Out and About

Sometimes it feels as if I haven't left my property in days (because I haven’t), and when I do leave I am usually walking or biking so I don’t venture that far, but today, feeling a little stir-crazy, as well as a bit hemmed in by the gray and drizzling skies, I made a break for it and climbed into the Grand (Ma) Caravan and took a little cruise. I had the newly-serviced Lumix along with me and was eager to get my hands back on her, though when I came across the kite boarders on Sengekontacket a part of me wished I had brought the big cameras along for the ride; another part of me, however, likes keeping it simple and enjoys the challenge of working with the tools I have on hand. And you know what? For what the little Lumix is - a handy high-end carry-around camera - it did a more-than-acceptable job, even with its limitations of focal length and shutter speed.
This is not the first time I've photographed this path to South Beach...
...or these retired-for-the-season life guard stands.
Fishermen, heading home up Kelly Street.

The Music of What Happens

An excerpt from The Music of What Happens by John J O Riordain c.Ss.R Celtic Spirituality: A View from the Inside. 

If you know me or anything about my life you will understand why this segment jumped out at me: 

On the matter of hospitality, there is a curious traditional expression and it relates to the use of music. I experienced it only once in my own life but it was obviously part of the longer and broader tradition... ...I have a beautiful and abiding memory of being welcomed with music as well as the offer of food and drink. It was during a mission in the parish of Ballinskelligs in west Kerry and I was doing house-to-house visitation prior to the week of preaching. The scenery was exquisite as I rose into the side of a mountain overlooking the Atlantic and Valentia Island. There was a lone house there between the mountain and the sea; and in the house there was a lone man, a retired blacksmith. He was standing at the door as I entered the yard. Upon seeing me, he didn't come forward in greeting, as I would have expected in that part of the country where people are so warm and hospitable. Instead, he retired into the house leaving the door still open. It was only when I got to the door that the situation unfolded for me. He had gone inside, taken down the fiddle from over the hob, and played two tunes to welcome the missioner into his house. After that he laid aside the fiddle and reached out both hands in warmest greeting.

County Kerry, December 2019.

  Valentia Island, watercolor by Irish-American artist Joan Walsh. This painting hangs in my living room, the setting for many an Irish traditional music session. 

  In July of 2018 I had the pleasure of welcoming the Sisters of Life onto my porch and into my home when they were on their annual mission to Martha's Vineyard. This was shortly after I played them up the sidewalk while they danced a jig ("There are nuns doing what on Main Street?"). Photo by Deb O'Hara Rusckowski

Down at the Docks

In the evening I like to ride my bike through town and down to the docks. I find the salt air and the locals and the fishermen - and the stories they tell - to be a welcome relief from the day's news and the confinement of my four walls and my own mind. What I found tonight was a serious case of derby fever, though I am told it's not the same derby without the bass. Seems that many things are not the same at the moment. The Tigress, colorful sail furled, and put to bed for the night. 
Janet Messineo, Island fisherwoman of legend. 
The ubiquitous Dennie Jackson, showing off his Katama University tee-shirt. 
What's in the bucket? Butterfish. Serious fishermen catch their own bait.