During my first visit to Ireland in the 1970s, I learned
about Cork gin, lamb stew that got better a few days after it was cooked, and
Tir na nOg. In those days, the entire planet was the “land of youth” for me so Celtic mysticism meant little.
That was then, 45 years ago.
With social distancing, endless statistics about the
pandemic that has taken the planet by surprise, I went back to moments when a
pint of Guinness was for social propinquity, when the Mediterranean sea was that
piece of bluest sky which fell upon the earth on a warm August day, and when
many of my friends had dark curly hair.
Today they are a parade of names. Many of my friends are
frozen on paper as black and white photographs. The rest do not have black
curly hair. Most do not have hair anymore.
Tir na nOg. I learned
that word over breakfast in Dublin. I still remember the address – {XX} Knocklyon, Dublin 16. Thick bacon, black
pudding, fried tomato and mushrooms. And
Cork gin. The cast iron skillet had a well where the fat from the pudding and
bacon gathered so the tomato and mushrooms can be cooked in that fat.
I was told that the Cork gin would unclog any artery that
would consider such beautiful breakfast too fatty.
“There is no afterlife – it is all here. Flame-haired, freckled women, men who puff on
their pipes, houses of stone, a flute, a fiddle and a Tin Whistle. The Land of Youth shrinks when you give your time away.”
That was then, 45 years ago.
… And I went to Ireland a few times again, and I traveled around
the globe at least once. In every city, every remote village, every port and
airport I left a piece of me.
When I came back, all I had kept was my time to myself. For
myself. I did not give it away.
But, time has its own pace and steady hand. I learned that
it does not stay for long. Even if you do not give it away.
Tir na nOg. Perhaps there is no afterlife. Just Cork gin, an
iron skillet with a well, and flame-haired, freckled women.
The land of youth is a moment in time, where you do not give
your time away. You just cover it in promises.
March 17, 2020
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2020
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