theboreen.com

Acts of random creative expression. Barbie dolls. Potholes. Plastic cows. Reality TV home movies. Madness. Sadness. Honesty. Death.

Ramblings from left of centre.

For me, this blog has been an arbitrary journey into my moods and musings, my bizarre attention to oddness and in-built drive to make something out of nothing.

It has never been a self-promotional exercise in navel-gazing. God. Who wants that in a blog.

In the past two years I have worked hard with commitment in everything I’ve done.

But as happens in life, especially if that life moves and changes and grows as mine is rapidly doing (thankfully), some things stay and some things go.

It hasn’t been an easy decision but it’s time for the blog to go. For now.

With an exciting anthology of other writers’ work on the horizon, my own collection, a novel and a queue of authors starting to form on the doorstep of Labello Press the reality is, I’m swamped. Happily.

So to all of you who have read, written, been so kind and open and genuinely beautiful in your support, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You have made The Boreen a joy to create.

But let’s not say farewell. Just a small bye-bye while I attend to new adventures.

For you, I wish the same. Let life’s changes carry you away onwards and upwards.

With love. Deborah.

This season I became obsessed with Christmas Tree ornaments. I wanted to find something tacky yet, I wanted it to also be sublime. In my mind anyone can do tacky. To get that extra special tinge of odd yet wonderful takes a bit of work.

I looked everywhere from Tesco to craft shows to DIY centres.  I found standard silver and gold glittery balls, wooden reindeer, lopsided Santas, misshapen gingerbread men, schmaltzy crappy-looking stars with gems on the ends (all very nicely tacky mind you) but nothing really said tacky with class until about a week ago.

And, I found two on the same tree. How lucky was I.

My number one favourite and winner of the best all around tacky yet sublime ornament is…..

Mr. (or Mrs?) Golden Potato Head

To me nothing says class act like a golden-coloured plastic potato of unknown origin. Too long for an actual Golden Wonder. Too big for a Maris Piper. Way too wide for your garden-variety salad potato. My guess is it’s a Russet from Idaho. Yep, that’s a baker.

My second favourite is………

Fluffy Butt Leprechaun

Not sure what it is that intrigues me here but it does. Kind of like when you go to a wedding where everyone is wearing 50-foot heels and big wildly coloured/patterned dresses and matching hat things. You don’t like to stare but you do. You have to. Or when you watch a scary movie and it gets to the really horrible part. You don’t like to look but you do.

And then, I became competitive. I wanted to see if I could create a tacky yet sublime ornament of my very own. An art work of absurdity. You may need to be from the States to know what this is or maybe you’ve seen Saturday Night Live back in the day of Dan Ackroyd, Gilda Radner, Jane Curtain, John Belushi, etc.

If you have, you know that this is Billy Crystal doing Fernando’s Hideaway. Fernando, the slick, tacky, self-adoring ladies’ man who wants you to remember one thing this Christmas……

"It is better to LOOK good than to FEEL good."

So daahlings, and you know who you are,  I hope you have a maaahvalous and stunning Christmas and a Happy Holiday Season.

Now, where was I?

I have a list of updates of what has been happening since I last muttered something about individuality in my last post, almost two weeks ago. As with everyone this time of year, life has been one big hectic-fest but before too much time passes here’s whudup:

In the past few weeks I resurrected my ancient profession and carted my jewellery off to two craft fairs.

The first one was a little boring and cold and the coffee was only average.

The second one was still cold but much more fun.

I shared a table with Cate, owner of the Tipperary-based company The Cookie Jar and spent most of the day drooling.

I did. Several times.

The Cookie Jar cookies are authentically American, Cate’s own perfected recipes. She makes several varieties including Chocolate Chip, Oatmeal Raisin, Monster, Magic Bars and Streusel Slice.

Double Chocolate, Chocolate Chip, Monster, Sparkle.

She uses top quality ingredients and is part of the Tipperary Food Network, makers of all things homemade. Her baked goods are absolutely divine, completely addicting.

I brought home several. They didn’t last 24 hours.

The Cookie Jar cookies can be found in outlets around Ireland and in Quimby’s in Clonmel.

Visit their website www.TheCookieJar.ie

Yesterday on Labello Press we proudly announced our Guest Judge for the first annual Short Story Competition, stage and TV actor Bryan Murray.

