with the dogs.
“I suppose you need me to take them to school again Ann, Surely with Jack’s promotion you can afford to give the boys a better home life and stay in the house. I don’t understand you young girls so quick to leave the home and into work leaving poor mites to fend for themselves,” Bridie Donahue was in fine form this morning.
“I know Bridie and I am sorry to land them on you again but I have to go deal with the hippie girls over in Ballyeden. They have never been to school and I have to take them today” Ann was on the defensive, if Bridie said no she was in trouble at work if she said yes it would be brought up at every family meal for the next year.
“Why didn’t you say so, those little tinker girls need your help. Tell you what, the boys can come to me for tea today and we’ll have a cuppa together when you pick them up, nice”
“Okay, see you later, kiss the boys for me I must dash!” Ann left and started her journey to Ballyeden. She is going to use that against me too when she sees Jack, Ann thought, I can just hear her, “Jack, she just dropped them off without a kiss or a goodbye, said I could kiss them for her if I like. What kind of woman did you marry?” she mimicked Bridie and smiled to herself. Now, she chided herself, concentrate on the girls. Dance and Spirit. What kind of names were they? She remembered Bridie when Kyle was born, she called him Sean for six months hoping to sway opinion her way. For once, Ann had won but never forgiven. Mother was Sweet Charity also known as Mary Connell, a hippie who didn’t work and had all the time in the world to get her children to school on time. But no, it was down to her. “Blast!” she cursed as she got out of the car and straight into a puddle. She looked around at the mess; rubbish piled high in all directions, big pot holes of dirty puddles and scratching noise of rodents close by. She wrote on her notebook, unsanitary: environmental health. She moved towards the cottage, the sooner she got these kids into care the better but first she had to go through the motions. The door was not locked so she stepped in; the smell of stale food and bodies greeted her and she saw two pairs of eyes locked on her every move from under the blanket.
“Girls, come out from under there . Where is your mother? Where is Mary O’Connell? Come out!” She advanced on the two girls and lifted the blanket from them. The sight of the little waifs was shocking to the professionally stoic Ann Donahue. This is textbook abuse she thought. To her eyes the wild hair, the ingrained dirt, the smears of food on both bed and face, the size of them and finally the smell of the creatures was putrid to her sensitive nose. “C’mon girls, we are going into the village, we’ll clean you up and get you to school before small lunch,” as she spoke she picked up the tiny mites in her arms. However distasteful they were she needed them to get moving. “In you go!” she said to them as they were dropped in to the back of her car. “Do you know where your mother is?” Ann asked the two shivering girls and they nodded and pointed to the caravan. Ann turned on her heel and strode through the puddles as though they didn’t exist. She wondered whether you were supposed to knock on a caravan door like a front door, not in this instance she answered herself and burst through the door. The incongruence of the living arrangements for the mother and children was telling. Ann stood askance at the Bedouin feel to the caravan; the walls were opulently draped with pink and purple satins and silks, cushions of all shapes and sizes filled the living area and in the middle puffing on a hookah was Sweet Divinity, all of her, naked. “Mary O’Connell?” Ann began, “I am taking Dance and Spirit with me. They are to start school and based on my report it is unlikely they will be back to you.” As she went on this became a roar as Sweet Divinity just lay back a mellow wide grin on her face.
“Hey, sister, want some? You look in need of some mellowing. Come on, the girls are fine, can’t they find their own way to school?” Sweet Divinity slurred. Ann could not believe the way this woman was behaving, throwing her business card on the cushions she left.
Fenced in
We were locked in the car and watched as the hard looking woman went to mother’s caravan. It was scary but still seemed like an adventure, back to the village might mean more chocolate for dinner. “I don’t know how you have survived,” the woman who told us she was called Mrs. Donahue was talking to us but we didn’t answer. At the pub we were ushered out of the car and into the bar. It smelt sour and smoky, Johnnie Mackie took us upstairs where his wife Sinead was waiting. They had the biggest bathroom we had ever seen; all white and sparkly, smelling of soap things. We only had a sink, no bath and we didn’t like it because the water was always freezing cold even in the summer. Sinead was telling us to get undressed and she was turning on the taps. Hot water gushed out so fast that Spirit squealed and grabbed Dance. Steam filled the warm room and we were placed in the warm froth of bubbles that smelled like strawberries. We started splashing each other and laughing, it was like playing in the stream in the summer. Gently Sinead stopped us and began to wash us both, the water became muddy as our skin was going pink with the heat and ferocious scrubbing from the pub lady. She poured water over our heads and washed our hair and then did it again. We were pulled from the bath and smothered in fluffy white towels. Our hair was pulled and yanked and painfully tied in bunches. We giggled and spun round, the bunches slapping our faces playfully. In another room two sets of clothes were laid out for us, they were exactly the same and we noticed the same as the children that surrounded us yesterday. Grey socks that came over our knees and then slipped down to the ankles, pale blue blouses with dark blue ties, dark blue pinafores that nearly fell off they were so big. Johnnie put string round our middles to keep them in place and put coats on us. The coats were red and shiny and smooth. We started spinning again, laughing and giggling, we were having so much fun. Mrs Donahue brought us back down to earth with a bump as she uttered that word “school!” again. Out in the street she held our hands tightly and pulled us up the street. We saw Mrs. Hanrahan and the Sergeant watching us, as we entered the grey building. It smelled funny, like clean but not in a strawberry Sinead way. Once mother came into our house and threw everything onto the floor and took a bottle and emptied it into the basin with water and told us to wipe down all the surfaces. It made our hands red and sore and now school smelt like that, ‘Parazone’ she had called it. Doors opened as we walked down the corridor, faces peered out; talking, chatting louder and louder until we put our hands over our ears, too noisy. Pushing us into a classroom, Mrs. Donahue announced our arrival into Junior Infants.
to be continued - one day

