“I will tell you what I will do and what I will not do. I will not serve that in which I no longer believe, whether it calls itself my home, my fatherland, or my church: and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can, using for my defense the only arms I allow myself to use -- silence, exile, and cunning.”
― James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Ah March, the month of my heritage. To be honest, I am also Scottish and Sicilian. My mother was 100% Irish, my father 1/2 Scottish and 1/2 Sicilian. However, growing up, the importance of my Irish heritage was always paramount.
The Irish, by default, are troopers. When my family came over here and landed in Brooklyn, they worked their little tails off to make a life that supported their family. It was this dedication that even though they didn’t know it, brought me to where I sit right now, writing this.
My great grandmother Margaret was the first one to teach me about plants. Her living with my Great Aunt Bess in a small apartment in Brooklyn brought me so much joy. They had this forest on their balcony. My small self remembers walking into the balcony and feeling scared and content all at the same time. Scared because there were so many plants once you walked in you couldn’t see the exit. Content because it was so calm.
Great Grandma died at 96. In today’s society I wonder what would happen to her now. See, she didn’t believe in conventional medicine. She always had little bottles and plants around that she would put into food and drink.
She started her day, everyday, with a shot of Irish Whiskey. Kind of like those who start their day with apple cider vinegar. Except Irish Whiskey. Then her main food group was beef and potatoes. That’s it. I do not remember having anything but beef and potatoes. For breakfast, lunch and dinner.
They taught me about Irish music, always having it on in the background of this small radio. When it wasn’t, it was music from the 1920s. They would play games with me including cops and robbers. When I caught one of them as the “cop”, they would make me tie up Aunt Bess in a chair and not let her go until she sung a song in Gaelic. My memories there bring a warmth to my heart.
When I was in college, I had to take “basket weaving”. Otherwise known as electives. I took Irish Lit, by the time I was finished in college I was taking 400 level courses. Joyce, Yeats, Moore, O’ Kelly. The list goes on.
The Irish were good writers about emotional paralysis. Where you stand still and your brain goes so fast that you literally can’t make a move. It was said it was this emotional paralysis that kept the pubs open as that was the cure for it.
It has always been on my bucket list to get there. We did so in 2019. I remember taking my shoes off in November and walking on the grass. I savored the land and energy coming through my feet. My body reacted like, this is your home. You are home now. I experienced a strange type of deja vu looking out at the water on County Sligo (pic above), with pins and needles going all through my spine.
I think that this move of the store is appropriate right now for March. In March, I don’t really “celebrate” St. Patrick’s Day. I was taught this was very much an American holiday. However, I do think about my ancestors quite a bit and bring out my Irish Lit books for fun.
This March, I keep going through my own emotional paralysis. There are so many moving parts in my own life. Faeve is all over the place, Mulberry has major back end changes out of our control. My son is graduating high school, my daughter starting high school. It’s a lot. I find myself staring at the wall a lot in my own version of emotional paralysis.
Then somewhere I hear this tiny little voice singing a Gaelic tune. I know that this paralysis is part of my blood. But I also know I have the strength and determination to stop it. That little song from my Aunt Bess reminding me that I have gotten through 100% of my life so far. Today and the next and the next won’t be any different.
Meredith
