Week ending 25th January 2011 www.tourmakeady.com
I have had some enquiries about a book I mentioned in a New Year’s article, which I said would be available shortly. For one reason or another ‘shortly’ has taken a month. Many projects were set back for a while by holidays and weather, including this. There were some hold-ups on my side as I am not technically gifted and most of the work was being done online. I was unable to open particular files for instance, due to lack of know-how or because I did not have the right equipment installed in my computer. This is a learning curve for me, the bright side being that the old dog can actually learn new tricks, even if a little slowly.
In the meantime people interested in reading my novel ‘Godfool’ have been googling its title, or that of the publishing company, AuthorHouse without success. They have been getting plenty of information about ‘God’s Fool’ a book about Saint Francis, but nothing about ‘Godfool.’ I have just been informed that the way to order the book online is: [email protected] . I hope that this proves successful. As I say I am learning as I go along. For those of us used to dealing with publishers to whom you just send a manuscript and let them get on with it, this is a very new but interesting territory.
Generally speaking publishers produce hundreds or thousands of books, according to their estimate of how many are likely to be sold. These are circulated to bookshops, or more recently many are sold online. The risk in this is that many copies can be left unsold. Companies like AuthorHouse take a different approach. They print the books as they are ordered and then post them to the customer. According to their information the process of printing and having the book covered can take up to three days. For that reason people should not expect their copy of a book by return of post, but they should have it in about a week.
There is a certain thrill for someone like me approaching his sixty-fifth birthday to be doing something new or learning new skills on the computer. I am probably exaggerating when I call my fumbling with the keys or the mouse of the ever changing machine a skill, but I manage to find my way around it, often painfully and slowly, two steps forward and one step backwards. Moving out of our comfort zones and trying something new, even if it is tentative and messy, helps us to feel alive, and excited by new learning as we were when we first manouvered placticine, or ‘marla’ as we called it in National School.
There is a similar challenge and excitement for me when publishing a book in a new way. It will not set the world alight, and I will be happy if it pays off the few hundred euro I have invested in it. The fact that publishers to whom I offered it were not willing to take the risk in the present economic climate is understandable, but also a blessing in disguise. The setbacks led to the challenge of doing something in a new and different way. The old dog has a few new tricks under his dog-collar if not up his sleeve.
In the meantime people interested in reading my novel ‘Godfool’ have been googling its title, or that of the publishing company, AuthorHouse without success. They have been getting plenty of information about ‘God’s Fool’ a book about Saint Francis, but nothing about ‘Godfool.’ I have just been informed that the way to order the book online is: [email protected] . I hope that this proves successful. As I say I am learning as I go along. For those of us used to dealing with publishers to whom you just send a manuscript and let them get on with it, this is a very new but interesting territory.
Generally speaking publishers produce hundreds or thousands of books, according to their estimate of how many are likely to be sold. These are circulated to bookshops, or more recently many are sold online. The risk in this is that many copies can be left unsold. Companies like AuthorHouse take a different approach. They print the books as they are ordered and then post them to the customer. According to their information the process of printing and having the book covered can take up to three days. For that reason people should not expect their copy of a book by return of post, but they should have it in about a week.
There is a certain thrill for someone like me approaching his sixty-fifth birthday to be doing something new or learning new skills on the computer. I am probably exaggerating when I call my fumbling with the keys or the mouse of the ever changing machine a skill, but I manage to find my way around it, often painfully and slowly, two steps forward and one step backwards. Moving out of our comfort zones and trying something new, even if it is tentative and messy, helps us to feel alive, and excited by new learning as we were when we first manouvered placticine, or ‘marla’ as we called it in National School.
There is a similar challenge and excitement for me when publishing a book in a new way. It will not set the world alight, and I will be happy if it pays off the few hundred euro I have invested in it. The fact that publishers to whom I offered it were not willing to take the risk in the present economic climate is understandable, but also a blessing in disguise. The setbacks led to the challenge of doing something in a new and different way. The old dog has a few new tricks under his dog-collar if not up his sleeve.
Week ending 18th January 2011 www.tourmakeady.com
More than forty years ago I decided to never let the Octave of Prayer for Christian Unity go by without mentioning it in article or sermon, or both. It was not that I was ever in any area of sectarian or religious conflict, but history had made me aware of the divisiveness it caused. I remember the sea-change that came about in inter-church relations in the early sixties by what seemed like a subtle change in attitude by Pope John XX111. I know now that this process called the ecumenical movement had been going on for a long time at that stage but it was not really noticed until a Pope more or less told us we didn’t have to hate Protestants any more.
