Season's Greetings

Merry Christmas! I hope you're not offended that I used the C-word, but in my defense, I am not a particularly religious holiday observer. I attend Christmas Eve church services when we are at one mother's house or another, but this holiday has always been about presents, decorations, family, and goodwill in my book. You show me a day when every store in America is closed,* and I will show you a secular holiday.

I suspect Christmas gains at least some of its power from its ties to the winter solstice and the beginning of a new year. Combining the message of peace and goodwill with the reflection and renewal of year's end creates a potent cocktail of emotion. Evergreen foliage, drinks made from eggs and cakes full of fruit, red, green and gold color scheme -- it's a Technicolor holiday for sure.

Life is a chain -- a line made of circles -- and this is the time when one link is closed and the next begun. Not coincidentally, December and January see more funerals than any other months of the year. (The most births are in August.)

There is comfort in the constancy of the seasons, and a reminder that history repeats, or at least rhymes.  Boxing up an old year and opening a shiny new one flavored with Christmas cheer brings a sense of relief and hopefulness, despite the fact that exactly nothing has changed except the date. Our traditions fortify these feelings.

I haven't written as much this year as some others, either professionally or here. I have always been a cyclical journalist, so I am neither particularly surprised nor distressed. Writing for me is inherently reflective, and I have been looking forward and outward this year, acting more than thinking.  My career change to academia inspired a great deal of self examination. I feel now like I am finding my identity, and steadily becoming a more competent professional me. My home life is as pleasant and stable as it has been at any time in my life. In short, I am currently too happy and boring to have much to write about.

But life is change, and this year is likely to see its share. A number of potential disruptions are floating about, personally and professionally. Career opportunities, home projects, unexplained rashes. I may buy a new car. And there will be the unexpected gifts from the fates. The quiet times never last forever, partially because I get bored. I try to savor the constancy while it lasts.

I hope you have a great holiday season and a wonderful 2015. Let's be careful out there.

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* With the exception of Asian restaurants and movie theaters, of course.

Infamy passing

It has been three years since the Pearl Harbor Survivors Association officially disbanded due to the advanced age and ill health of its remaining members. Their dwindling numbers at the commemorations is a tangible reminder that the event that defined my parents' world -- and to a great extent mine as well -- is on the verge of receding into history. Within a decade, or maybe two, all who remember the worldwide conflagration will be gone, or entombed in rapidly failing bodies.

Image from here

I don't think we can imagine what December 7, 1941 meant to this country. We like to make comparisons to 9-11, and the general idea is probably similar, but the scale of the attack and ensuing conflagration make 9-11 look like a convenience store robbery by comparison. No one said, "Go back to the mall and try to live normal lives" on December 8th. The nation transformed itself in a matter of months into a weapons factory of almost unbelievable productivity. Factories were converted (in many cases literally overnight) from making cars, stoves, or clothing to production of bombers, artillery, and parachutes. Millions of men left farms, factories, and offices to join the fight, and millions more women shed their aprons to replace the men at work, or wear different uniforms.* Everyone was expected to do their part, and those who shirked were labeled bums, or cowards. Roosevelts and Kennedys fought and died with everyone else, though they probably wore better fitting uniforms than most.

More Americans died in an average two-week period -- and on a few unfortunate single days -- than were killed in ten years of fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan. The Army Air Corp (forerunner of the Air Force) lost about 80 heavy bombers and over 600 men in a single raid. Over a million Germans and Russians are believed to have died at Stalingrad alone, and best estimates are that more than 20 million Soviet citizens and soldiers died during the course of the war.

When it was over, much of the industrialized world was in ruins, with the notable exceptions of the United States and Soviet Union. It is no coincidence that those two nations dominated commerce and politics for the next half century. The first salvos of the Cold War were fired even before the war in Europe was concluded, and more than one Allied leader recommended pushing the Soviets back within their borders. If America were not still embroiled in a vicious battle in the Pacific, they might have tried it. As it is, some strategic German cities and facilities were bombed in the closing days of the war expressly to deny them from the communists.

I spent several days recently with a colleague who grew up not far from Berlin. His parents were about the same age as mine, and the war shaped their lives absolutely. The habits they formed were imprinted so strongly that they have not faded to this day.  For instance, if there is food on their table it must be eaten before anyone gets up. Leftovers are not a luxury they could afford.

I try to take a few minutes to reflect every year on the anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor. (Some years go better than others.) It is a day commemorating sacrifice and war, situated between major American holidays of gratitude and peace. The people who experienced that war learned to be thankful just for living another year. Peace was a tangible goal to work toward, not an abstract concept discussed in church.