See http://www.labellopress.com/submission-guidelines.html

We feel very fortunate and excited that Bryan is going to be part of Labello Press’s inaugural project. It means a lot to us that he is willing to take time out of his busy schedule to help us finalise the winning stories for publication in our 2012 anthology “Gem Street.”

I am up to my eyes reading competition entries and working on an exciting publishing project with fascinating and funny Open Water Swimmer, Nuala Moore.

I met Nuala over the summer in Kerry and was awestruck and impressed with the intriguing story of how, in 2006, she was part of a group of six swimmers who swam around the island of Ireland. They completed this monumental journey of inner strength and sheer tenacity in 35 swim days.

In 2008 she was part of a team that swam a Double Crossing of the English Channel in 25 hours/15 minutes.

She has been invited to be part of an expedition to swim The Bering Strait in 2012.

On New Year’s Eve, Nuala and fellow swimmer Ann Marie Ward will be challenging themselves with an Ice Swim in the Bloody Foreland, Donegal (provided the water is lower than 5 degrees centigrade) in bathing suits! Bathing suits and a non-neoprene bathing cap! My teeth chatter just writing that. Where’s my hot water bottle.

Nuala has participated in triathlons and qualified for the World Games in Chicago where she broke the world record by thirty minutes in her category.

Nuala and Ann Marie will be in the audience of The Late Late Show tonight for an interview with Ryan Tubridy to talk about cold water swimming and the upcoming ice swim. Have a look. Not only are they inspiring and truly amazing people, they’re lovely as well.

Now, where was I?

Oh yeah. I’m off to feed Ms. Sparkles and change her litter box.

My life is truly a thing of wonder.

See you next week.

Christmas started early this year. It was around Halloween when I started seeing baubles and glittery things and packs of cards sneaking their way onto store shelves.

They didn’t think I noticed but I did.

Oh, it was all very quiet in the beginning. Just a squeak and a murmur. A whisper with a little finger-fluttery wave and a wink as I passed.

“Helloooo. Come here. Pick me up. I’m so pretty and sparkly and would look so nice on your Christmas tree.”

I'm a bauble. Buy me.

I kept walking.

It escalated then, the whole thing getting more confident, a little more vocal. A head turning right then left and a pssst.

“Hey pal. Don’t be the last to buy a pack of 6 for €4.99. This offer won’t last forever.”

I exited the store quickly.

Then finally, it became a full-on wallet-gabbing affair. Aggressive and insane. A mugging of my good nature.

“Get over here now. You will buy this box of 24 chili pepper lights complete with window suction cups for €24.99. Then you will buy presents for everyone, including people you don’t even really like but feel obligated to buy for and you’ll spend way too much money. You will exhaust yourself walking around in circles mumbling, ‘but I have to find a pink-brocade-polka-dot tea cosy for my aunt twice removed. I have to.’ It doesn’t matter that every single item you buy will be a mass-produced piece of crap. You will be pleasant and jolly and hum sweet little seasonal melodies while smiling at everyone you meet.”

I was getting frustrated. I’m not a good shopper. I avoid stores this time of year. I confuse easily and become irritable under pressure. It was at that point that I picked a fight with a fake Christmas tree, accusing it of being plastic and shallow.

I started thinking about the terrible intense focus of Christmas.

Of how too many people will spend too much time driving around and around looking for a parking space. Eventually, they will see one in the distance. An oasis. A space right near the front door. Their mouths will feel as if stuffed with cotton, their rapidly beating hearts will seem to leap from their chests. Determined, they will focus on the target and drive, hands clamped tightly to the steering wheel. And then, as they are almost there, from nowhere some smug selfish space-invader will zip in before they even have a chance to turn the wheel.

They will slog through packed-noisy-overheated shopping centres having their ears bashed with the same old indoctrinating Christmas music played year after year. Other shoppers will bump and push, over-tired children will screech, and they will be swept up in the torrent of bodies pulling them into the men’s underwear/socks/handkerchief department, the useless gadget or pre-packaged snack and dip and suspect chocolate department.

“Hell with that,” I thought and tried to imagine possible solutions to all of the stress and mayhem.

Suddenly, I came upon a light in the darkness of my mood. This year, I will go commando.

Raspberries to globalisation. Support handmade.

Not made on a production line

Farts to you mass production. Support small producers.

Hand-crafted with minimal swearing

I’m taking my little table, my black material and jewellery and heading to the Golden National School Coffee morning/Craft fair in Tipperary tomorrow.

and using really good stuff

I’m going back to my roots to a tradition that I haven’t taken part in for a very long time.