This came as a great relief, because most people couldn’t understand why they were not permitted to enter a Protestant church for the funeral of a neighbour they held in great respect. Here was a Pope saying we should look more at what we have in common than what separates us. The same Pope’s attitude had probably been shaped somewhat by the time he, as Cardinal Roncalli, had spent in Instanbul or Constantinoble as a diplomat, a place which was a melting-pot of many different religions, Orthodox, Muslim, Catholic, Protestant and Jew, all of whom worshipped the same God in different ways and see Abraham as their father in faith.
I have often mentioned that I did not really understand the word ‘process’ until the peace process started in Northern Ireland. I knew what the word meant, but had never really teased out its implications. I know now that it is basically a slow burner, something that bubbles away at the back of the stove of life, virtually ignored until we wake up one day and realise that subtle changes have taken place in an age-old problem. I had that kind of realisation this New Year’s Day as I prayed for peace in the traditional way.
I thought of the many New Year’s Days we had all prayed for peace in Northern Ireland while basically thinking that our prayer didn’t have a hope in hell. Murder and mayhem seemed to go on and on. Thankfully it was not hell we were praying to. The process bubbled away for many years, two steps forward and one step backward or vice-versa. Suddenly we realise that all the efforts of politicians on all sides, North and South, Ireland, Britain, the United States and Europe have come to fruition. The process is still slow and painful in many ways, but to a great extent our hopes and prayers for peace have been answered.
The ecumenical movement, the inter-church movement is a similar process, a slow burner like the ‘mills of God’ which grind slowly, but grind exceedingly fine. I mentioned one Pope whose attitude virtually changed a world view. When history is written it will be seen that Pope John Paul 11 and Pope Benedict XVI did more than most to defuse anti-Muslim sentiment after the nine/eleven bombings tended to tar all followers of the prophet Mahomed with the same brush. We knew from our own experience that neither all Catholics or all Protestants, nor many of either were terrorists during our own troubles, and that most Muslims wanted nothing to do with terrorism either. Popes reaching out the hand of friendship helped to get that attitude across to the world. Thank God for slow burners, for processes.
This came as a great relief, because most people couldn’t understand why they were not permitted to enter a Protestant church for the funeral of a neighbour they held in great respect. Here was a Pope saying we should look more at what we have in common than what separates us. The same Pope’s attitude had probably been shaped somewhat by the time he, as Cardinal Roncalli, had spent in Instanbul or Constantinoble as a diplomat, a place which was a melting-pot of many different religions, Orthodox, Muslim, Catholic, Protestant and Jew, all of whom worshipped the same God in different ways and see Abraham as their father in faith.
I have often mentioned that I did not really understand the word ‘process’ until the peace process started in Northern Ireland. I knew what the word meant, but had never really teased out its implications. I know now that it is basically a slow burner, something that bubbles away at the back of the stove of life, virtually ignored until we wake up one day and realise that subtle changes have taken place in an age-old problem. I had that kind of realisation this New Year’s Day as I prayed for peace in the traditional way.
I thought of the many New Year’s Days we had all prayed for peace in Northern Ireland while basically thinking that our prayer didn’t have a hope in hell. Murder and mayhem seemed to go on and on. Thankfully it was not hell we were praying to. The process bubbled away for many years, two steps forward and one step backward or vice-versa. Suddenly we realise that all the efforts of politicians on all sides, North and South, Ireland, Britain, the United States and Europe have come to fruition. The process is still slow and painful in many ways, but to a great extent our hopes and prayers for peace have been answered.
The ecumenical movement, the inter-church movement is a similar process, a slow burner like the ‘mills of God’ which grind slowly, but grind exceedingly fine. I mentioned one Pope whose attitude virtually changed a world view. When history is written it will be seen that Pope John Paul 11 and Pope Benedict XVI did more than most to defuse anti-Muslim sentiment after the nine/eleven bombings tended to tar all followers of the prophet Mahomed with the same brush. We knew from our own experience that neither all Catholics or all Protestants, nor many of either were terrorists during our own troubles, and that most Muslims wanted nothing to do with terrorism either. Popes reaching out the hand of friendship helped to get that attitude across to the world. Thank God for slow burners, for processes.
Week ending 11th January 2011 www.tourmakeady.com
I had my first trip in a hearse recently, and I was one of those lucky people who returned from the cemetery by the same means of transport and am here to tell the tale. It was during the recent Siberian spell and I had doubts about the ability of my Ford Fiesta to negotiate the snowy and frosty road to and from one of the local cemeteries on the day of a funeral, so I hitched a lift in the hearse. As it turned out a group of local men had cleared and gritted the narrow road to the shore, near to which the burial was to take place, so there was no real problem for any car.
