Posts Tagged ‘John Lenahan’

Lúnasa Live

22,May, 2009

Lúnasa, the Irish band that so graciously allowed me to use their music for the Shadowmagic podcast, has a fab vid on youtube.  Check it out and then buy all of their CDs at www.lunasa.ie 

JL

Over-excited?

21,January, 2009

Obama Inauguration

My American friends have been sending me emails full of “A new day is dawning,” type prose.   Perhaps I have lived in cynical Britain for so long – or maybe too long – cause my initial reaction is that maybe everybody is getting just a wee bit too excited.  But then I thought, why not revel in the excitement?  There is nothing in this whole world more invigorating as the first month of a new love affair.  Those of us who have been around the block know that the joy and passion can’t last at those levels but we do it anyway and there is no denying it is wonderful.  In time, with luck, the exuberance of the beginnings morphs into comfortable, sustainable, living – without luck, it ends in tears. 

So go wild America, revel in your overexcitement, speak fluorescently about the promise of tomorrow – just remember that every mountain climber has to come down.  Whether it is a soft descent or a plummet is down to skill, preparation, teamwork but also – providence.

Good luck Mr President and good luck America.

Five Years Ago Today

7,January, 2009

Hello and Happy New Year everybody.  I know I have been awol. from my blog.  I have been on holiday and it seemed that my muse decided to stay at home.  But I am back and I promise soon to update you on the socks and the person that wears them but first I had to do this…

Five Years Ago Today

When Caroline and I were new together we took a plane to Rhodes.  From there we boarded an open-top ferry and sailed into a golden sunset as it was setting on the Aegean Sea.  Hours later, out of the pitch blackness of the open water the dazzlingly bright lights of the horseshoe harbour of Symi appeared as we rounded the island.  As we came closer we heard the sound of gunfire and then watched as, what looked like, 18th century Turkish soldiers fired muskets into a mob of undefended villagers.  But for cameras, the scaffolding donned with movie lights and the sight of a bikini-topped stagehand running around with a smoke machine – I would have had to come to the conclusion that our ferry trip had passed through a rip in time.

What a wonderful island Symi was.  The town was just that horseshoe harbour.  To reach any other part of the island one must go by sea and every morning there was a choice of a handful of boats going to as many beaches.  For little money a local fisherman would ferry us to a beach, leave us there then return to grill the fresh fish he had just caught for lunch.  It was paradise.

Back on the island the small film crew would work around us.  The film was called Pascali’s Island.  Their only security was the occasional camera assistant asking us to possibly move to another table.  Caroline and I spend a lovely breakfast watching Helen Mirren shooting a scene only 15 feet away.  We sipped our coffee as she walked calmly from a house opposite and then burst into tears.  She did it flawlessly – over and over again.  Giving me another lesson it the fact that acting is a lot harder then it looks.

And then there was the food.  There was only one real restaurant run by Stavros.  We fell in love with the place.  By our second meal we were treated like old friends – by the end of the week we felt like part of the family.  If for the rest of my life I could only eat Stavros’s kleftivco washed down with pine-sap infused retsina wine – I don’t think I would complain.

It was our first big holiday together, and although it was years before we would marry, we had made a commitment to each other – we were in love – it was a honeymoon.  It was damn near perfect.

**

About three months after Caroline died I took a gig on a cruise ship.  I was looking forward to it.  I needed to get away.  I needed to look at walls that weren’t painted by her.  I needed to scrape butter from a butter dish that was made in a kiln other than Caroline’s.  I needed to see tables and chairs that didn’t look empty because she wasn’t sitting in them.  I needed to go somewhere were not everything reminded me of what I had lost.

At first I ignored the innocuous print on the wall of the cruise ship cabin that was to be my home for the next ten days but as I unpacked my bag on the bed I was forced to look at it.  It was a watercolour of a typical Greek island taverna but the more I looked at it the more achingly familiar it became.  The only thing missing from it was Stavros outside with his arms outstretched ready to take Caroline’s head in his hands so as to kiss her on both cheeks.  I shook my head and told myself I was being silly but then I saw what was written in the corner of the print.  Along with the date the artist had written – “Symi.”  What were the flipping chances?

**

I now know that there is nowhere one can escape the pain of memories.  The mistake was looking for a “where” when the answer is – “when.”  Clichés are clichés for a reason and – Time heals all wounds – is high on the all time best cliché list for a reason.  Caroline died five years ago today.  The eye welling, throat tightening memories that used to commonly hit hard and fast are now so few and far between, that when they come, I no longer try to push them away – I hold on to them.  It seems wrong to say that I enjoy the experiences but that’s as close a word as I can get.

Yesterday I was in Bonaire.  It was here that I taught Caroline, who was always a bit afraid of the water, how to use a mask and a snorkel.  When she first saw the florescent fish darting in and out of the coral, she turned into a five year old and popped up screaming, “THE FISHYS!” without even taking the snorkel out of her mouth.

As I dropped my face into the warm Caribbean water today, that memory hit me hard.  I stopped swimming and I stood in the water holding on to it, as I looked out to sea.  It felt good to remember.  Even though the beach was crowded it was a private moment.  In a dive mask no one can see you crying.

JL

Yule Like Me

8,December, 2008

christmas

Hey gang.   These are the socks I’m going to be wearing on Christmas day.  If you want to be yule like me then you can order them from my fav site – The Sock Shop.

JL

I haven’t posted a pretty sunset in a long time.

30,November, 2008

sunset

Don’t ask he where I was – somewhere in the Caribbean.

How about now?

23,November, 2008

collage

A pair of sexy socks to whoever can guess – Were am I?

Hey sister Mel – you should get this.

JL

Where am I? – strikes again.

20,November, 2008

Congrats to Ventzi on winning – Where am I?  I was indeed in St Lucia.  Here gang try this one.

collage1

JL

It’s – Where Am I? – time again.

20,November, 2008

A pair of smelly socks to he guesser of this location.

collage3

JL

The Philadelphia Phillies Win the World Series

17,November, 2008

One of the most unfortunate events of this year was when I was stuck on a British cruise ship while my home town baseball team, The Philadelphia Phillies, won the World Series.  The Brits didn’t even put the box scores in the daily newsletter.

If I had been there I most certainly would have stood on Broad Street and watched the victory parade like these folks.  My brother sent me this video of a very young Philly fan waiting for the parade to start.  This kid is destined to be a star – I’ve never seen such charisma.

JL

Puce Socks

16,November, 2008

puce-sock1

A big group of friends went out to dinner last night and I decided to splash out and wear one of the Sock Shop’s Colour Burst Socks (which are selling for £2 a pair – a real bargin.).  My father always called this colour puce, somone told me that that is wrong  – but Dad was in my memory was always right so I’m sticking with calling these my puce socks.

John L