Don’t-let-the-door-hit-you-on-the-ass hyper-inflated brands. Bye-bye.

I’m going to shop and be shopped in an atmosphere that supports a strike back for individuality.

It all began so well on this sunny (bizarrely) mild, (eerily) calm November day.

An end of November day. Average temperature this time of year supposed to be, I don’t know, 6/7 degrees centigrade?

I’m out in the garden. I’m raking leaves, pulling weeds (which are growing at an alarming rate), cutting back the Vinca (flowering, it’s bloody flowering), and I’m doing it all grudgingly.

Goway

I know, I know. Most people like this weather. Most people couldn’t care less if the seasons are all messed up, as long as it’s mild. I know, I know.

But to me, this weather is not normal and (FACT) this garden is not a postage stamp garden. This is a mad, huge, knotty, brambly, mess of a garden. It is massive. It is crazy. I need a rest from yard work. Like all the little flowers and insects (there are still flies around – do not get me started on the flies), the grass and the dandelions, I need hibernation time.

But if they don’t hibernate, how am I supposed to.

I’m swearing as I work. I’m reminding all of the things growing around me (including the grass which I am stomping around on) that this is, “THE END OF NOVEMBER. All of you,” I say, “stop growing. Go to sleep immediately. Nighty- night. See you next year. Preferably not before March!”

I mutter something about global warming as I see that the roses are still hanging in there.

Stop it

I gasp in horror when I turn the corner and see new growth on the “some form of lavender bush” thing.

Leave me alone

And then as I clear the leaves from around the Heather and Lavender I see them.

Thinking that my eyes must be hallucinating, I crouch and smooth the dirt with my hand.

Eh! Green periscopes pushing up through the soil. I panic. I look around. They’re everywhere. Daffodils.

Nooooooooooooooo!

“Daffodils at the end of November,” I say.

I snap back my hand. I think of the movie “The Day of The Triffids.”

I throw my forearm dramatically across my eyes to shield them. (I briefly think that if Wordsworth was alive, he too would a be freaking out right now. Yes he would.)

“Oh my god. OH MY GOD.” Resisting the urge to pull them from the ground, I get up.

How dare they.

I drop my hoe. Arm still in place, I slowly back away. I speed-walk though the yard, past the spinach which is still growing, past the grass which needs mowing and into the house.

I swear that  I’m not coming back out until Summer. By that time it should be Winter.

If possible, find some other Americans. And/or find some people who like to eat and are open to overeating and then falling asleep watching football. Speaking of which, you’ll have to pay for a streaming site if you don’t have Sky Sports or similar.

If no one is available, cook a full Thanksgiving dinner anyway.

This is tradition and the best holiday (even better than Christmas because it’s not commercial and doesn’t scream at you to buy things).

It’s just stomach expanding. But, you can always go for a walk afterwards.

Source your special American ingredients well in advance. Get some stuff from the American food website or, if in Ireland, go to Dublin to that very expensive (what –Graham Crackers for 5.95?) store. Or better yet, just improvise.

Odd and Wonderful

If you eat meat, buy a turkey. If not, buy a Quorn Family Roast. High in protein. Low in fat. From freezer to table in 60 minutes. Looks a bit odd (loggish and pale –but that’s only pre-cooking). People will look at you funny on this one but tell the story about how you once fed Quorn to a meat enthusiast (with his prior consent) who swore he couldn’t tell it from the real thing.

See Sweet Potatoes left. Still sourcing marshmallows.

Buy Sweet Potatoes and Marshmallows even though they don’t seem to make marshmallows like they used to. Where are the Sta-Puffs when you need them? Put these on top of the mashed sweet potatoes. If they turn liquid during baking just stir them into the potatoes and tell everyone that the oven had a mood-swing. Or a melt-down. Whichever works.

Make a Green Bean Casserole. Without a can of Durkee Fried Onions in sight make your own. Slice onions very thinly, coat in flour and breadcrumbs tossed with salt and pepper and bake for longer than the recipe says. Make a thick mushroom soup to use in place of the tinned variety, mix in the cooked green beans, mix in the toasted almonds. Put the faux Durkee on top. Be proud of your accomplishment.

For stuffing and faux Durkees. Might need additional bag.

Ignore the fad diet inanity that says eating white potatoes is like eating a handful of sugar. This is Thanksgiving. If there was ever a day to eat a handful of sugar then this is that day.