The Pearl Harbor generation shaped our world, and our expectations of our world, for better and worse. The world -- and Fox News -- will miss them.

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* This surge of responsibility, and disillusionment when it was unceremoniously taken away at war's end, planted the seeds for the Women's Liberation movement.

The Good Craic (Part 2)

When we last saw our intrepid travelers, they were dealing with an unexpected itinerary change. After leaving the bored, gum-snapping ticket agent at the Aran Islands Ferry office unsatisfied*, we returned to the Doll's Cottage to take advantage of our remaining hour of free wifi and some informed advice. We consulted with Sean and his other guests (a crazy-for-hiking German couple, and a nice American school teacher traveling with her two adult children), and decided we would check out Bunratty Castle and then spend the night at Loop Head, unanimously declared the most beautiful place that no one goes to in Ireland. We set the GPS for Bunratty** and headed back toward Shannon for the second of what would end up being four times.

Bunnratty is a fully restored Edwardian castle surrounded by historical buildings, livestock, and agricultural machinery. Think Jamestown or Williamsburg, but quite a few centuries older. It is a miracle that we managed to get this picture of the castle with no one in front of it. One of the guides told us that she sees a thousand people on an extremely slow day. They have medieval dinners in the evenings. I think it's blackbird pie and typhus, but I didn't look at the menu that closely.

After a drizzly but pleasant couple of hours at Bunratty, we made our way to Loop Head via the Coast Road (aka the scenic route). We were bound for a "wonderful B&B" Sean had recommended at Carrigaholt. We were almost there when we realized he had never told us exactly where it was or what it was called. Fortunately, we started seeing signs for a place called Glencarrig B&B. It was getting late, we were tired and a tiny bit grumpy, so it seemed good enough.

It turned out to be better than good enough. Luke and Mary Aston live about a mile from town, and Mary runs the Glencarrig guesthouse for her husband's charter fishing business. Had it been summer we probably couldn't have gotten a room, but in early October we were the only people in the place. The guesthouse is separated from the main house (connected by the dining room), so it was very much like having a cottage to ourselves. Mary recommended The Long Dock for dinner, so we headed back to town.

The view from our room at Glencarrig. It is hard to believe that this whole country isn't covered with condos. 

Downtown Carrigaholt is three pubs and a stop sign, and we were at the end of a long day. We really weren't looking for much except edible dinner and sleep. It ended up being our favorite night in Ireland. After a relaxed supper of local seafood, Biscuit asked about local music. Live music shuts down with the season in all but the most tourist of towns, but we asked anyway. They sent us next door to Morrissey's Village Pub. There was no music, but before we could turn around the locals called us in, made a spot in the center of the bar, and treated us like long lost friends. We had a wonderful night talking about life in Ireland, life in America, what sort of snacks sheep would like (nuts), big tech companies, fracking, and it gets a little fuzzy after that. We may have had a pint or two too many -- at the insistence (and expense) of the locals.

After a slow start in the morning and a much needed full breakfast, we drove off to see the sights of Loop Head. Once again, the pictures can tell the story better than I.

The lighthouse at Loop Head. It is every bit as lonely and beautiful as this shot might lead one to believe.

The Bridges of Ross. There used to be three bridges, but one fell in the sea.

The coast at Loop Head may not be quite as spectacular as the Cliffs of Moher, but it was close, and we didn't see a single tour bus while we were there. 

The parking lot at the Bridges of Ross. We spent close to an hour there and never saw another person. There were three cows, but I believe they were locals. This was typical of our time at Loop Head.

Our last stop in Ireland was to be the Dingle Peninsula. We had originally planned to start the drive to Dingle somewhat late in the day from the Aran Islands ferry, so we scheduled an overnight stop in Ballybunion to break up the drive. More gorgeous coast, this time with golf courses. More good food and local music.

Ballybunion is a golfing resort that is perhaps not as popular as it was before the crash. Consequently, there is plentiful lodging, quite a few pubs (open and closed), and of course beautiful coast, ruins, etc. The women's beach is to the left here, with the men's beach on the right.

This is getting long again, so I will save Dingle for another day. I assume you quit reading it ages ago, in any case. There is only so much of someone else's vacation that any of us can stomach. Since you won't be paying attention, I'm definitely going to talk about you in the next post.

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* No, I mean we left unsatisfied from our visit. Not that she was unsatisfied. Because, well, that's just not going to happen, know what I mean? What? We're not doing phrasing anymore?

** Bunratty is the setting between "stun" and "electro-convulsive therapy".