Day 14 – May 23 – Friday: The Last Day with the Group -- Farewells and Turning Loose
Continuing series of reports on our recent trip to Ireland and England. Click on images for larger view.
Our actual farewells were only said Saturday morning, as the group was leaving for the airport around 8:30, but this was our last day together. How quickly the two weeks passed! How soon we were reminded that our earthly lives can be summarized as bits of time spent between partings, moving from one farewell to the next. Our paths cross with those of our friends, and we move on; friends, family, loved ones depart this life; we lose things we have attachments to---sometimes stolen, sometimes misplaced, sometimes broken and worn out. Our group would be splitting up after this day, and on this day I was reminded about the temporary nature of possessing "things".
It only takes an instant...
At some point in this trip narrative, I mentioned my "addiction" to wood. I'm always looking for a piece of interesting wood I can somehow whittle on or carve into some object. Generally I look for small pieces I can carry in my pocket, and at odd times of the day, when there's nothing else I feel I ought to be doing (or want to do), I pull out my pocket knife and piece of wood and whittle away. Not every piece of wood lends itself to being whittled on; not every idea that comes to mind lends itself to being whittled into existence. But when mind and matter are in agreement, I find I always have something to do.
Having seen the Celtic crosses, I sensed this was something typical enough to be a souvenir of our trip; during the first days of our stay in Belfast I finally scrounged up a piece of pine from a construction site behind the hotel. It wasn't the ideal piece of wood, but I discovered wood was hard to come by there! For the better part of the next week or so, I slowly worked down the block of wood, and little by little it became obvious to others what I was working towards. My aim was to have it finished by the time our group ended its tour, and by this day, May 23, I was down to the detail work: trim a little here, take off a little on the other side, add a feature on the front, see if it lined up on the back...
Of course, we "artists" have to learn to live with criticism. Abbie's main complaints were: 1) I was getting little wood shavings all over the floor of the van where I was sitting; 2) whenever I got out of the van, I had little pieces of wood all over my shirt and jeans. I tried not to be too messy, so I picked up what shavings I could and threw them out the window, or I would knock the shavings off my work piece on the edge of the window. And then it happened... it was gone. I went to knock the shavings off, and the wind caught the little block of wood, or it got caught on the window frame as I pulled it back in. At 60 mph down the freeway...it was gone. So close to finished, so gone forever. It only took an instant.
But it was not a fortune; fortunes can be lost in an instant. It was not a matter of health and well-being; disease can strike in an instant. It was not a life, and lives can be lost in an instant. Yes, I had spent the better part of two weeks working on this little cross, and it was gone. But I had not lost everything: I would never lose the moments I spent conceiving the design and handling the knife, shaping the wood to conform to the ideal in my mind. Those were hours that were positive in themselves, whether or not the cross came into being as I imagined it.
I must confess that all the others in the group expressed their dismay at my "loss"... but we figured someone might come along and find a partially carved cross by the side of the road someday. The main lesson for me was a reminder to hold on to things lightly and to God tightly. In the end, all "things" will pass away, so let us hold them lightly. There's a Portuguese proverb that comes close to the idea: "Vão-se os anéis, ficam os dedos" ... loosely translated, "Let the rings go, keep your fingers".
Stormont and Tyrone
One of the two main stops of the day was the seat of government of Northern Ireland, Stormont, an imposing building sitting at the top of a hill, shown here with some rather imposing tourists in the foreground.
We just missed the last tour of the day at the crystal factory at Tyrone, so we contented ourselves with oohing and aahing over the various items for sale. Abbie was particularly interested in a crystal piano (not life-size), but large enough that you could almost buy a real one for the same amount of money. I had fun trying to take a picture of the shop, as reflected in the polished globes, without getting myself in the picture. I was not entirely successful in some of the photos.
Clenaghan
Could almost pasture the sheep on the roof.
We'd never heard of it. Wouldn't have ever found it, either, had it not been for Billy Stevenson making reservations for us there and giving directions to the inn. These are not the exact instructions, but you get the idea: "take a left at the third tree past the barn on the right, then turn right after you've seen six cows." In other words, this place was out in the middle of an Irish nowhere. (According the website, it's been nowhere for a good many years...like 250 of them.)
The kitchen door---note vine-covered pump to the left.
The main door to the restaurant.
In other words, "No Smoking".
From the pictures, you can get the feeling that the inn has been around a while, and the food and atmosphere were a perfect final meal together for the 10 of us. It was an unforgettable end to an unforgettable two weeks.
And a couple of shots taken while we were waiting to be served:
Gardener
Ice water (which you don't see in Portugal)
As a final "official" act, Tracy and Cary, as tour leaders, handed out prizes to each of us in recognition of our individual contributions to the group. Abbie was recognized for bravery in crossing the rope bridge (she had hinted she was not, under any circumstances, going across that swinging bridge), and I for my work as photographer (I must have taken over 1500 photos during the trip). The ladies got refrigerator magnets; we men got bars of chocolate.
Final group photo
Remember what I said in the beginning about not holding on to "things" very tightly? A few days later, while we were staying at a bed and breakfast in England, the owner's dog got in our room while we were out and ate my prize (along with a couple of other bars of chocolate). That's one prize that literally "went to the dogs"...fortunately, my reward from the trip was not wrapped up in that paper. It is even more than the memory of places we visited; it is the friendships we forged, the bonds of brotherhood that will never be broken.