Despite slipping and sliding a little, I was pleased to find my way around the parish on Christmas Eve to bring holy communion to the sick and housebound. While many village roads are narrow, there are few enough hills apart from the beautiful ones like the Twelve Bens in the distance. Naturally enough I was thinking of the roads to valleys such as Glenmask and Glensaul in the Tourmakeady area which I would have driven during many Christmas periods. Those who lived or live there will never be far from my mind’s eye or memory.
The resilience of people despite the cold, the frost, the snow, the lack of running water showed the spirit in communities which will eventually take us through the bad economic times we are enduring at present. People looked out for their neighbours and made sure that they had the essentials of life such as food, fuel and water. I only missed the luxury of running water when it stopped completely, and did not return for some days after the thaw began. Calls to Galway County Council or the Clifden office reached only answering machines.
I was ready to sell my vote in the upcoming General election to whichever candidate or Political Party could get my water running. All of the mistakes of recent years would be forgiven for a kettle-full of water. The little lake at the back of the house came in useful with regard to the bathroom but it didn’t seem clean enough to drink even when boiled. I was in danger of even splashing out for bottled water. That would be completely against my principles, but even principles are negotiable in times of crisis.
I awoke the following morning to sounds which made me wonder had the ghost in the attic caught a flu during the cold spell. It sounded like coughing and spluttering, but it was followed by the joyful pouring of running water. Even County Council officials rang back shortly afterwards to explain how busy they were, which I well understand. They explained that we are not out of the woods yet, that there will be cutbacks and cutoffs most nights. I have no problem with that, and will make sure to have my kettle filled in advance. By the time you are reading this we may well be back to frost and snow, but we seem to be learning how to deal with it.
Despite slipping and sliding a little, I was pleased to find my way around the parish on Christmas Eve to bring holy communion to the sick and housebound. While many village roads are narrow, there are few enough hills apart from the beautiful ones like the Twelve Bens in the distance. Naturally enough I was thinking of the roads to valleys such as Glenmask and Glensaul in the Tourmakeady area which I would have driven during many Christmas periods. Those who lived or live there will never be far from my mind’s eye or memory.
The resilience of people despite the cold, the frost, the snow, the lack of running water showed the spirit in communities which will eventually take us through the bad economic times we are enduring at present. People looked out for their neighbours and made sure that they had the essentials of life such as food, fuel and water. I only missed the luxury of running water when it stopped completely, and did not return for some days after the thaw began. Calls to Galway County Council or the Clifden office reached only answering machines.
I was ready to sell my vote in the upcoming General election to whichever candidate or Political Party could get my water running. All of the mistakes of recent years would be forgiven for a kettle-full of water. The little lake at the back of the house came in useful with regard to the bathroom but it didn’t seem clean enough to drink even when boiled. I was in danger of even splashing out for bottled water. That would be completely against my principles, but even principles are negotiable in times of crisis.
I awoke the following morning to sounds which made me wonder had the ghost in the attic caught a flu during the cold spell. It sounded like coughing and spluttering, but it was followed by the joyful pouring of running water. Even County Council officials rang back shortly afterwards to explain how busy they were, which I well understand. They explained that we are not out of the woods yet, that there will be cutbacks and cutoffs most nights. I have no problem with that, and will make sure to have my kettle filled in advance. By the time you are reading this we may well be back to frost and snow, but we seem to be learning how to deal with it.
Week ending 4th January 2011 www.tourmakeady.com
It was my fortieth Christmas as a priest, but the Sunday beforehand was only the second time in my priesthood in which I had to walk to Mass in wellington boots, with my shoes in a plastic bag. The Parochial house is about a quarter of a mile from Carna church. I walk it as often as I can for the exercise and to help clear my mind before Mass or other ceremonies. I use the car when the weather is bad, but the car itself was pretty well snowed in that Sunday morning, as a pile of snow had slipped from the roof of the house and engulfed it. I reported here a few weeks ago that we had got off lightly in the first cold spell compared with the rest of the country, but we were paying for it now.
The snow was magical, of course, if you did not have to go out in it. The views were wonderful. The edges of the sea itself were frozen. The ice sank down as the tide receded, leaving an ice-apron along the water-edge. The roads were dangerous, but the intrepid lorry and van drivers, mainly from Mayo, managed to get supplies to the local shops. The industry and entrepeneurship of my fellow county men and women is a card I play regularly when there is any mention of ‘Mayo, God help us.’ It is very much ‘Galway glad to get us,’ as bread, cakes, rashers and sausages and many other products come to us from over the border. I would say the Mayo drivers outdo Galway City deliveries by about three to one.