Food - Zylmor and Earth

I travel around the earth and love to see different foods available. In Dromdrevc the food was rich, each new politabub or Charter wanted a signature dish that was more indulgent than the last. Some of the food was so delectable I could barely use language to describe it but I tired of the richness of the food and longed for the simple dishes of my early childhood.
Arriving on the earth I had the blandness of bottlemilk for many months until the human teeth came through. Then human babyfood from little tins and jars again it was very bland but luckily my earth parentfem enjoyed eating half of what I had to endure.
I am not sure my journey with earth food was as a result of being an artprisoner in Dromdrevc or perhaps my mentality had a fissure of imbalance due to shift to earth but I noticed quite quickly that my earth body had no interest in trying new foods. In my second and third earth years I ate dry cornflakes for breakfast, mid morning snack was slices of apple without peel, lunch was a concoction of cheese and beetroot encased in a bread item called a barmcake and then for high tea, a piece of chop meat and tomato. I refused to eat anything else and no doubt caused the mother great anxiety. I was not speaking, I did not trust my accent or that I would suddenly speak Zylese. My concerns were amplified by the mother who seemed to be having a meltdown of some kind and the way she spoke to me in private was harsh and monosyllabic, in public she was effusively chatty, the frowns would disappear and smiles take their place.
My earthsibs also seemed to have issues with me, it seemed there was some huge problem around my birth that no one spoke of because they all knew it. My mind-talk was faulty, I discovered I could mind-listen people who were empathetic to me but I was five in earth years before I met an empathetic person. For a person who had spent many years in prison, unable to mind-speak or speak freely it was not a hardship for me but it was lonely. I developed rituals around food, each different food on my plate had to be seperate and single ingredients only. vegetables had to be raw, no sauce of any kind. Looking back from now I see that I was trying to find some control in my life, something that only I could control.
It took me a long time to come out of the control of food and to begin to appreciate the simple pleasure of food and eating. Living on my own again in Cork during the week I find that I am buying the same foods each week, my lunches are the same and my dinners are based on the same items, raw vegetables, beans and tomato - am I regressing? I am monitoring myself and attempting to try different foods again

Boat Picnic

The boat trip on the gentle river ended with a picnic on the shore. Surprisingly, Sean had packed wine, grapes, brie, mini quiches and the most decadent strawberry cream pie. After imbibing copious amounts of wine we realised we were incapable of rowing back across the river, in fact we were incapable of anything except giggling loudly and making really strange word associations.
We slept fitfully, wrapped in each others arms and woke much later sober, with headaches but we couldn't find the oars. We felt like boat joy riders deserting the boat as we swam back across the river.
Ideas like idyllic picnics or lazy boat trips sound so romantic and beautiful but it's a bit like eating a sandwich on a beach, sand always gets into the sandwich. Perfection on earth does not exist. We can aim towards perfection but there will always be a missing oar or soaking wet clothes.

a day wasted

It was just another day to Sally, to you and me it might appear abnormal but to Sally it was routine. She awoke as dawn broke, the noises in the city were turning from the nocturnal vibrations from speeding cars and raucous laughter from drunken lads on the way home after a night on the tear, the scuffles and fights that break out from too much drink or drugs. The usual. Sally slept under a dustbin lid and had managed to stay asleep for a whole hour, later she would wander down to the park and have a nap, hopefully in the sun to warm her body. She peeked out, and as there was no one about she snuck out of the alley and headed off to the river. The suns rays were beginning to strike the pavement and she was hoping for a good day, warm and with a full belly.
A dog started to bark from the next street and soon all the dogs outside started a woof woof chorus. It was not a pleasant sound to Sally.