Pilot and co-pilot/navigator: last night at the helm. Cary did a fine job negotiating all the traffic circles "backwards"...and believe me, there are a lot of them.
Okay, one more shot of the blooming hawthorne hedge rows; last one, I promise.
Our actual farewells were only said Saturday morning, as the group was leaving for the airport around 8:30, but this was our last day together. How quickly the two weeks passed! How soon we were reminded that our earthly lives can be summarized as bits of time spent between partings, moving from one farewell to the next. Our paths cross with those of our friends, and we move on; friends, family, loved ones depart this life; we lose things we have attachments to---sometimes stolen, sometimes misplaced, sometimes broken and worn out. Our group would be splitting up after this day, and on this day I was reminded about the temporary nature of possessing "things".
It only takes an instant...
At some point in this trip narrative, I mentioned my "addiction" to wood. I'm always looking for a piece of interesting wood I can somehow whittle on or carve into some object. Generally I look for small pieces I can carry in my pocket, and at odd times of the day, when there's nothing else I feel I ought to be doing (or want to do), I pull out my pocket knife and piece of wood and whittle away. Not every piece of wood lends itself to being whittled on; not every idea that comes to mind lends itself to being whittled into existence. But when mind and matter are in agreement, I find I always have something to do.
Having seen the Celtic crosses, I sensed this was something typical enough to be a souvenir of our trip; during the first days of our stay in Belfast I finally scrounged up a piece of pine from a construction site behind the hotel. It wasn't the ideal piece of wood, but I discovered wood was hard to come by there! For the better part of the next week or so, I slowly worked down the block of wood, and little by little it became obvious to others what I was working towards. My aim was to have it finished by the time our group ended its tour, and by this day, May 23, I was down to the detail work: trim a little here, take off a little on the other side, add a feature on the front, see if it lined up on the back...
Of course, we "artists" have to learn to live with criticism. Abbie's main complaints were: 1) I was getting little wood shavings all over the floor of the van where I was sitting; 2) whenever I got out of the van, I had little pieces of wood all over my shirt and jeans. I tried not to be too messy, so I picked up what shavings I could and threw them out the window, or I would knock the shavings off my work piece on the edge of the window. And then it happened... it was gone. I went to knock the shavings off, and the wind caught the little block of wood, or it got caught on the window frame as I pulled it back in. At 60 mph down the freeway...it was gone. So close to finished, so gone forever. It only took an instant.
But it was not a fortune; fortunes can be lost in an instant. It was not a matter of health and well-being; disease can strike in an instant. It was not a life, and lives can be lost in an instant. Yes, I had spent the better part of two weeks working on this little cross, and it was gone. But I had not lost everything: I would never lose the moments I spent conceiving the design and handling the knife, shaping the wood to conform to the ideal in my mind. Those were hours that were positive in themselves, whether or not the cross came into being as I imagined it.
I must confess that all the others in the group expressed their dismay at my "loss"... but we figured someone might come along and find a partially carved cross by the side of the road someday. The main lesson for me was a reminder to hold on to things lightly and to God tightly. In the end, all "things" will pass away, so let us hold them lightly. There's a Portuguese proverb that comes close to the idea: "Vão-se os anéis, ficam os dedos" ... loosely translated, "Let the rings go, keep your fingers".
Stormont and Tyrone
One of the two main stops of the day was the seat of government of Northern Ireland, Stormont, an imposing building sitting at the top of a hill, shown here with some rather imposing tourists in the foreground.
We just missed the last tour of the day at the crystal factory at Tyrone, so we contented ourselves with oohing and aahing over the various items for sale. Abbie was particularly interested in a crystal piano (not life-size), but large enough that you could almost buy a real one for the same amount of money. I had fun trying to take a picture of the shop, as reflected in the polished globes, without getting myself in the picture. I was not entirely successful in some of the photos.
Clenaghan
Could almost pasture the sheep on the roof.
We'd never heard of it. Wouldn't have ever found it, either, had it not been for Billy Stevenson making reservations for us there and giving directions to the inn. These are not the exact instructions, but you get the idea: "take a left at the third tree past the barn on the right, then turn right after you've seen six cows." In other words, this place was out in the middle of an Irish nowhere. (According the website, it's been nowhere for a good many years...like 250 of them.)
The kitchen door---note vine-covered pump to the left.
The main door to the restaurant.
In other words, "No Smoking".
And a couple of shots taken while we were waiting to be served:
Gardener
Ice water (which you don't see in Portugal)
Final group photo
Remember what I said in the beginning about not holding on to "things" very tightly? A few days later, while we were staying at a bed and breakfast in England, the owner's dog got in our room while we were out and ate my prize (along with a couple of other bars of chocolate). That's one prize that literally "went to the dogs"...fortunately, my reward from the trip was not wrapped up in that paper. It is even more than the memory of places we visited; it is the friendships we forged, the bonds of brotherhood that will never be broken.
Pilot and co-pilot/navigator: last night at the helm. Cary did a fine job negotiating all the traffic circles "backwards"...and believe me, there are a lot of them.posted by EP | 2:09 PM | Permalink
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