Stuffing is not just for turkeys.

Make Onion Gravy to ladle over the handful of sugar and the turkey/Quorn and the stuffing.

CRANBERRY SAUCE!

Get someone else to peel the Brussel Sprouts.

Orange has never been so...orange

Make this very gross American classic because it is important and nostalgic and the most vivid colour of orange you have ever seen.

Don’t be a wimp. You may be living in Europe/Asia/Australia/etcetera-etcetera, but this is not a day for skinny. This is not a day for the very polite Apple Tart which you may as well call an apple cookie.

Make a plump, overfilled, home-made Apple Pie. Make it BIG. Go crazy with the apples. And, DO NOT use cream. This is sacrilege. Have it with VANILLA ICE-CREAM, damn it. Don’t make me yell.

Now it’s all cooking and the house is beginning to smell like childhood.

Set the table in autumnal colours. Use cloth napkins. Light some orange and brown candles. Light the fire.

Then, bring it all to the table and dig in.

Be warm. Be happy. Be thankful.

Think of home.

It’s a rainy Friday night in Asus City. Long time friends, Speed Dating, Get Pregnant Fast, Push-Up Bikini, and Women Dating Younger Men, are slouching around Push-Up’s recently rebooted sixth floor penthouse. They are guzzling Ram cocktails. No one is saying much. Lately, a sort of cyber-ennui has begun to set in and permeate their little corner of the internet.

Women Dating Younger Men

It seems like years since any of them went on a date. At one time, they can remember Trojans and Viruses and handsome Modems all vying for their attention. Now, not even a lousy Gigabyte seems to take any notice of them. And, to make it all worse, Push-Up Bikini is still heartbroken over her long-ago crashed affair with a Multi-Lingual Processor.

Speed Dating

So, fed up and bored and bloated, the friends spend their nights drifting from penthouse to brownstone to apartment in a technological stupor recalling the good old days when real love could be found in a dazzling nightclub. At an important Art Gallery opening. Or while brushing cursors with the rich, the stunning and the fabulous at a glittering celebrity party.

Get Pregnant Fast

Speed Dating: (sighs) “Everyone has a philosophy of life whether they realise it or not.”

Get Pregnant Fast: (annoyed) “Not sure I follow you.”

Push-Up Bikini: (pours another cocktail and knocks it back) “I can’t believe this kind of data was buried below haemorrhoids and haemorrhoids regarding junk!”

Women Dating Younger Men: (standing at the huge window overlooking the city below suddenly turns and shouts) “Exactly what was the primary electronic cigarette anyway! Might anyone make sure you educate me personally? I’m a little bit of review for my blog. Thanks.”

Get Pregnant Fast: (rolls eyes) “O’ my goodness. This is amazing.”

Speed Dating: (shakes head, leans forward) “Almost all digital cameras come equipped with some sort of zoom lens that allows more or less of your scene to be included by simply zooming in and out.”

Push-Up Bikini: (Speaks loudly as she pours another cocktail.) “The one who can resolve my problem gets served bottle of beer.”

Get Pregnant Fast, Speed Dating, and Women Dating Younger Men exchange concerned glances.

Speed Dating: (goes over to Push-Up Bikini and sits next to her) “His affair is a pain in your heart.” (She speaks softly, pats Push-Up Bikini’s hand).

“Affair events. Although the pieces of you heart. Although you love him he does not value you. Although you pay so much but did no return.”

Push-Up Bikini begins to cry.

Get Pregnant Fast: (rolls eyes) “Yes, it’s true. That’s great.”

Women Dating Younger Men: (hands Push-Up Bikini a tissue, watches as Speed Dating gets up and goes into the kitchen) “That dinner looks great! I do think I???ll try making homemade chips because I have a great number of whole-wheat pitas without preservatives. Have got a great night girl!”

Get Pregnant Fast: (goes to the door, opens it and looks back) “Thanks so much. I am look forward to touch you.”

She leaves. The remaining friends look at each other confused.

Push-Up Bikini: (has stopped crying now and blots her eyes with the tissue. Sighs with the realisation) “Room décors that happens to be using lead free paints will most likely always be applied to our homes.”

Speed Dating: (comes out of the kitchen holding the dinner plates she is carrying over her head. She smiles broadly and announces gleefully): “Reparation and redevelopment in repose of the household!”