Along the river the men who had drunk too much had thrown fast food cartons and Sally sifted through them to find a half hamburger or some cold fries. This morning they all seemed to be empty when she reached the last and hit the payload a full quarter cheese and bacon burger, and a half full milkshake. Yummy she thought as she quickly devoured the food and drank as much of the milkshake that hadn't spilt. Mmm, that was good she thought as she meandered across the bridge. Around the next turn was a promenade close to the river's water where she could clean up as best she could. She sat and dipped into the water washing her face and the rest of her that she could reach. Traffic was building up, two boys walking down the path threw stones at her so she ran away towards the park. She wandered up and down the paths to find a nice spot to lie down in privacy, soaking up the sun's rays, eventually she wandered into a rockery and lay down close to a tree that hid her from most but the curious of onlookers. Sally closed her eyes and was soon sound asleep, dreaming of warm beds and full bellies, it had been six months since she was thrown out of the only home she knew. She had learned much in those months whilst using up a number of her lives - living on the streets is no place for a cat

a routine round of golf?

They say in golfing that no two holes are ever the same, you can play the same hole on the same course at the same time every day for a year and the result will be different and I have to say that until I holidayed in Killarney, County Kerry. My first round of the vacation took place on the Beaufort Golf Club course. I am average, playing off 22, I win some and lose some and occasionally draw some. Nothing spectacular but great exercise and chat.
My first three holes I played one over par but I wasn't concerned. The views were spectacular, the McGillycuddy Reeks stood majestically in the background sweeping down to the lakes. The weather was perfect, a little overcast with a gentle warm breeze. The holes continued but I was concentrating on the relaxation of nature, the gentle undulations of the man made fairways abruptly stopped by the rough and beyond the rough was real nature. Huge native trees shrouded the ferns and bluebells. The smell of wild garlic by the pockets of water, ponds and streams. I could hear ducks and geese and the chirping of field birds, I even thought I heard a corn crake. After the forteenth I was 8 over par but had decided not to play the next day but to climb Carrantouhill, the highest peak. A local man had told me that if you couldn't see the mountain it was raining and if you could see it, it was about to rain. He made me laugh but told me lots of stories about poachers, myths and characters from the locality. Apparently a priest would row across the Upper Lake every Sunday to take Mass in a chapel for mountain folk. It sounded beautiful but I could imagine it was tough in cold bitter weather.

So there I was four holes to go and I wished I was elsewhere, the golf was good but nature was better, I was so relaxed and as I set up my tee shot on the fifteenth all I could hear was the sounds of nature around me, the buzz of insects, the long grass swaying in the breeze, the songs of blackbirds and the croaking of frogs. Just beyond the green was a castle ruin with ivy twisting round the tower and while I was swinging my shot I was kind of watching two blackbirds fighting on the rampart, I struck the ball and it leapt in the air. I was watching the ball and the birds and then Gloria, who I was playing with started whooping, "A hole in one, Julia, way to go." An impossible dream, a thing I never thought I would ever achieve, I had never dreamt of ever dropping a hole in one. A time for celebration, we quickly finished the rest of our round and sat outside the clubhouse sipping a lovely New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and smiling. Finally I broached the subject with Glo, "I think I was being taught a lesson today, when I let go of all my troubles and concentrated only on the glories of nature I achieved the impossible."

Life as a cactus

I am not sure whether I would like life if I was a cactus. Even though you'd be prickly people would prod at you, kick and hate you. On top of that you'd be obsessed with food and storing it in case of drought or famine. It would be very disconcerting not to be able to break bread with friends. One long day would run into another, always in the baking sun. No chat about the weather, what would be the point, it is the same - hot!

routine

A routine day at work, lots of patient interaction, met a missionary and a Dub.
Off for a cycle soon. Saw a pedestrian accident last night. I wish I could convince Aary to wear a helmet, you just never know when it is neccessary