Jersey Irish Blogby Jim Lowney
- Daydreaming on a quiet island of love proclaimed in word and a wink
- Everyday is St Patrick’s Day, what would we be if not Irish
- Hopeless and romantic, always an artist and always a Mayo man
- The fire on Jersey Shore, rebuilding keeps the soul alive, stay still and you're dead
- Beautiful, earthy words on a terrible day, the death of Seamus Heaney
The recently late Philip Chevron of The Pogues wrote:
“The island it is silent now but ghosts still haunt the waves.”
The newest crack in my Mayo heart is still raw since our latest fall reaching for the Sam Maguire.
With that fateful Sunday still fresh in mind, I haven’t been much able to read or talk about the game.
Then we led the Aussie Shepard mix out the door of the shelter into the cool air of our next season. His name is Saoirse.
Ever wake and know the world altered while you slept?
There seemed to be a short break from things Irish around the Garden State, or I simply gave myself a good rest from it all not truly thinking about things much.
Festivals ended the spring then golf outings supporting Irish organizations and businesses sprang up all over July.
Just now I see Tyrone won, probably pleasing one Ulsterman with a full belly.
Chatting about the weather in Ireland often seems a national institution rivaling the GAA.
Forecast, temperature and how wet or dry it is of course matters greatly to farmers and their livelihoods. But every other soul on the green island is always handy with a comment on the meteorological conditions.
From the cut stone forming two columns in the West of Ireland to the photograph swinging in the beach breeze on the Jersey Shore, we still remember those we lost that day.
So if you are visiting Ireland for The Gathering this year, be sure to speak up and chat away with all around in your travels. You may just make a fun and surprising connection. If not, you’ll have a brilliant time trying.
Then we were on the fast road to Galway City to meet visiting New Jersey friends for lunch. At least I knew how to drive to Quay Street without incident to begin day two in the West.
Here’s to hoping our flight over now is at least only half the trouble.
Now we only need to start packing the bags for the next adventure on the roads and in small towns between Sligo and Kerry.
And Maggie Thatcher got dirt.
The sight was shocking but nothing that can’t be sorted out in time. No need for a wake for the Jersey Shore.
In the meantime, Father Michael will carry on stoking the fire in the forge that is the City of Camden where often it is a terrible day: Thanks be to God.
All day, I swear I heard Danny laughing at my shirt.
Whether Bruce shows or not hardly matters. St Patrick is “The Boss” for the next two months across the Garden State.
It’ll look good framed on the wall here in New Jersey.
Happy St. Patrick’s Season!
It will almost feel like we are back on track.
It just isn’t going to be the same and that’s normal.
Paddy, sitting there with legs crossed and looking almost peaceful, always saves me a seat where old ghosts meet while we keep digging up below.
It should be a quiet week, thankfully, until Galway meets Kilkenny in the hurling final next Sunday morning. I have to go watch. I told Rattigan I’d be there supporting Galway since he was out for Mayo.
So it begins again.
A week after that, when Galway plays Kilkenny again in the hurling, I’ll be there sitting with Rattigan and all the lads shouting at the televisions.
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