The house I live in was built for Carna curates, but when the day came in the mid-nineties in which there was only one priest in this side of the parish, the Parish Priest came to live here and his house was sold. Reading through the excellent local magazine launched before Christmas I see that a resident of this house, Father Seamus Carter’s pucán (a smaller version of the Galway hooker) came first in his category at the Saint MacDara festival fifty years ago. Father Seamus, now retired and living in Abbeybreaffy nursing home is fondly remembered here, where he spent nine years, as well as a short spell in Cill Chiaráin in the other half of the parish.
Another priest associated in people’s minds with the sea who lived here was Father Austin Burns, a native of Clare Island. I heard a lot about him when I was a curate in Inis Meáin and Inis Oirr in the early seventies. He was the only priest the islanders would seriously listen to with regard to crossing between the islands because he was an islander himself and as good on the oars as any of them. Other priests, with no real knowledge of the sea, in their enthusiasm insisted on being brought from one island to the other for Mass, despite the grave reservations of the crew who had to take their lives as well as the priest’s in their hands to row the currach across the aptly named Sunda Salach or Foul Sound.
The magazine I mentioned is called ‘Iorras Aithneach,’ the historic name for this part of Ireland. It is not unlike Tourmakeady’s ‘Waterfall’ in size and scope, but has not been produced for quite as long, twenty as opposed to twentyfour editions, if my maths are right. Both magazines are a credit to their communities. The emphasis here this year was mainly on emigrant’s children who have reached great heights, particularly in the United States. One of President Barak Obama’s top security advisors, Denis Mc Donagh turns out to be a cousin of Joe, former Galway hurler and President of the GAA. The father of the President of New York’s Stock Exchange, Patricia Cloherty was also born in Carna, and was brought to the States at the age of twelve when his mother and father died. Just letting you know that here too we have friends in high places.
The snow was magical, of course, if you did not have to go out in it. The views were wonderful. The edges of the sea itself were frozen. The ice sank down as the tide receded, leaving an ice-apron along the water-edge. The roads were dangerous, but the intrepid lorry and van drivers, mainly from Mayo, managed to get supplies to the local shops. The industry and entrepeneurship of my fellow county men and women is a card I play regularly when there is any mention of ‘Mayo, God help us.’ It is very much ‘Galway glad to get us,’ as bread, cakes, rashers and sausages and many other products come to us from over the border. I would say the Mayo drivers outdo Galway City deliveries by about three to one.
The house I live in was built for Carna curates, but when the day came in the mid-nineties in which there was only one priest in this side of the parish, the Parish Priest came to live here and his house was sold. Reading through the excellent local magazine launched before Christmas I see that a resident of this house, Father Seamus Carter’s pucán (a smaller version of the Galway hooker) came first in his category at the Saint MacDara festival fifty years ago. Father Seamus, now retired and living in Abbeybreaffy nursing home is fondly remembered here, where he spent nine years, as well as a short spell in Cill Chiaráin in the other half of the parish.
Another priest associated in people’s minds with the sea who lived here was Father Austin Burns, a native of Clare Island. I heard a lot about him when I was a curate in Inis Meáin and Inis Oirr in the early seventies. He was the only priest the islanders would seriously listen to with regard to crossing between the islands because he was an islander himself and as good on the oars as any of them. Other priests, with no real knowledge of the sea, in their enthusiasm insisted on being brought from one island to the other for Mass, despite the grave reservations of the crew who had to take their lives as well as the priest’s in their hands to row the currach across the aptly named Sunda Salach or Foul Sound.
The magazine I mentioned is called ‘Iorras Aithneach,’ the historic name for this part of Ireland. It is not unlike Tourmakeady’s ‘Waterfall’ in size and scope, but has not been produced for quite as long, twenty as opposed to twentyfour editions, if my maths are right. Both magazines are a credit to their communities. The emphasis here this year was mainly on emigrant’s children who have reached great heights, particularly in the United States. One of President Barak Obama’s top security advisors, Denis Mc Donagh turns out to be a cousin of Joe, former Galway hurler and President of the GAA. The father of the President of New York’s Stock Exchange, Patricia Cloherty was also born in Carna, and was brought to the States at the age of twelve when his mother and father died. Just letting you know that here too we have friends in high places.