Push-Up Bikini

Push-up Bikini’s crisis resolved for now, the girls enjoy a wonderful home-cooked meal, drink several more cocktails, and eventually pass out. They wake the next morning and decide to meet their friends Sprinkler Systems Houston, Cross Dress On-Line, and Wally The Safety Sign Burma at the Comment Box Café for brunch and to tell them the good news.

All characters in Spam and the City are not fictitious and any resemblance to real spam, living or dead, is deliberate.

Beneath the surface of the water, the glassy film that separates you from sky and cloud, sunlight falls in columns. At first, your body shivers, refusing to sink. It fights momentarily, but then as you descend further and the light changes, the misty blue-green, the dim glow, you feel the swirl. The soft cocooning, a yawning sigh that begins at your feet and tenderly coils up as a kiss brushing your cheek.
The folding around your body as you finally slip silently, slowly down.

And float.

You can only see a few inches in front of your mask. The experience is immediate. In the moment. There is nothing else. The surface is a distant memory, the bottom is riveted with rock and shell and plant that seem to appear from nowhere.

You hear your own breathing, bubbles rumbling and rising.
Then you are deeper and the seaweed is a blanket waving and flowing with the endless rhythm of the sea. Back and forth, bowing and bending. The ocean’s choreography.

You cover some distance, more than before. It is endurance but it is a journey. The surge pushes you back as you move forward. Thin strings of seaweed catch and slide across your face, small silvery fish regard you quickly before flitting away.

You register sights, colour, texture, sensation; knowing that later what will be left behind is an impression. A mark that etches itself deeply and becomes part of the pattern, the impulses, the blood of you.

It will come to you in dreams, drift into your mind when you are awake, bring the taste of salt to your lips. Other times, a current will move through you and the edges of you will blur and your body will fly, weightless and shimmering.

From the bottom to the surface once again, you look ahead to a small island, behind in the distance to the harbour and pier and realise that for the first time, you truly are in open water. To your left a wave rises and tumbles towards you.

You see the stark contrast.

Up here, the sea is power. It dictates and demands that you listen, reminding of what you are within it.

Underneath it takes you into the heart of itself and gently teaches you respect.

In this small moment of recognition, the wind and waves, the headland, the vast expanse of water, the gulling sound of seabirds, what you leave beneath you; all of these things merge to become a pinpoint on the horizon. Clean and sharp.

In this small moment, you are changed.

Note: There were some photos to go with this post but unfortunately Wordpress was having technical problems today. I’m lucky I was able to get the text up.

After barely getting last week’s post up the computer I normally use (Mr. Mc’s) crashed. In a very bad way. It was all high drama and stress and hair pulling. And then, with no other options, I went diving.

I have had practically no internet connection for almost two weeks. In some ways this has been a dream. But for work in particular, it’s been a nightmare.

This update is being brought to you via a teeny, tiny notebook I purchased on the CHEAP and although it’s cramping my fingers (and all the spelling keeps coming out wrong) who cares because, it’s mine. All mine.

In any event, this week’s post will be up tomorrow. Thanks for your patience.

The Diving Instructor Development Course is underway at Harbour House in The Maharees, County Kerry. After a comprehensive 6 months preparing and (I think) 2 weeks of intensive lecturing and exam practice, this weekend the students will be doing their IEs.

And when it’s all said and done, the world will have a handful of highly qualified expert dive instructors done the Harbour House way (which happens to be only THE best way).

I’m sitting in the bar (tea darlings, I’m drinking tea) talking to Patricia, THE professional waitress. The place is very quiet. Everyone is upstairs in lectures. I can hear them all thinking. At four p.m. they will all come down from the lecture room for their pool presentations. I’m not sure what these comprise but I do know that they are extremely important.

So, I am here. Once again. I can’t seem to stay away.

At it again

As you know I have my Open Water Certificate so I took the opportunity to come back and get some practice in the pool then do my first official Open Water Dive from the pier with my instructor Tim and Richard, THE professional Harbour House Chef.

Me and Tim having a fabulous time. Wish you were here.

Unfortunately we haven’t had internet access so myself and computer (which has gone completely wonky to boot) are perched precariously in the corner at a table by the wall. I am typing with great care because this thing could switch itself off at any time.

before that happens (and it looks like it might) I  want to wish you all a Happy Halloween and safe trick or treating.

P.S. I’m assuming you will accept me dressed in all of my scuba finery as an adequate Halloween Costume.